#thank god because i have so much work to do

[sc0tters]

Captains Orders | Quinn Hughes & Nico Hischier

summary: what happens when quinn learns he isn't the only captain you've been hooking up with?

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, threesome, dismissive kink, dom!quinn, p in v (unprotected!), oral (m receiving!), masturbation, in general filthy smut.

word count: 6.77k

authors note: we have been in the thick of the threesomes recently but you won't hear me complain because this one i am pretty sure i lost my ability to have a filter so some of these points were simply the cause of my brain and of course @sweetestdesire who is back in the seat of helping with these threesomes so as always thank you to brynn for listening to the shit that comes out of my mouth while i plan these 💗 this was a version of threesomes i have never fully gone at before so lets hope the plot landed.

You really didn’t know how you ended up like this. 

Well, that was a lie. You knew exactly how you ended up chasing after the eldest Hughes boy in the lake house as you tried to apologise. Quinn had come down to see you standing in the kitchen as Nico recounted the days when you spent most evenings in his bed. As Jack’s best friend, your sex life shouldn’t have mattered to Quinn, especially the stuff that you did back when you lived with Jack as you got your degree. But Quinn did care; in fact, he cared so much because now that you resided in Vancouver, you were doing the same thing with him. Gone were the moments of feeling special, that you were the one who helped him feel better during the darker days within the season. Craving your company and your bed as your sweet sweet cunt was the best therapy he could have ever gotten. 

Because now he wasn’t special, Quinn was actually the second person you had been doing this with and he had seen the way that Nico had been looking at you all week. From the moment that the Swiss man walked into the house, his eyes seemed to settle on you for a little too long. So now knowing that there was something between you both, it all made sense to Quinn. He hadn’t bothered to ask before because he thought that he was just dreaming things up. But that sense of hope seemed to just bite him in the ass.

Quinn heard you walk into the room behind him “I didn’t think that you needed to know about a relationship that means nothing to me now.” You let out a sigh, watching him grab the tv remote before he started to flick through the channels “please Quinny.” You begged, wanting a response as you pulled your hoodie off of your head, leaving you in the little sundress that he loved so much. 

But still, he remained focused on the screen that stood behind you “fine.” You grumbled, dropping onto your knees without a second thought. You knew he was mad but there was only so much that he could ignore when it came to you. And you weren’t above crawling to him, so that was what you did. 

The dress you wore climbed up your ass revealing the white panties that you wore. Quinn’s eyes did break from the screen to you it but still, he didn’t talk and when you noticed him looking, his eyes went back to the screen. It took everything from him to not grunt. The sight of you on your knees was something he always loved “please Quinny I’m sorry.” You whined, letting your lips form a pout. 

His fingers dug into his hand as he stayed quiet wanting you to work for his attention “you want me to suck your cock huh?” Your fingers were delicate against his shorts. The sound of your freshly manicured nails against his waistband. 

He licked his lips when you pulled his shorts and boxers down to let his cock spring up against his pubic bone “god Quinn please just talk to me.” You begged, pumping his cock in your hand. 

His silence made you feel bad, as if your past relationship was something that could have been held against you. So you licked at his cock as if he was your lollipop, your tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Hoping, almost even praying that you’d draw out a response from him, when you weren’t even sure if you got a cut breath.

Quinn had done this before, ignored you until he thought that you had sucked his cock well enough to be spoken to again. So as you looked back up at him you set yourself the challenge of breaking him sooner than you ever had done before. 

You wrapped your lips around his cock, arching your back in a way that allowed you to take his cock much easier than normal. He felt your tongue run along the underside of his cock as your nostrils flared. His head rested against the cushion behind him while he gripped at the remote trying to not show you the effect that you really did have on him too early on. 

Your mouth felt like your cunt to him when he was desperate to just feel you so now when you were all methodical it was close to sending him over the edge especially as your eyes remained on him. When your hands reached down to massage his balls, he stopped you, one hand went on top of your as the other pressed on the back of your head forcing you to hit his pubic bone with your nose. 

Quinn loved the feeling and the soft effects as you gagged on his cunt and as he watched the replay of the tennis game on the tv in front of him he couldn’t help but begin to fuck your throat. The feeling your mouth gave him was addictive, like he had morphed you into his personal toy. 

The walls of your throat tightened around his cock but with how harshly he fucked your throat Quinn barely felt it. Even in his state of getting have your mouth at entirely his own mercy, he still noticed what happened around him. That is why he saw your free hand leave his thigh before travelling between your own legs. 

Your panties came down to your knees as your clit ached for attention. But you knew that you couldn’t give into yourself, not until you had earned it. The sounds of your own gags had you focusing on Quinn. You weren’t able to see his face with how he had positioned his hand on your head and you wondered if that was how he liked it. 

But Quinn was strong, even if he fucked your throat like it was the last thing on earth. You weren’t going to hear him even squeak, even if that meant he was gnawing his own lip off in the process. His throbbed as precum oozed into your throat, not giving you a chance to savour that taste of it. 

Your nails dug into the side of your thigh to keep you from rubbing at your clit, tears formed in your eyes because you wanted nothing more than to just make Quinn cum. At least then you’d get some kind of release, too. Your pleads came out muffled but even Quinn could make out that you were begging him to finally cum, it wasn’t going to be the last time of the night for him anyways.

He tugged at your hair when his thrusts became erratic. His thighs began to shake and he was dangerously close to cumming when he felt your tongue hit his balls. You wished you had a bigger mouth because then you would be able to take more of him. Quinn felt his jaw tense as you hollowed out your cheeks and shifted your legs back to let him thrust more freely. The boy watched in awe as the sounds of your whimpers and gags sent him over the edge. 

Quinn loved the feeling of cumming down your throat, but on days like this he preferred to not let his thrusts slow until he has finished painting your mouth and throat with his release. That way some of it ends up on your tongue and eventually your mouth feels so full that he can’t even fuck you with any easy anymore. 

He finally halted his movements to catch his breath as he let you have his cock comfortably in your mouth while he slightly turned your head to let breathe more comfortably. His eyes never trailed down to yours however, Quinn was far more entertained by the tennis on the screen, watching the players move with ease. 

But when he turned you, your jaw began to grow slack, almost wanting to rest for what you knew would be a long night. The captain could feel that his thighs were damp and he originally thought it was just your saliva pooling onto his shorts, but instead, it was your tears. 

At first, he worried that he had pushed you too far when he saw how your mascara was a goopy mess on your cheeks. Quinn was ready to pull you onto his lap and treat you like his princess for the rest of eternity if he had to. But as his cum slipped from your lips, Quinn watched how you caught it with your fingers. Trying to stealthily bring them back down to your cunt. 

His hands ran through your hair as he held back a laugh, Quinn should have felt relieved in that moment but deep down he just knew that you were his little slut. He knew you were only teasing your clit as you waited for him to start fucking your throat. 

So the captain decided to play nice as his cock felt hard again as he gripped at your hair, reforming your makeshift pony at the back of your head. Quinn wanted to smile feeling your free hand grip at his knee as you moved your head, causing his cock to throb at the feeling of your jaw tightening again.

His pace started off slow as he began to move his hips, still feeling a little bit sensitive from the first orgasm that he had. He watched your hand move making him wish that he could see how your fingers strummed against your clit. Sometimes, if there was a roadie when he desperately needed you, he’d get you on Facetime and make sure that your phone was set up so that he could see how your pretty face would react while you did a mix of rubbing at your clit and listening to his orders of how you needed to finger yourself. 

It was what he thought of while he listened to you whimper against his cock, carefully focusing that you continued to pay more attention to him than yourself. He chewed at his cheek, desperate to touch you, but still he had to keep himself restrained.

Quinn listened to how you brought your fingers into your cunt, it was two because he was the only one who went for three. Your jaw tightened around him as your palm brushed against your clit. 

You moaned again feeling how each of Quinn’s thrusts forced his cock past your uvula, somehow not causing you to gag. The room felt hot as you both settled into your own movements, each working towards your own orgasms. The captain made sure that he didn’t lift his hand from your head as he wanted to watch you, but you couldn’t know he was watching you. He imagined that it was his own hand getting you off as he let out the first grunt that was loud enough for you not to need to confirm it. You were finally breaking down his facade he out up that night, and you weren’t stopping there. You lapped at his dick, constantly making sure that he knew the sheer amount of work that you were putting in. Begging him without even having to say a word. 

Those movements continued on of you fucking your hand and turning his cock into your new favourite lollipop until Quinn felt his chest heave when you cried, whimpering around him as you came down from your own high and trigger his own with his hand now running through your hair.

You were left in a puddle of your own mess, desperate to look at Quinn and how you made him feel “poor schatz.” The words made you freeze, whereas Quinn laughed with his sense of cold that sent a shiver down your spine “probably isn’t even turned on with how neglected she is.” That made Quinn pull your head off of his cock. 

Strings of spit connected it to your mouth still “should we check your pretty fucking pussy to show him how you feel when I fuck your face like this?” Quinn smirked, watching you nod. To him, in that moment, you looked gorgeous with your ruined makeup, dishevelled hair, and that mix of saliva and cum on your chin. 

The Canucks captain leaned down to run his fingers through your folds as he kissed you. It was the first time that night that he had done so, and you savoured that. Quinn could taste his release on your tongue, and he had to remind himself that you two were not alone when you moaned feeling his fingers against your slit. Nico’s eyes watched how Quinn’s fingers glistened with your release “what were you saying about how she is feeling today?” Quinn asked as he smirked “since I am feeling generous.” He licked his lips, looking back at you. 

That blue dress that you wore was something Quinn wanted to rip off of you, but tonight he was going to play nice and show some self-restraint “why don’t you show Nico how well you suck cock now.” Quinn ran his fingers down your jaw before he turned your head to where Nico stood “schatz you don-” Nico went to tell you that you didn’t need to do what Quinn had said, but you were quicker than him. 

The smile that formed on your face was the same one that had Quinn thinking that you were a fucking minx, his fucking minx. How was there a reality where you were this innocent girl, but that look on your face always had him thinking otherwise? As you stood up, Quinn helped you out of your panties as they needed a final kick before they were left on his floor. You turned to face Nico again, but you couldn’t even get one step before Quinn had to remind you of his expectations “nuh-uh, baby. I didn't say you could walk, now did I? You know better than that.” There was this sense of disappointment in his voice that made you frown as you dropped back onto your knees “I’m sorry.” Your lips formed a pout looking back at Quinn, almost scared to go to the older captain if the Canucks one was irritated with you. 

But instead, he smiled “that’s okay, sweet girl.” He ran his fingers along your cheek making you lean into his touch “just go bring him over here, okay?” You looked eager as your eyes lit up when you acquired the task. Nico stood still, almost intimidated by the hold that Quinn had over you making it seem like you were some kind of prey that the boy had gotten as the American began to pump his cock with his hand watching how pretty your ass looked from this side of the dress. Your orgasm’s aftermath was present, glistening through your folds, making him lick his lips. Nico, on the other hand, watched you with a sense of curiosity; your days with him had him worshipping you, and it was not the other way round. He could see in your eyes that you were eager for him, for this. Your breasts were perfectly framed in the dress that Nico wondered if it was made for you “hi.” You smiled when you stopped at his feet. 

Nico was quick to give you his hand to help you back onto your feet “hey.” He ran his fingers through your hair as he looked at you almost trying to see what else had changed when your fingers ran over his cock. His boner was present through his shorts. He may not have agreed with what Quinn was doing to you, but he couldn’t deny that you were hot. The Swiss man felt his head fall forward at your touch “you gonna let me suck your cock?” The words were so vulgar from your mouth making him feel so dirty but somehow Nico felt his brain turn off as his cock took over the thinking. 

His hands were bigger than Quinn’s when he cupped your cheeks. You could taste his beer on his tongue, already comparing how it tasted to the one that Quinn preferred which was drier, Nico felt himself get carried away when he brought his one hand down your back; you had deepened the kiss so this felt natural. As his tongue fought with yours he let his hand continue down your back to your ass. He was purposeful with his touch, if he touched you, he wanted to feel all of you and that was how his hand ended up under your dress while he squeezed at your ass. 

It made you moan loud enough for Quinn to hear as the Swiss man fondled your skin in his hand “I don’t remember saying you could touch her.” Quinn’s words made Nico pull away from you with a smirk as his lower lip was caught between your teeth “careful, Hughes your jealousy is showing.” Nico looked to the American as you reached down to grab his hand. 

There was a look in your eyes that told him to keep calm and just let you lead the way. You stopped back at the couch, the simple two seater now felt tiny as Nico thought you were going to make him sit next to the Hughes boy in some sick kind of joke.  Luckily for him, you didn’t let Nico stew in his misery for long, as you ended up back on your knees but on the couch next to Quinn. The only difference was that you were facing Nico as you used the arm of the sofa to lean against “she doesn’t like waiting Hischier.” Quinn teased looking at him for only a moment before he let his eyes fall back to the hem of your dress, it was just too long as it covered your sweet pussy that he wanted to see so desperately “who says I am making her wait.” Nico spat as he undid the button of his shorts before he pulled them down with his boxers. 

You rubbed your thighs together as the thought of both boys fighting over you lit this fire in your pussy, the thoughts of them both fucking you made your mouth water as you didn’t know if you could even take both of them at once. But, boy, were you willing to try. Nico ran his hand over his cock, spreading his precum over the swollen head that was in front of your face “neeks let me.” Your voice was soft when you looked at him, bringing your hand over his before you brought your lips cock. 

Nico watched as you did these pathetic little kitten licks, almost taunting him in the process. His hands gripped at your hair while he sent you a glare until Quinn did the first thing that Nico could actually agree with that day “just because you aren’t sucking my cock baby don’t mean that you can go off acting like a brat.” Quinn warned as he pushed your dress over your ass so he could hit your ass. 

He lay a smack against your skin, making your eyes go wide as you moaned. Your body jolted, and as that happened, you took as much of Nico as you could in your mouth. Quinn smirked as he readjusted, letting his knees sit on the couch. He smirked as he watched your pussy flutter around nothing while his hand massaged your ass. He honestly thought that you were so cute doing this for him. 

Quinn knew that you had your ass like that so he could get the perfect view of your cunt “fucking hell.” He ran his thumb over your slit while he smiled hearing you moan around Nico’s cock.

You almost felt conflicted, wanting to stretch your body to both boys. You wanted Nico in your throat and Quinn to be against you too “you can fuck her face.” He pumped his cock in his hand, resting his one foot on the floor. 

Nico went to snap back but he was quickly stopped when Quinn slotted his cock into your cunt. Quickly bringing his hips against yours before you got a chance to adjust to his size. Your response was to tighten your throat around the head of Nico’s cock, digging your nails into his thighs. 

It knocked the breath out of him as his hands tugged at your hair. You breathed through your nostrils, using Quinn’s thrusts to force Nico’s cock deeper into your throat. Quinn’s lips turned upright when he settled into a good pace “sweet girl you seen how good you sucking his cock?” Quinn cooed running his fingers over your ass as his fingers gripped at your hips. 

Your cunt clenched around him as you looked up at Nico through your thick eyelashes. Nico ran his tongue over his lips feeling your tongue swirl around his cock before you let him hit deeper in your throat. The boy tried to pull away when you gagged but your fingers gripping at him was enough to stop him. 

The pain in his thighs made his stomach tighten “fuck you are perfect.” Nico grunted hearing how the squelches of your cunt mixed with the gags of your mouth “and you thought she wasn’t a slut.” Quinn laughed, bringing his hand around to brush at your clit. 

His cock throbbed against the slick walls of your cunt “she was waiting around for you to finally-” Quinn let out a moan watching how your back arched to get more of both cock “get unleashed by someone who could fuck her properly.” The American slapped your ass again making you whimper around Nico. 

Nico would never have admitted it, but Nico used to think that your mouth was good, but now it was heavenly. You hollowed your cheeks as if his cock was a straw and you were drinking out of it “you wanna let him cum?” Quinn could see the look Nico gave you, how his lips were attacked by his teeth. 

Swallowing his moans as he swore that you were going to make him cum harder than he ever had before. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, begging for Nico to cum on your tongue. For him to mark your throat, even if Quinn had already done that twice before “then I think he should let you hear how well you are making him feel.” Quinn brought his fingers from your clit to your boob. Taking your wetness to spread it around your nipple.

You whimpered as your body began to shake “she’s so responsive.” Quinn licked his lips “cause you love hearing how much of a cockslut you are don’t ya?” Your muffled whimpers echoed off of the walls as you nodded. 

Quinn stood back up straight bringing his hand back to your clit “didn’t think you used to be with such a rude boy before baby.” Quinn’s taunts finally broke Nico “don’t stop using your tongue like that.” Nico begged, letting his head fall back.

The Swissman was now relying on you and Quinn’s thrusts to allow him to fuck your throat. His stomach tightened as his hair threw slick with sweat “your perfect fucking mouth is bringing him close.” Quinn teased, forcing himself to control his thrusts, feeling that you were close. He was, too, but he wanted to watch Nico finish first. 

It was a total stroke to his ego watching Nico nod “just like that.” He encouraged you to continue hollowing your cheeks as your eyes didn’t leave his face. Studying his every reaction “think you should ask if you can make a mess in her mouth.” Your cunt clenched around Quinn feeling his calloused fingers against your clit, the roughness sending shivers through your body “you gonna let me cum in your pretty throat schatz?” You moaned hearing the question as your mind felt disconnected from the pleasure that you felt.

Your brain was foggy and Quinn knew that you were just desperate to cum too at that point “you’re asking the wrong person Neeks.” Quinn’s tone fucked with the boy, urging him to react. With one step out of line, Nico knew that it was all going to be over for him tonight “you think I’m going to ask you?” Nico laughed as he shook his head. 

But watching the younger captain remain quiet, the Devils captain realised he was serious “I’m not fucking-” Nico went to argue but Quinn was quick to cut him off “doll stop sucking his cock.” Even as you were focused on being used by both boys, Quinn’s order was something that you were almost hardwired to respond to. 

So you begun to pull away as you made your lips form an o shape “fuck Quinn please.” Nico looked at the younger boy “I just wanna cum.” You whimpered at the thought of him spraying his messy ropes of release down your throat. 

Quinn clicked his tongue “such a shame that it just isn’t good enough.” He sighed as he shrugged still letting your his hips hit the curve of your ass “try again.” The Hughes boy ordered holding his hand against your chest to remind Nico that he really could pull you off of him. 

Nico was getting frustrated, desperate to cum “sir.” Your words were muffled, but as Nico looked down at you, he could see that you were trying to say something. You let your tongue move so that you could speak even with his cock in your mouth “sir.” Quinn let out a dark chuckle, seeing that Nico had heard you properly this time. 

The Swissman thought about it as Quinn let you slowly move your mouth against his length, hoping to encourage him “I can pull her-” Quinn’s threat that came for a second time seemed to finally break the boy “fuck let me cum sir.” The words slipped from Nico’s tongue in a way that he almost didn’t even care about what he had just said.

Quinn nodded as he sucked at his teeth “sweet girl you can finish him off.” The Hughes boy cooed finally letting Nico cum. Nico would have cringed if he had been told that this is what he would be doing, but in that moment god he just wanted to cum “don’t stop yes!” Nico gasped, sticking your head against his pubic bone. 

The little bit of hair that he had tickled your nose as he forced his hips against you desperate to cum. Desire filled his sense as he squirmed, screwing his eyes shut so that he could imagine that he was the one in your cunt. 

It didn’t take him long to feel his hips jitter as his fingers dug into your scalp, the pain making you moan against his cock sending him over the edge. His grunts bounced off of the walls of the room, Quinn felt slightly grateful that his room was away from everyone else’s. It meant that nobody else was going to be interrupting you once Quinn got the Swiss man out of there. 

The older boys cum painted your throat “fuck schatz.” He ran his thumb over your cheek to wipe away your tears. You went to let his cock slip from between your lips but Quinn pressed his hand against your head, forcing you to have Nico’s cock right in the back of your throat “be a good little thing and keep his cock in your mouth while I destroy your pussy.” Your ears rang as you felt your stomach tighten while your cunt clenched around him. 

You swore that Quinn’s cock was bigger, hitting spots in your pussy you had never felt him hit before. So as the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot you couldn’t help but moan, watching Nico keep your head flush against his cock. 

Quinn hit your ass as he scoffed “be a good girl and stay fucking quiet okay?” His pace seemed to get even quicker as he turned animalistic, practically fucking you senseless. 

Nico and Quinn all of a sudden seemed to be on the same team with the Swiss man tugging at your hair each time you moaned which was usually followed by Quinn smacking your ass “someone is starting to be a good girl now.” You nodded, hearing Nico’s words as your thighs ached, burning while Quinn’s hands held you up “you’re lucky I’m feeling generous.” The Canucks captain gritted through his teeth. 

He was painfully close but he would never let them know that it was the reason why Quinn was going to let you cum “because now you get to see how fucking pretty this slut is when she cums on my cock.” The American patted your back as his hips drove into you. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head as your body spasmed, clenching around Quinn’s cock so hard you swore you could have broken it. He hissed feeling how your gummy walls cream around his dick, spurring on his own orgasm “holy fuck-” Quinn cut himself off when he shot his creamy load into your cunt. 

Quinn finally slowed down his thrusts, pulling out of you to see that Nico had already slipped his cock out of your mouth “how you feeling pretty girl?” Nico asked watching you rest on your arms as your ass was in the air “fucked.” A soft laugh left your lips when he ran his fingers through your hair. 

He nodded, slipping his cock back into his boxers and shorts before he looked between you and Quinn “think I’ll get this one to bed.” Quinn ran his fingers along your back, making you shiver. 

The Swiss man pursed his lips together “goodnight, you two.”Nico knew he had lost when he saw that you were so free “we will see you in the morning.” Quinn didn’t give two shits if Nico was taking this maturely and with grace, the Hughes boy wanted to have more of you and this time privately. 

Nico stood at the door looking at you both “and if when you come back to Jersey.” He let his lips form a smirk “make sure to bring her along too.” Nico shot you a wink before he finally walked out of the room.

The door shut behind him as you looked at Quinn “he really meant nothing.” You sighed sitting flat on your ass when Quinn joined you “I mean we fucked a few times while I was there but it was just when we both needed someone.” That confession made his nostrils flare because that was what you both currently boiled down to. 

After wins, defeats, lonely nights when he just didn’t want to be at his place, Quinn was at yours “you really mean that?” Quinn tucked your hair behind your ear as you nodded “and I haven’t spoken to him since I left because he had gotten a girlfriend.” Your words seemed to light a fire beneath him.

Did you really mean that if Nico didn’t have a girlfriend when you left, things would have been different? That you’d be in the Swissmans’ room as opposed to Quinns? Surely, you wanted Quinn the way he wanted you? Quinn shook his head as he kissed you, starting with your shoulder, slowly making his way up your jaw “Quinny.” You moaned, moving into his lap as if you were desperate to kiss him. 

Quinn smiled as he brought his hands up your sides “hey pretty girl.” He cooed, hooking his fingers in the straps of your dress. He sucked at his teeth pulling them down your arms to reveal your pretty perky tits that bounced as if they praised Quinn for releasing them. You felt your cheeks grow hot “not fair, you’re still in this.” You softly laughed as you ran your fingers along the hem of his shirt. 

He wasn’t going to argue; he didn’t want to argue with you, so he took his shirt off and as he did that, you pulled your dress off. Now you both sat there naked, but somehow you were feeling the most vulnerable that you had ever felt in front of someone “kissy?” You begged, running your fingers over his lips, making him smile. 

The boy took your jaw between your fingers so that he could kiss you. There was no lust driving this kiss, there was just a want to be close to one another. Quinn’s tongue and fought with yours, it was this fight of back and forth that ended as he squeezed your ass in his hand. 

A moan escaped from your lips as he smirked, his hands moved to your glutes so that he could pick you up. Your legs instantly wrapped around his hips when he stood, locking behind his back as if he was going to drop you since he focused on how your lips felt against his. He walked you back to the bed with such ease that if this was a Quinn, you didn’t know you would have been impressed. The boy dropped you onto the bed as if you were nothing more than his phone or wallet, watching how your breasts bounced when you landed on the soft mattress. Quinn smiled in awe, drinking in the sight of you naked and practically calling for him to come to you.

So the boy let his knees hit the bed, mattress dipping as you felt your mouth water “you gonna let me fuck this pussy again?” His words made you squirm as you forced your thighs together until his hand managed to get caught between them “can’t do that if you shut your legs on me, sweet girl.” Quinn made it seem so easy as his words turned you into putty, and with a deep breath, you let your thighs open again. 

Allowing the boy to be faced with your cunt that so glistened for him “please Quinn.” You whined, wanting some kind of friction or move from him “please what?” The captain knew what you wanted, but you were going to have to spell it out to him if you wanted any kind of success tonight. 

You chewed at your lip while your hands trailed over your nipples, which made him flick your thigh “use your words to ask me, or else I am gonna make sure you can’t touch anything.” His belt sat on the floor and you knew that Quinn wasn’t above using it and you weren’t in the mood to test him tonight “wanna watch you fuck me please.” Your works made him lick his lips, the offer was so inviting that he didn’t know how any sane person would turn it down. 

So the boy made light work of moving you so that he could sit between your legs “such a well mannered girl.” The boy complimented you as he ran his fingers across your stomach. Your breath hitched, watching him move his torso so that he hovered over you “kiss?” He asked, puckering his lips as he watched you crack a grin. You nodded and this time the kiss was soft, you could have sworn there was love in it even as you gasped at the feeling of his cock’s head lazily dragged over your clit. 

Quinn softly bit down on your lower lip when he let his cock sink into your cunt “fucking hell.” Your eyes screwed shut feeling how he felt letting your cunt cling to every inch of his dick “you feel so good.” Quinn confessed, kissing your forehead as he rolled his hips into yours. 

You opened your eyes to see him hovering over you “w-want more.” You begged, feeling like the world around you had been sucked into this room leaving you as the only two people that mattered “is that so?” He asked with a smirk, letting his pace pick back up to what it was when you were on the couch. 

In that moment you knew you sounded like a porn star but you didn’t even care. Gripping at your tits as you bounced with each thrust like he was going to fuck you into his bed “never gonna get over this perfect pussy.” Quinn let his head drop against your shoulder, his teeth grazing at your skin. 

It was clear that both of you were still sensitive from your previous orgasms of the night as a slew of incoherent curses came from your lips “fuck I want it forever.” The captain confessed letting his cock ram into your cunt while he picked up your leg to bring it over his shoulder “you gonna let me have it sweetheart?” Quinn teased letting himself fuck your cunt even deeper than he had before. 

Whimpers escaped from your lips as you nodded “please.” You mumbled feeling his one hand travel down to your slit. Pressing against your pelvis while his fingers toyed with that sensitive bud “what was that?” Quinn smirked, bringing his other hand up to your throat. 

Pressing his thumb and middle fingers against the sides of your neck, “couldn’t hear ya.” He brought his face down to yours as he nipped at your jaw. 

Softly sucking at your skin, it felt like a stark contrast to the abuse he was inflicting on your pussy “it’s yours Quinn.” You nodded and in that moment the American swore he was ready to cum and let his body give out from above you “fuck you are so dangerous.” He grunted letting out a hiss as your cunt clenched around him. 

The boy could see it in your eyes “you gonna cum?” Quinn asked speeding up his fingers against your clit. You couldn’t get out a solid response just a string of whimpers as you nodded “make a mess on my cock so I can fuck you full.” His eyes traveled to your breasts, which he thought about growing bigger. 

Neither one of you wanted kids at the moment, but that would be the truest act of staking his claim on you “go on.” He sucked at your ear lobe as your moans echoed against the walls of the room. 

You should have felt embarrassed thinking about what this room had seen tonight, but instead you were arching your back while your free leg pressed against his lower back keeping him close to you. You cried feeling yourself cum as white spots scattered across your eyelids when you screwed them shut. Quinn couldn’t last when you squirmed, feeling your cunt flutter around his cock “just like that.” He nodded, chatting out those words while his cum coated the walls of your cunt. 

Quinn moved his head so that he could kiss you as his thrusts came to a halt when you smiled “there you are pretty girl.” He mumbled pulling his cock out while he sat up to study you like a piece of art, his art. 

His eyes burned into your pussy making you push yourself onto your elbows “what?” You cocked your head seeing him smile “I need to clean you up but don’t want to ruin this just yet.” The boy huffed as he got up off of the bed. 

Before you could offer any kind of protest, he scooped you into his arms and brought you into his ensuite. 

It was a room you knew fairly well, but usually, you were sneaking back to your own one at this point “something on your mind?” He asked, feeling you staring at him as he ran the rag into the tap “like this side of you.” Your confession made your cheeks turn red as he smiled, turning to look at you. 

Quinn moved to be in between your legs as the warm cloth ran against your slit “think that you have one more in you?” The question was genuine, as he didn’t want to push you too far. 

But you nodded “what do you have in mind?” He held his hand out to pull you off of the counter. Quickly turned you around as you instinctively spread your legs for him “you wanna watch how your boy fucks this pussy?” Quinn smirked running his now hard again dick against your clit. 

Your head fell forward but still your eyes remained on him “fuck me like you mean it captain.” Oh, you were going to be the death of him, but he couldn’t have cared. 

In fact, Quinn was ready to dig his grave for you because this man was yours.

[seasprincess]

Love is in the air? 💘

pt 1 || pt 2

Spencer Reid x reader. !fluff

Synopsis: a certain agent has picked up on a little chemistry between you and genius

warnings: none

Spencer Reid is a genius. Everyone knows it. With his 187 IQ, ability to read 20,000 words per minute and knowledge on so many subjects.

But they all mean nothing when you’re involved.

He shouldn’t get like this around you. Get all flustered and shy. Tripping over words when his eyes lock with yours. Watching as you bat your eyelashes at him when he goes on one of his rambles. Everyone else wants him to be quiet, but you? You look and listen to him like he's a prophet and you're his die hard follower.

But as Spencer lacks in the relationship department it means he doesn't catch onto the way you flirt with him. The way you smile and laugh a bit too hard at his jokes the rest of the team didn’t even crack a smile for. He’s blind when it comes to all the signs that you like him back.

But the rest of the team isn’t blind to those eyes you give him. For them it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes turn into hearts everytime you look at the genius.

But there’s one person on the team who notices these little glances between you too. Notices the way Spencer stares at you. And he’s decided to play cupid.

Ladies man Derek Morgan is sat across from you on the jet. Smirking as he gestures for you to take off the headphones that were blasting some new pop song.

“Yeah?” You say as you look at him, slightly on edge because of the muscular man's smirk. His eyes show that this conversation is going to make you uncomfortable. Thank god the rest of the team are either asleep or distracted doing something else.

“So you and Reid. What's going on?” The agent says as he tilts his head slightly. Of course he’s going to use his detective skills to use and analyse you.

With his words your cheeks heat up like the plane had suddenly just got really warm. You feel warm. A blush spread across your cheeks too. Usually you'd try to play off these reactions. And you're gonna do just that now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to stay calm, try to not show that his words are affecting you. Why is he asking anyway? Has Reid asked about you? Oh god what if he thinks you're weird? What if Morgan tells him?

“You very much do know what I’m talking about.”

You sigh and put your hands over your face, trying to block out the smirking man that’s asking you the question that makes you want to run home and hide your face in a pillow.

“Is it that obvious?” You say as you look over at Spencer who is fast asleep. He's in the fetal position on the sofa. His arm propped under his head as a makeshift pillow. Completely knocked out from the latest case. He looks so calm which is not a usual look. He’s usually moving about or his mind is running at a million miles per hour. Seeing him like this makes your heart clench, he looks so cute and sweet and-oh my god. You've got it bad.

“It’s obvious to everyone but pretty boy.” Derek’s eyes glance to sleeping Spencer. Not looking at him with the same admiration as you.

You groan again as your forehead is placed on the table in front of you. Work strictly bans relationships between two members but there was no way in denying nor moving past the little situationship between you and the smart guy of the team. You could try to hide it but you'd never be able to get over it. Neither would he. You’re both whipped for each other in whatever geeky way that you both can be.

Spencer and you both being geeky when it comes to your interests meant you both like the same things and that you understand some of his references. Heavy on the some, cause sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. His references are just a bit too niche for you to grasp.

“Talk to him.” Derek says casually. Like he hasn't asked you to do one of the most stressful things you can think of involving your personal life.

“Absolutely not.” You reply as you say as you sit up straight in the seat. The jet finally coming in to land after what feels like a

“You gotta do it or you’ll regret it.” He doesn’t give you time to fire back before he leaves your gossip spot, presumably heading for the exit. Which is where he’s going. Not before he hits the sleeping boy's knee to wake him up, making your plan of sneaking past him nearly impossible. Derek just flashes you a smirk before exiting.

Sencer rubs his eyes as he slowly sits up, not wanting to move too quickly to avoid feeling dizzy. He glances down at his watch to only realise he had slept practically the whole journey. People walk past him, saying their goodbyes as he says bye too. Not coherent as he's still sleepy. He looks around the jet before his eyes land on you. You were packing up your things, getting ready to go back to your apartment and probably just crash. The case was really hard on all of you. But Spencer knows you struggle to sleep on planes otherwise he knows you would be fast asleep.

“Good nap?” You say with that sweet smile of yours that makes Spencer’s heart just melt. He has completely and utterly fallen for you. He looks at you softly. His brown eyes look at you softly. From your point of view it’s like looking into a deer's eyes. The big brown orbs looking at you with the sweetest look you've ever seen. But of course you’ll brush it off with the fact it’s because he’s just woken up and not because he could possibly like you.

“Oh um, can’t complain. Other than the fact I have more of my book to read now before I can sleep. Again.” Spencer likes to read a certain amount each night. Not that it takes him any significant amount of words per minute. He could do it in about three minutes.

Spencer reaches down to grab his book that had fallen to the ground due to his snooze.

“Hey so, um, I was wondering.” You say quickly before you can take it back and stop yourself. You know you need to get it out before you change your mind.

“Go for it.” He says with a smile. Standing up and looking into your eyes.

And your brain just melts, you can’t help it. You freeze on the spot and suddenly this seems like a really bad idea. It would be too awkward if he rejected you. What if he thought you were weird? Oh god. This is not a good idea.

“It can wait till tomorrow.” You say, covering up the emotions behind the words you wish you could say. “I’ll see you then. Good night.”

Spencer doesn’t get a chance to react before you've left.

And all he can do is wonder what the hell you were gonna say.

And what he wishes he could’ve said to you.

Part 2

a/n: not proof read😛

@littlelamy

[bokutoko]

cw: suggestive (mdni), making out + ass grabbing hehe, mentions of ovulation UM WHO AM I????

kita had always been the one to be so reserved, with soft smiles and his routinely careful, deliberate actions. he had always been the one to be so respectful, with always a “yes ma’am” or “yes sir” in his responses. he had always been the one to look so put together, so level-headed, as if nothing phased him enough to invoke any strong reaction.

but with you perched on his lap, your lips on his, and your hands in his hair, he quickly devolved into something no one never expected of him.

your lips had always scrambled his brain in a way he never quite comprehended, the taste of them causing a haze to shroud his mind, either from your chapstick or the last drink you had—or both. he had no idea how you had this iron-clad power over him, but frankly, he didn’t really care.

and good god, the plush, soft texture of your lips did nothing to ease his self control either, his tongue gliding along your bottom lip in a hungry, yet almost reverential way. you were the first thing in his life to ever make him question his sanity. he believed you to be practically otherworldly, with your intoxicating presence and soft touch that made his skin burn in the best way possible.

his hands glided along the bare skin of your thighs as your own gently tugged at his hair, eliciting a low, reserved groan from him. he could feel your little smile against his lips, and you proceeded to gently pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline and neck, already feeling the slight stubble on his skin, despite his daily morning shave. the brine from the sweat on his skin hit your tongue, the taste making you yourself feel dizzy, needing more, more, more. you made sure to kiss his favorite spot—behind his ear, you learned. with a gentle bite to his skin, you carefully soothed the mark with your tongue.

fuck, kita was sure he was about to ascend to the heavens and see a bright light awaiting him.

as if his mind escaped him, he was unable to keep his hands to himself as they wandered to the swell of your ass, squeezing and kneading the softness of you. and when he heard that same soft little moan he always hears, he felt like he could fall to his knees for you, like he could be your most faithful, devout worshipper until the end of his days.

kita shinsuke, reduced to a beautiful, needy man because of his sweetest temptation.

“shin,” you softly purred in his ear, your breath warm against his already heated, sweaty skin, “y’looked so good outside weed eating… just can’t help myself.”

he hummed with cheeks flushed a sinful shade of pink—a mixture of both sunburn and pleasure—and his eyes slowly opened to reveal a pair of beautiful, hazy brown eyes. “i sure ain’t complainin’…”

he looked so breathtaking that you couldn’t even help yourself when you uttered your next words, the beginning of kita’s end. the end of any semblance of self control he had. “i’m ovulating, y’know.”

it was as if time stood still, as if everything became so much clearer. as if kita had seen the light.

yeah, you were definitely going to see the light too after he was finished with you.

a/n: ABS POSTING SUGGESTIVE CONTENT?? WHO IS THIS??? thanks to @nectardaddy i too have seen the light of truth about kita shinsuke… also i guess this is my thank you for 400 gazillion enjoy ur treat

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[xylatox]

Thanking the Tumblr gods for a pjs fic to enter my timeline😌 this is my first interaction with this author so I'm super excited to share my thoughts!! I love a good HP AU despite never reading it but I have seen most of the movies as a kid (we thank my mom for that). Anyways!! unto the review :)

He was the type of person who excelled quietly, never rubbing his victories in your face, but still managing to be infuriating simply by existing. You had no idea what he thought of you. If he had any feelings about your academic rivalry, he had never shown it. — I always love a good enemies to lovers with this kind of basis where they aren't like, enemies in the traditional sense, it's always super fun to see imo.

Immediately loving reader's relationship with Riki and that it's established as such a sibling coded one at that, it always makes me really happy to see these relationships present. “Second,” the official continued, flipping to another section of the document, “you will be required to consummate the marriage within one year. This will be monitored magically, and failure to do so may result in penalties.” — THIS IS INSANE HELLO?????🧍🧍🧍

Girl these rules are insane I absolutely love it like???

Jongseong’s eyes met yours then, and for the first time, there was something there—a quiet understanding, a shared reluctance. Neither of you wanted this. But there was no choice. — I love him so bad ugh.

I am loving how awkward they are ngl, it's actually so cute.

It is required that both parties sleep within the same quarters by the third month of marriage.— crazy thst aside from the main rules they gave them, there are these minor details that should be considered aswell.

I love Jake and I absolutely love him pestering Jay that he unintentionally admits reader is attractive, that already changes things.

The random check?? the kinda awkward but very cute moment between reader and Jay?? I love it all so much.

It was brief, chaste, and yet… oddly intimate. His lips lingered just long enough to make your skin prickle with awareness.— omg I am screaming what the fuck. I love that in the moment with Jay's friends, the relationship seems a little lighter, not as awkward, especially after the kiss Jay pulled, I think a bit of progress has been made, especially since we know that there's mutual attraction present.

Like this — Jongseong wasn’t just your forced husband tonight—he was someone who had a past, who had friends that truly cared about him. And maybe, you were starting to see why people cared about him, too.— was an absolutely precious moment.

The moment they share when Jay picks her up from work is actually so sweet?? Even the deeper moment that night about reader's parents is so sweet too. Good, them figuring out the whole physical affection, like the kiss was so fucking sweet and I love how that causes the comfort between the two too be more apparent as well.

At this point I'm convinced the Ministry's secret kink is doing what they do and forming married couples and monitoring them because this is actually insane.

I LOVE how Jay just does the nickname so easily and he seems so calm and reader is like losing her shit, it's so cute, and even though Jay appears fine, he also isn't used to it, so cute. And the entire scene where she has the bad day and he just comforts her???? this is love omg.

Jay exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself in your presence. "With you. I feel safe with you." — I could cry what the fuck omg.

The fight no :(((( I do love that Jay's parents noticed and gave them advice, love them frfr, and the fact that they resolve the issue but having a conversation within the same night? this is what love is.

I love thet resolving the conflict shows us them being even more comfortable and it makes me so happy. And reader finally realizing in herself and saying she loves him?¿ I'm going to fucking sob AND SHES PREFNANT AFTER TOO IMG??? LOVING IT.

I could sob, this was so fucking sweet, I absolutely loved every second of it. It made me so damn soft.

pjs. The Marriage Law

synopsis: A Marriage Law was the last thing you expected to dictate your future, let alone shackle you to Park Jongseong. A pureblood heir, painfully composed, infuriatingly good at everything, and—unfortunately—now your husband.

What starts as reluctant cohabitation, filled with awkward silences and sharp words, slowly unravels into something neither of you can ignore. Stolen glances, fleeting touches, and the illusion of normalcy turn into a dangerous game neither of you meant to play. Is it all for show? Or has the line between pretend and real already disappeared?

But love alone isn’t enough to erase the past—or the law that forced you together. As the Ministry looms over your every move, and whispers of rebellion grow louder, you and Jay must decide: fight the law, or fight for each other.

wc: around 20.5K

warnings: Marriage Law AU, Harry Potter AU, forced marriage, government control, slow burn, forced proximity, awkward domesticity, enemies to lovers, bickering, rivalry, mutual annoyance, emotional angst, hurt/comfort, doubt, insecurities, fear of the future, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, sexual tension, intense intimacy, fear of love, conflicted feelings, vulnerability, mentions of pregnancy, future parenthood, domesticity, soft Jay, pining, repressed feelings, denial, yearning, lingering touches, stolen glances, smut, sexual content, F! receiving.

A/N: PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THINK I'D REALLY APPRECIATE THE FEEDBACK!!!!!

Masterlist

______________________________________________________________

The owl came at dawn.

You woke to the sharp tap, tap, tap against your window, the early morning light bleeding through the tattered curtains of your London flat. Sleep still clung to your body, but the incessant tapping forced you upright, rubbing the remnants of last night’s exhaustion from your eyes. You recognized the Ministry’s wax seal before your fingers even touched the envelope. Your stomach dropped.

It was here.

The letter you had been dreading for months. The whispers of the Marriage Law had been circulating for nearly a year, rumors passed between hushed conversations at pubs, in hidden corners of Diagon Alley, and among former classmates who refused to believe that the government could enforce such a thing. But deep down, you had known it was only a matter of time. The Ministry had already been heading in this direction for years, pushing for more control under the guise of restoration.

With a deep breath, you slid your nail under the seal, breaking it with a snap. The parchment unfurled in your hands, the ink dark against the crisp paper.

Dear Miss Y/N, By decree of the Magical Unity Act, you have been assigned a partner as part of the Ministry’s initiative to preserve and strengthen magical bloodlines. Your assigned match:  Park Jongseong. Pureblood. You are required to present yourself at the Ministry within 48 hours for the formalization of your union. Failure to comply will result in consequences deemed necessary by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We trust you will uphold your duty to preserve our magical world. Sincerely, Matilda Greengrass Head of the Magical Unity Office

Park Jongseong. Of all the people in the world, it had to be him.

You weren’t sure what to think. You had never hated Jongseong—not really. He had always been there in the background, a constant presence in your classes, a name that lingered on the top of exam scores just above yours. He was the type of person who excelled quietly, never rubbing his victories in your face, but still managing to be infuriating simply by existing. You had no idea what he thought of you. If he had any feelings about your academic rivalry, he had never shown it.

And now, he was going to be your husband.

You hadn’t even processed the letter properly before you found yourself in a booth at The Leaky Cauldron, sitting across from Riki. You had sent an urgent owl the moment you had read the letter, needing to talk to someone—anyone—who might understand.

Riki was younger than you by only a couple of years, but you had always seen him as something of a younger brother—mischievous, quick-witted, and annoyingly perceptive when it came to your emotions. He was the kind of friend who teased you relentlessly but would hex anyone who dared to cross you. If there was anyone you could turn to in a moment like this, it was him.

“You got him?” Riki’s eyebrows shot up when you showed him the parchment. “That’s...sure, yeah.”

You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Well, I mean—it could be worse, " Riki shrugged, taking a sip of his Butterbeer, “He’s not, like, awful. He’s just...Jongseong. A bit awkward, not much of a talker, but not the worst person to be tied to for life.”

You groaned again. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”

He grinned. “A little,”

You shook your head, trying to focus. “I don’t even know how I’m going to tell my parents. They’re barely involved in my life as it is, and now I have to explain to them that I’ve been legally bound to someone they don’t even know?”

Riki’s face softened. He knew how complicated your relationship with your parents was—how they had never truly accepted the magical world, even after you got your Hogwarts letter. “You don’t have to tell them right away,” he said gently. “Focus on getting through this first.”

The Ministry of Magic smelled like ink, parchment, and old magic. The weight of history pressed down upon you as you walked through its grand halls, flanked by Aurors ensuring that every witch and wizard assigned under the Magical Unity Act appeared for their mandated marriage registrations. The building was colder than you remembered, or maybe it was the weight of what was about to happen that made you shiver.

Jongseong was already waiting when you arrived, standing stiffly in the corridor outside the registration chamber. His posture was impeccable, shoulders squared, his hands buried in the pockets of his finely tailored robes. The deep green fabric complimented his sharp features, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and the dark intensity of his eyes. There was always something enigmatic about Jongseong—he was the type of person who carried an air of quiet authority, a man who never wasted unnecessary words. He rarely let his emotions show, but now, even beneath his composed expression, you could see the subtle signs of tension—the way his fingers tapped idly against the parchment he held, the way his lips pressed together a little too firmly.

You swallowed hard, gripping your own letter tightly. His eyes flickered toward you, assessing.

“Y/N.” His voice was steady, but there was something unreadable beneath it. He gave you a small nod, nothing overly familiar, yet not entirely cold.

The Ministry official cleared his throat, pulling you both out of the awkward moment.

”Park Jongseong and Y/N L/N,” he announced, his voice devoid of emotion, as if he had done this a hundred times before. He motioned toward the chamber doors. “Step inside. We will begin the legal binding process.”

Your breath hitched as you stepped forward, feeling the heat of Jongseong’s presence beside you.

The chamber was larger than you had expected, with high ceilings adorned with ancient runes glowing faintly in the dim light. At the center of the room stood a grand mahogany desk, where stacks of parchment were neatly arranged. Hovering above it was a blood-binding quill, pulsing faintly, attuned to the magic that would soon seal your fates.

“Please, be seated.”

You and Jongseong sat across from each other, the tension between you thick, though neither of you acknowledged it. The official took his place behind the desk, flipping open a massive leather-bound ledger.

“Before we proceed, it is my duty to inform you of the terms and expectations set forth by the Ministry under the Magical Unity Act. This marriage is legally binding under magical law, and both parties are required to uphold their roles as husband and wife.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew this was coming, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it harder to ignore.

“First, you will be required to cohabitate within the next twenty-four hours. The Ministry has provided accommodations, though should you choose to relocate, you must inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within seven days.”

Jongseong’s fingers drummed lightly against the desk, his gaze unreadable. He was listening carefully, though he gave nothing away.

“Second,” the official continued, flipping to another section of the document, “you will be required to consummate the marriage within one year. This will be monitored magically, and failure to do so may result in penalties.”

Your breath caught. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, but you couldn’t help the way your fingers curled slightly against your lap.

Jongseong’s face remained calm, though you thought you saw the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw.

“Third,” the official continued, “as part of the act’s goal to maintain the magical bloodline, you are expected to conceive a child within two years. Failure to comply will result in further legal interventions. Exceptions will only be granted under rare circumstances, such as medically confirmed infertility.”

You exhaled slowly, heart pounding. This was the part that had haunted you the most. It wasn’t just about being forced into marriage—it was about being forced to give up control over the future you had always imagined for yourself.

You had wanted children, eventually. You had imagined raising them in a world where they could make choices freely, where they could love and marry without being told when and how. But now, that dream had been reduced to a cold deadline set by the Ministry.

Jongseong finally spoke. “What are our rights in terms of autonomy?” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.

The official barely looked up. “You are granted limited autonomy. While you may maintain employment and personal activities, your primary duty remains fulfilling the obligations of the act. Any attempt to break the contract is considered an act of defiance against the Ministry.”

Jongseong gave a slow nod, as if he had expected that answer but wanted it spoken aloud regardless. The official placed two scrolls of parchment in front of you, followed by the hovering blood-binding quill.

“By signing this document, you are agreeing to all conditions and responsibilities dictated by the Magical Unity Act. Once signed, the bond is sealed permanently under wizarding law. Any attempts to nullify it without Ministry approval will result in severe consequences.”

Jongseong’s eyes met yours then, and for the first time, there was something there—a quiet understanding, a shared reluctance. Neither of you wanted this. But there was no choice.

With a deep breath, you reached for the quill. The moment your fingers touched it, a sharp, warm sensation prickled against your skin, and the magic within it stirred in response. You watched as your name etched itself onto the parchment in deep crimson ink.

Across from you, Jongseong did the same.

The moment his signature was completed, the parchment glowed gold, sealing the contract. A faint hum of magic filled the air as the binding took effect.

It was done. You were married.

The official gave a brisk nod, gathering the signed documents. “The bond is sealed. You are now husband and wife under magical law.” He closed the ledger with a dull thud before standing. “Congratulations.”

The word felt hollow.

The moment you stepped into the apartment the Ministry had assigned, the full weight of your situation slammed into you. This wasn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare anymore. It was real. It was your life.

The space was larger than you expected, a sleek, magically expanded flat that felt caught between two worlds—modern and traditional, functional and intimate, impersonal yet unsettlingly designed for romance. It was clear that whoever had designed these living quarters had done so with the idea of a happily married couple in mind.

The open-concept living space had softly enchanted lighting, walls painted in neutral, calming tones that could be adjusted to fit the residents' “mood.” A fireplace sat in the center of the lounge, with a plush sofa curved just enough to suggest cozy nights spent tangled together. The kitchen was fully stocked, fitted with both Muggle and magical appliances, making it impossible to avoid the domestic intimacy the Ministry seemed so determined to impose.

Two bedrooms were set at opposite ends of the flat, though one was clearly meant to be temporary. The master bedroom, which you tried to ignore, was the worst of it. The king-sized bed was too large, too luxurious, the silk sheets far too inviting. The enchanted wardrobes had already been merged, both your belongings stored together, blending lives you hadn’t chosen to entwine.

Even the bathroom was designed for two people meant to share everything. The tub was massive, the type built for indulgent baths, fitted with potion-infused oils meant to relax muscles—meant to encourage closeness. The sinks, the mirrors, the counter space—everything was structured with a life of intimacy in mind.

Jongseong was standing stiffly just inside the doorway, his hands still shoved into the pockets of his dark robes. He looked as out of place as you felt. His eyes flickered over the surroundings, lingering on the details, his expression betraying nothing.

“Well,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “This is… something.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yeah.”

An awkward pause stretched between you. Neither of you moved.

You cleared your throat. “So… Do you want to set some ground rules?”

Jongseong finally looked at you, his head tilting slightly. “Ground rules?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “For… coexisting.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Fair enough.” He nodded toward the hallway. “You can take the bedroom on the left.”

You hesitated. “The Ministry expects us to share one eventually.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “We don’t have to rush into that.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Good.”

Another silence settled. This was going to be excruciating.

You thought the first night would be easier because you had separate rooms. It wasn’t.

The walls were too thin. Every tiny shift, every creak of the floorboards, every sigh of the bed linens as one of you turned over—it was impossible to forget that you weren’t alone. That there was someone else here, just a few steps away, existing in the same space, adjusting to the same forced reality.

You lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, feeling every inch of the strangeness that had settled into your life. The silence of the apartment was deafening. Somewhere beyond your door, Jongseong was doing the same. Not sleeping. Not moving. Just existing in this same, uncomfortable limbo.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there before you heard it—

A soft, almost hesitant knock on your door.

You sat up immediately, heart stammering in your chest. “…Yeah?”

You moved toward the coffee pot, pretending not to notice how he was gripping his quill a little too tightly. The sight of him already reading the regulations booklet made your stomach twist. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know what new absurdities the Ministry had included.

“What’s that?” you asked warily.

Jongseong turned the booklet toward you so you could see the bold title stamped on the front.

A Guide to Magical Marital Expectations: Understanding the Unity Act.

You stared at him. “You’re actually reading that?”

He shrugged, flipping to the next page. “Figured it might be useful to know what we’re legally bound to.”

You sighed, sinking into the chair across from him. “And? What’s in it?”

Jongseong skimmed a few lines before speaking. “Mostly just reinforcing what we were already told. Cohabitation, marital duties, legal ramifications if we break the contract.” He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the page. His jaw tensed slightly, and that was when you knew whatever he had just read wasn’t going to be pleasant.

A beat of silence.

Bravely, you cleared your throat. “What else are you working on?”

Jongseong’s eyes flickered up briefly before he tapped the page with his quill. “Just organizing my work schedule. Trying to figure out how to balance—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “All of this.”

Right. Work. You hadn’t even thought about how this new life would affect your schedules. You needed to figure out yours, his, how to exist in this space without stepping on each other’s toes.

“I have a morning shift at Flourish and Blotts starting tomorrow,” you said after a pause. “And I have an evening class twice a week.”

Jongseong nodded slowly. “I start work at the Ministry at eight every morning. Sometimes later, depending on meetings. But I’m usually back by seven.”

You absorbed that. That meant you’d have the mornings mostly to yourself, but the evenings… “So we’ll see each other mostly at night.”

“Yeah.” His expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. Maybe he was just as wary of that realization as you were.

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly. “And, uh… weekends?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually work on weekends, but I study. And sometimes I meet up with friends.”

Right. Friends. You almost forgot that, despite everything, he had a life outside of this.

That thought stuck with you longer than it should have. Maybe because you were realizing that your life, your freedom, had been traded in for something else. For something you didn’t get to choose.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “Also.” He looked up at you, his dark eyes unreadable. “The shared bed rule.”

You grimaced. “I was hoping they’d forgotten about that part.”

Jongseong sighed, setting the booklet down with more force than necessary. “Unfortunately, the Ministry doesn’t forget anything.”

The booklet sat between you on the table, the pages filled with carefully worded regulations, all designed to ensure that the couples formed under the Magical Unity Act fulfilled their “duties.” The words seemed too sharp, too final, as if they carried an unspoken command beneath them.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your mug as you read the clause for yourself.

Clause 7.3 - Marital CohabitationIn order to promote a natural and successful union, married partners must reside within a shared living space and engage in consistent physical proximity.

It is required that both parties sleep within the same quarters by the third month of marriage.

Noncompliance will result in Ministry intervention.

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a moment. “They’re really monitoring everything.”

Jongseong tapped his fingers against the table, his expression carefully neutral. “We have three months to figure that part out.”

You rubbed your temples. “Three months is… not a lot of time.”

He looked at you for a long moment before setting the booklet aside. “We’ll deal with it when we have to.”

And for some reason, that stuck with you.

Jongseong—or Jay, as his closest friends called him—was totally unamused by his morning conversation.

He sat at his desk in the Ministry, flipping through paperwork as Jake lounged against the opposite desk, watching him with a knowing look. The blond Auror had a casual ease about him, one leg stretched out, a quill spinning between his fingers as he regarded Jay with mild amusement.

“So,” Jake finally said, dragging out the word. “How’s married life?”

Jay didn’t look up. “It’s fine.”

His friend snorted, adjusting his robes as he leaned in. “Oh, come on. I know you better than that.”

Jay set his quill down with a sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

Jake tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know. That she’s unbearable? That she’s the love of your life? That you’ve realized you actually have a thing for arranged marriages?”

Unamused, Jay shot him a flat look. “None of the above.”

But the blond was relentless, he leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. “So, what? You guys are just awkwardly existing in the same space?”

Jay hesitated, fingers tapping against the parchment in front of him. “…Something like that.”

“Is she at least decent company?”

Jay exhaled, stretching his arms before finally looking up. “She’s normal. It’s awkward. We’re trying to figure out how to coexist without making it worse.”

“Makes sense. I mean, you didn’t exactly get a say in this. Neither of you did.”

Jay appreciated that Jake wasn’t trying to force humor into the situation, not like their other friends probably would. Jake had a way of knowing when to joke and when to actually listen, which was why he was one of the few people Jay actually talked to about things that mattered.

the Australian smirked. “Alright, I’ll leave it alone. But tell me one thing.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “What?”

The blond's grin was slow and knowing. “Do you find her attractive?”

Jay’s hand froze mid-page turn.

Jake caught it immediately. “Ohhh. That’s interesting.”

rolling his eyes, setting the file aside a little too forcefully, the married man in question responds. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake laughed, standing up and stretching. “Well, I’d say welcome to married life, but…” He gave his friend a mockingly sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out it’s a mess.”

Jay shoved his hand away. “Get out of my office.”

“See you at lunch, hubby.”

Jay groaned as Jake walked away, already regretting every life decision that had led to this conversation.

Jongseong was a morning person. You learned that quickly.

He was always the first to wake up, moving around the apartment with an effortless ease that was frankly annoying to someone like you, who preferred to cling to sleep for as long as possible. You often woke to the sound of the shower running, the smell of coffee brewing, and the faint rustling of parchment as he read through Ministry documents while waiting for breakfast.

This morning was no different a few weeks later.

By the time you groggily dragged yourself out of bed, Jongseong was already fresh out of the shower, hair still damp, a towel slung low around his waist. His toned chest and broad shoulders glowed slightly in the morning light, water droplets still clinging to his skin as he casually walked toward his dresser, seemingly unaware—or unbothered—by your presence.

You immediately averted your eyes, heart stammering in your chest. But you could still feel him, still sense the heat radiating off his skin, and the way the air seemed thicker in his presence.

“Morning,” he greeted smoothly, voice still slightly hoarse from sleep.

Your throat felt impossibly dry. “Yeah. Morning.”

He smirked slightly, as if noticing your discomfort, and continued dressing—slowly. The deliberate way he pulled his shirt over his head before taking it off again, deciding he wanted a different one, the flex of his muscles, the way he pushed his damp hair back… it was infuriatingly distracting.

You turned toward the kitchen in desperation, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to steady yourself. You were not going to be affected by this.

But then he walked past you, his bare arm brushing against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of your sleeve. You felt the breath hitch in your throat, a sudden rush of awareness sparking along your spine.

You had just taken your first sip of coffee, finally feeling somewhat human, when a loud knock echoed through the apartment. You and Jongseong exchanged a glance.

“Expecting someone?” you asked.

He sighed, setting his mug down. “No. But I have a bad feeling about it.”

The moment Jongseong opened the door, a tall, severe-looking woman in a charcoal robe strode in without invitation. She introduced herself as Ms. Alderton, her expression a mixture of polite authority and thinly veiled scrutiny.

“We’re conducting routine compliance inspections under the Magical Unity Act,” she said, flipping through her clipboard. “It’s a simple process, really. Just verifying that the two of you are… adjusting well to married life.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jongseong had not finished dressing.

He was still only wearing a towel around his waist.

You saw the exact moment Ms. Alderton’s eyes flickered downward—not in a scandalized way, but in a very obvious assessment of the situation.

“Oh.” She blinked, arching an eyebrow. “I see I’ve caught you at a… private moment.”

Jongseong’s entire body tensed. You scrambled to grab his shirt off the chair and shove it at him.

“Right, um, we weren’t expecting company,” you said quickly, willing your face not to burn.

Jongseong took the shirt, clearing his throat as he pulled it on, but not before you saw the way his abs tightened under the scrutiny, the way his fingers twitched as he buttoned his shirt with forced composure.

Ms. Alderton hummed, clearly unimpressed. She began the inspection, moving through the apartment with cold efficiency.

She examined your living quarters, asked too many questions about how often you and Jay were together in the same space, and, of course, dropped the expected question:

“And how are you finding the transition into… intimacy?”

You nearly choked on your tea.

Jongseong, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “We’re taking our time with that,” he said evenly. “As I’m sure the Ministry is aware, not all couples move at the same pace.”

Ms. Alderton gave him a knowing look, scribbling something onto her parchment. “Well, as you both know, there are expectations to be met. We’ll check in again soon.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving the weight of her unspoken warnings hanging in the air.

You let out a long breath, still feeling the residual heat of the morning’s tension clinging to your skin.

At work, Jongseong barely had time to sit at his desk before Jake was on him.

“Alright, listen, I’ve been patient, but you’re dodging, man,” the blond Auror said, plopping down in the chair across from Jay’s desk. “We need to meet her.”

Jay sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Jake gave him a pointed look. “You’ve been married for weeks and we haven’t even met your wife. Sunghoon’s convinced you made her up.”

“We’re fine. We’re adjusting. That’s all you need to know.”

Jake smirked. “See, the more you say it’s fine, the less I believe it.”

“You’re impossible.”

Jake shrugged. “That’s why you love me. So, what do you say? A small get-together. Nothing crazy.”

Jay sighed again, but this time, he hesitated. He knew the Blond wouldn’t let this go.

“I’ll… think about it.”

When Jay got home that evening, you could immediately tell something was on his mind.

“What is it?” you asked, watching as he loosened his tie.

“Jake keeps pushing for us to meet up with him and the guys,” Jay admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I told him we were fine, but he wasn’t buying it.”

You thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe we should.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

You nodded. “I mean, we’re supposed to be building a life together, right? It might help to actually know the people in it. And… if something ever happens, it’d be good to have them as a support system.”

Jay studied you for a moment, then sighed. “Alright. But there’s an issue,” You arched your brow in response, “ They think we’re like them, you know, more settled into our married life” 

“Ah, I see.” 

He chuckled dryly, “And I haven’t had the chance to correct them.”

And that was how you found yourself getting ready to put on a show.

You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge. It was just a night out with his friends—people who, by all accounts, had no real expectations of you beyond existing at Jongseong’s side. But still, as you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for what felt like the tenth time, something in your chest felt tight.

Jongseong passed by behind you, fastening the cuff of his crisp, navy button-up. The color complemented his complexion unfairly well, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms, just casual enough to look effortless.

His reflection met yours in the mirror. “Are you ready yet?” he asked, smoothing a hand through his hair.

You exhaled through your nose. “You act like getting ready is as simple as putting on a shirt.”

He smirked. “It is, actually.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it. Instead, you turned slightly, watching as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing just the faintest sliver of his collarbone. It wasn’t intentional, but it made something stir deep in your stomach.

The silence stretched between you as you turned back toward the mirror. He lingered behind you, close enough that the warmth of his body made the air feel heavier.

His voice came softer this time. “You look fine.”

Fine. Not breathtaking, not beautiful—just fine.

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

Jongseong’s gaze flickered over you, his brows drawing together slightly like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Instead, he just let out a short exhale and reached for his wand. “Let’s go before Jake tracks me down and drags us there himself.”

As he stepped closer, brushing past you to grab his jacket, your breath caught in your throat. The scent of his cologne—clean, warm, just faintly spiced—wrapped around you before you could react. Your skin prickled as he leaned past you, his fingers grazing the dresser beside you.

You didn’t move until he pulled back, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with practiced ease. Jongseong glanced at you once more, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, before he disappeared into the Floo Network.

You stepped into the Floo Network, watching as Jongseong disappeared in a swirl of green flames before following suit. The familiar tug of magic sent you tumbling through the space between, and in the next moment, you landed just behind him in the bustling pub.

The scent of warm ale, roasted meat, and burning firewood wrapped around you, the low murmur of conversation filling the air. The pub was lively but not overly packed—just busy enough to feel comfortably distracting.

Jongseong placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. His touch was light, but it lingered, a silent reminder that this was part of the act.

Jake spotted you first, grinning. “There they are!” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass toward you both. “The happy couple.”

You tried not to stiffen at the word. Happy. That was the goal, right?

Jongseong slipped into the role easily, his arm around your waist a little firmer now. “You make it sound like we’ve been in hiding.”

Jake clapped him on the back as everyone scooted over to make space. “Well, you have! We needed proof you didn’t just run away.”

The conversation flowed smoothly, the group’s laughter blending into the warm, buzzing atmosphere. But you couldn’t help noticing the way Jongseong’s hand lingered on your waist, the way his thumb traced lazy circles over the fabric of your dress. It was subtle—just enough to be convincing, just enough to make your pulse jump.

Sunghoon smirked, raising a brow. “So, how’s married life? Are you two still in the honeymoon phase?”

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, Jay keeps insisting they’re doing just great.”

You felt Jongseong’s hand tighten slightly on your hip as he hummed in agreement. “We are.”

And then, before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.

It was brief, chaste, and yet… oddly intimate. His lips lingered just long enough to make your skin prickle with awareness.

The table burst into cheers.

As the night went on, the conversation shifted from teasing to storytelling. Jake leaned back in his seat, shaking his head fondly. “You know, I still don’t know how the hell Jay managed to get through Hogwarts without completely embarrassing himself.”

Sunghoon chuckled. “That’s because he had us covering for him.”

Jongseong scoffed. “You mean causing more problems than helping?”

Jake smirked. “Call it whatever you want, mate. But let’s not forget that one time you tried to impress a girl by showing off on the Quidditch pitch and almost broke your arm.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Now this sounds like a story I need to hear.”

Jake grinned. “See, back in school, Jay was all business, all the time. But one day, some girl in Ravenclaw was watching him practice, and he got it in his head that he should show off—flew higher than necessary, tried a fancy dive, and nearly knocked himself unconscious.”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, young love.”

Sunghoon leaned in. “Speaking of, we should all introduce our wives one day. Maybe have a proper dinner.”

Jongseong stiffened slightly, and you felt it. But before he could say anything, you jumped in.

“That would be nice,” you said, smiling. “Though, I’ll admit, I’d probably be terrible at hosting.”

Jake waved a hand. “Nah, don’t worry about that. Besides, I heard you’re friends with Riki?”

Your brows lifted. “Yeah, I basically treat him like my little brother.”

Jake laughed. “Figures. We were both in the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. He was a Seeker, I was a Chaser—best duo ever.”

Sunghoon snorted. “And yet, somehow, Jay was the one always getting all the attention.”

Jake groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

The banter continued, light and warm, and despite yourself, you found that you were enjoying it. The illusion of normalcy was beginning to feel real.

Jongseong wasn’t just your forced husband tonight—he was someone who had a past, who had friends that truly cared about him. And maybe, you were starting to see why people cared about him, too.

The moment the Floo Network spit you both out into the apartment, the spell of the night started to break. Gone was the warm, buzzing atmosphere of the pub. Now, there was only quiet, filled with nothing but the ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall and the soft rustle of Jongseong adjusting his sleeves.

You expected him to make some dry remark about the night, maybe joke about Jake’s relentless teasing. But instead, he just stood there, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You blinked, taken aback. “I—yeah. Why?”

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “You were… different tonight.”

Your throat felt dry. “We were both acting.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, unreadable. “I know.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you quite knew what to do now.

The next few days were… different. Not drastic, not obvious, but something had changed. You noticed it in the way Jongseong lingered in rooms a little longer than before, the way his gaze flickered to you more often, the way silence between you no longer felt so hostile—just heavy.

Even the small moments carried weight. The way he passed you a cup of coffee in the mornings without needing to ask how you took it. The way he let his hand linger just a fraction longer than necessary when handing you something. The way your name sounded softer when he spoke it.

It was nothing. It was everything.

And then came the first real break in the routine.

You hadn’t expected to see Jongseong standing outside your workplace that evening. His presence was striking against the backdrop of hurried Ministry employees, his sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a lamppost.

For a moment, you just stared, thrown by the sight of him waiting for you.

It felt unnatural—this wasn’t part of your unspoken agreement. You met in shared spaces at home, interacted when necessary, but waiting for each other? That was… different.

You hesitated before approaching. “What are you doing here?”

Jongseong glanced up, his dark eyes flickering over you before he straightened. “Picking you up.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Since when do we do that?”

Jongseong exhaled, shifting his weight. “Since now.”

You studied him, waiting for an explanation that never came. Instead, he pushed off the lamppost and nodded toward the street. “Come on.”

A flicker of uncertainty settled in your stomach as you fell into step beside him. You weren’t used to this—him reaching out first.

As you walked, the sounds of Diagon Alley surrounded you—shopkeepers closing up for the night, the faint hum of distant chatter, the flickering glow of enchanted street lamps. But the quiet between you was louder.

At some point, he spoke again. “You get along with them.”

You glanced at him. “With who?”

“My friends.”

You hummed. “They’re easy to like.”

Jongseong nodded, his hands tucked into his pockets. His steps were measured, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“They like you too.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your bag strap. Was that what this was about?

“You fit in well,” he added, his voice lower.

Something warm unfurled in your stomach. “Would it have been a problem if I didn’t?”

Jongseong smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Jake would’ve grilled you until you caved.”

You laughed, and for a moment, things felt effortless.

But as you reached the entrance of your shared home, a thought lingered at the back of your mind.

Why did he come to get you in the first place?

It was well past midnight when you shuffled into the kitchen, craving nothing more than a glass of water. You weren’t expecting to see Jongseong standing there, already by the counter, a mug in his hands.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, his gaze flickering down your figure.

It wasn’t until you followed his line of sight that you realized exactly what you were wearing.

A nightshirt. Just a nightshirt. One that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.

You hadn’t thought about it before leaving your room, but now, under his scrutiny, it suddenly felt like the single most scandalous thing you could’ve worn.

Jongseong cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nodded, stepping closer, reaching for a glass. His presence felt larger in the quiet, like it filled the room in ways you weren’t prepared for. Like he was waiting for something neither of you had the words for.

After a moment, you sighed, staring into your mug as if the swirling liquid inside had all the answers. “I texted my parents about… this,” you finally admitted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Two weeks ago.”

Jongseong’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt.

“They never replied,” you continued, voice carefully even. “Not that I was expecting them to.”

Jongseongs fingers tapped lightly against the table, a thoughtful rhythm. “They’re Muggles, right?”

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly have the best relationship with them before this. But I thought—” You paused, exhaling sharply. “I thought they’d at least say something.”

He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice softer than before. “Maybe they just… don’t know how to respond.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Or maybe they just don’t care.”

Jongseong shifted in his seat, glancing down at his hands. He looked like he wanted to say something, to reach for the right words, but he hesitated. Instead, he settled for a careful, almost reluctant, “I’m sorry.”

You lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s fine.”

The silence stretched. The air felt thick. Too thick.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flickering up to yours. And for the first time, you didn’t look away.

His fingers twitched. His jaw tensed. His eyes darkened, just slightly. And then, he took a step back. A deliberate one.

You swallowed. “I should—”

“Yeah.” His voice was lower than before. Rougher. “Me too.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment. And then you did.

The next morning, the reminder came. A letter, crisp and official, waiting for both of you on the breakfast table.

Jongseong opened it first, scanning the words, his jaw tightening. You peered over.

Ministry of Magic Directive 492-B: Cohabitation Progress Assessment As part of your continued marital integration, you are required to submit a Cohabitation Progress Report detailing shared living arrangements and physical proximity. As per Clause 7.3 of the Unity Act, proof of continued cohabitation will be assessed in the next Ministry visit. Failure to comply with expectations may result in reassessment and intervention.

You let out a slow breath. “They’re watching us closer now.”

Jongseong scoffed, tossing the letter aside. “Of course they are.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. Something about the wording unsettled you.

“Physical proximity,” you murmured. “They’re pushing for more.”

Jongseong ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah.”

Silence.

The weight of the words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

“We need to practice.”

You looked up from your book, momentarily caught off guard. “Practice what?”

He closed his own book, exhaling like he had already anticipated your reaction. “Being more… natural with each other. The Ministry is expecting real signs of a relationship, not just two people coexisting in the same space.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “You mean touching, kissing, all of that?”

He nodded, meeting your gaze with a calmness that only made your stomach tighten further. He wasn’t wrong, of course. If anything, you should have expected this conversation to happen sooner. But something about the way he said it—so practical, so unaffected—sent a nervous flicker through your chest.

“How do you want to start?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

Jongseong hesitated for only a moment before he pushed himself off the couch and extended a hand. “Come here.”

You stared at his outstretched fingers, debating, before finally placing your hand in his. His palm was warm, steady, and as he gently pulled you up, you felt your breath catch slightly at how close he was now.

“Hugging first,” he murmured, like he was giving instructions.

You exhaled softly before stepping forward, wrapping your arms around his waist. It felt awkward at first—stiff, calculated—but then, as his arms circled around you in response, something shifted. He was warm, solid, and despite the tension in your shoulders, there was a comfort in the closeness. You felt the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers rested lightly against your back.

“This isn’t terrible,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

You huffed a small laugh, eyes still pressed against his chest. “High praise.”

He chuckled, a small vibration against your body. The silence stretched between you, no longer heavy with hesitation but something else—something unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he finally murmured, “Next.”

You swallowed, stepping back slightly. His hands lingered a second longer than necessary before dropping away.

“Kissing?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Jongseong nodded, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “We should get used to it.”

You inhaled, forcing yourself to meet his gaze head-on. “Alright.”

His fingers reached for your chin, tilting it up slightly, and the air in the room seemed to shift. He didn’t move immediately, as if gauging your reaction, waiting for the tension to settle before he finally leaned in.

The first brush of his lips was light, cautious. Testing.

Your breath caught. It was such a simple touch, barely there, and yet it sent a strange warmth curling in your stomach. His lips were soft, warm, lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pressed in again—this time firmer, deeper.

A slow, deliberate slide of lips.

Your fingers curled involuntarily into his shirt, as if steadying yourself, as his lips moved against yours with a patience that sent your pulse hammering in your ears. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t merely going through the motions. He was learning you.

There was something unbearably intimate about it, something in the way he lingered, in the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist. Like he wasn’t sure where to place his hands, but he knew he didn’t want to let go.

Your own breath had turned uneven, the warmth between you making your skin prickle. You weren’t supposed to feel this. It was just practice. Just a test.

And yet, your heart betrayed you with every second he refused to pull away.

Just when you thought he was done, his lips barely parted from yours, he hesitated—and then he pressed a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips, softer than the first, but somehow infinitely more dangerous.

Your eyes snapped open, breath stalling in your throat.

Jongseong didn’t move for a second, his gaze locked on yours as if waiting for a reaction. Then, he took a small step back, clearing his throat. “See? Not so hard.”

You exhaled shakily, forcing a smirk. “Speak for yourself.”

He smiled slightly, but there was something else there now. Something neither of you were quite ready to address.

That night, long after you had gone to bed, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The feel of his lips hadn’t left you. The warmth of his touch still clung to your skin, lingering in a way that made sleep impossible.

The first morning after the kiss, you had been unsure what to expect. Would he pretend it hadn’t happened? Would the air be awkward between you?

You walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and saw him standing by the stove, making coffee like he always did. The difference was how he looked at you.

"Morning," he said, and before you could respond, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with an ease that made your stomach turn over. The touch was fleeting, barely there, yet entirely intentional.

By the second day, it was a hand at your waist when he passed by you in the hallway, fingers lingering as if testing his boundaries. You weren’t sure when it started feeling natural, but you knew that by the third day, when Jongseong pressed a small peck to your temple as he handed you your morning coffee, you didn’t freeze.

You accepted it.

Maybe even welcomed it.

By then, you had decided that if he could do it so easily, so could you. That morning, before leaving for work, you turned back to him just as you reached the door.

"See you later," you murmured, before pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

It was supposed to be casual, unthinking, but as soon as you stepped back, you caught the slight widening of his eyes before he composed himself. You had caught him off guard.

You swallowed, feigning nonchalance, before leaving quickly. You were the one initiating now.

It was the second evening when Jongseong offered to pick you up from work again.

"If people see us together more often, it might help with the whole convincing thing," he had reasoned.

Logical. Sensible. Everything Jongseong was.

Except when he showed up outside your building, leaning against the stone wall with his hands in his coat pockets, looking entirely unbothered while your coworkers noticed.

"Your husband’s here again," one of them teased as they nudged you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the heat crawling up your neck as you stepped outside. He looked good under the streetlights, the cool air turning his skin slightly pink. His gaze met yours, and something flickered in his eyes before he pushed off the wall and walked toward you.

"Long day?" he asked as he fell into step beside you.

"Exhausting," you murmured. "Thanks for picking me up."

He glanced at you, then, as if on impulse, reached for your hand. Not a performance. Just instinct. His fingers laced through yours with the same steadiness he always carried, and even though you told yourself it was just for show, your pulse didn’t get the memo.

Halfway down the street, you spotted a familiar figure across the road—Jake. He caught sight of you at the same time, waving enthusiastically.

Without thinking, you smiled and waved back. "Jake!"

Jongseong’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, just barely noticeable, but he didn’t say anything.

Jake grinned, giving a knowing look before disappearing into the crowd. You cleared your throat, hoping Jongseong didn’t read into anything. But of course, he had noticed.

The morning of the visit felt different. Heavier.

You woke up to the quiet sounds of Jongseong moving around the flat, the faint scent of coffee drifting through the air. The weight of the upcoming meeting sat in your chest like a stone—there was no ignoring the fact that today, the Ministry would scrutinize everything you and Jongseong had been working toward.

You lingered in bed for a moment longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heat of your own overactive thoughts. Had you practiced enough? Would they believe you? Would they catch on that some of these moments had started feeling far too real?

You sighed, forcing yourself up, and padded into the kitchen. Jongseong was leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he sipped from his mug. His hair was still damp from his shower, sticking to his forehead slightly, and—

You blinked. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Again.

Jongseong barely acknowledged you as he took another sip of coffee, then set the mug down with an exhale. “We should go over a few things before they get here.”

You were still staring at his bare chest, lips slightly parted. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this—Merlin, you lived together now—but something about it felt different today.

“Uh,” you said eloquently. “You’re—”

“I know,” he replied, completely unbothered. “I forgot to grab my shirt from the other room.”

Before you could respond, a loud knock at the door shattered the moment.

Panic seized your chest.

“They’re early?” you hissed.

Jongseong swore under his breath, grabbing for the nearest thing—your cardigan, which had been draped over a chair. He threw it at you before sprinting toward the bedroom, leaving you standing there, gripping the fabric uselessly as another knock sounded.

Forcing down your nerves, you rushed to the door, opening it just enough to see the official standing there, a clipboard in hand.

“Mrs. Park?” the man asked in a clipped tone.

“Yes,” you said, trying to sound composed.

“We’re here for the cohabitation assessment,” he continued, adjusting his glasses as he glanced down at his paperwork. “May we come in?”

You stepped aside, letting them in, just as Jongseong reappeared—this time fully dressed, but slightly breathless. The Ministry official’s gaze flickered between you both, already taking notes.

The official took a seat at the dining table, motioning for both of you to do the same. His assistant, a younger witch with keen eyes, remained standing near the bookshelf, observing.

“We’ll start with some basic questions,” the man said, clicking his quill against the parchment. “How has married life been treating you both?”

Jongseong leaned back slightly, arm draping over the back of your chair in a practiced motion. “It’s been an adjustment,” he said smoothly, glancing at you with what looked like amusement. “But we’re settling in well.”

The official hummed, eyes narrowing. “What would you say has been the biggest change since getting married?”

You hesitated, heart pounding. What was a normal answer?

Jongseong, of course, had no problem answering. “Waking up to each other in the house.”

You nearly choked on air.

The official scribbled something down. “And how do you usually spend your evenings together?”

Your mind raced. Jongseong was the first to respond, again, far too at ease with all of this. “Dinner, talking about our days, sometimes reading together on the couch.”

That was true. But the way he was selling it so smoothly made heat creep up your neck.

The assistant tilted her head. “And your sleeping arrangements?”

The air in the room thickened.

Jongseong barely hesitated. “We have separate rooms for now, but we’re adjusting.”

The official’s quill paused. A bad sign.

“That will need to change,” he said briskly. “As you know, starting next week, it will be mandatory for all married couples under this law to share a bedroom. The Ministry will have enchantments in place to verify compliance. Any deviation from this could result in a reevaluation of your union.”

Your stomach twisted. They were going to monitor your sleeping arrangements?

The assistant added, “It’s a common concern among couples who haven’t previously lived together, but physical closeness is a necessary step toward a successful marriage.”

Your hands clenched beneath the table. Necessary? Successful? What did that even mean in a marriage you hadn’t chosen?

The official leaned forward slightly. “Are you prepared for that transition?”

Jongseong’s grip on the back of your chair tightened just slightly before he nodded. “Of course.”

The official’s gaze flickered between you two, scrutinizing every reaction, every hesitation. “Then we will expect that adjustment to be complete by the next check-in.”

The assistant cleared her throat. “One last thing. We need to verify your comfort with one another.”

You barely had time to process before Jongseong’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him.

You should’ve seen it coming.

His lips brushed against yours softly, gently at first. But the moment your breath caught, the moment he felt your fingers instinctively tighten around his, he pressed in just a little more—lingering, deepening, turning what should have been just for show into something you didn’t know how to categorize.

By the time he pulled away, your pulse was hammering.

The official seemed satisfied. “That will do.”

Jongseong didn’t let go of your hand.

The Ministry left shortly after, having seen enough. The moment the door shut behind them, you turned to Jongseong, heart still racing.

“That was—”

“Convincing?” he supplied, arching an eyebrow. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

You swallowed. “You didn’t have to—”

He cut you off, voice lower. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

You had no answer to that.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.

And, worse still, in just a few days, you wouldn’t be able to avoid the reality of what the Ministry expected from you.

You weren’t just playing house anymore. You were about to start living in it.

You remained standing by the door, arms crossed, still feeling the weight of their scrutiny on your skin. The words lingered between you and Jongseong like an unspoken curse.

You must share a bedroom. You must be physically close. The Ministry will verify.

You turned slowly, eyes meeting Jongseong’s. He was still standing near the table, fingers drumming against the wood. He looked composed—too composed, like he hadn’t just promised the officials something neither of you had fully prepared for.

“You said it so easily,” you muttered.

Jongseong raised a brow. “Would you rather I had hesitated?”

Your arms tightened around yourself. “I don’t know.”

His expression remained impassive, but something in the air shifted—thick, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed. “We have a week.”

“Six days.”

Your gaze snapped up. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “It’s important.”

You exhaled sharply and turned toward the hallway. The flat wasn’t huge, but it had two bedrooms. Your bedroom and his. The safe distance you had clung to was suddenly about to vanish.

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “We need to figure out how to do this.”

Jongseong ran a hand through his hair, considering. “We should start by deciding how to—”

“Who’s moving?” you interrupted. “You or me?”

He blinked. You hadn’t even let him finish.

For some reason, the question flustered him more than he expected. He looked toward his room, then toward yours, then back at you. “I… I guess it makes sense for one of us to move into the other’s space.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s obvious.”

His jaw tensed. “Then why do you sound upset?”

You inhaled sharply. “Because this isn’t normal. None of this is normal.”

Silence. The tension was razor-thin, tight enough to snap, but just as the air felt like it might crack open with unspoken frustration, Jongseong suddenly stepped forward.

Your breath hitched as he reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. His touch was barely there—soft, lingering, as if grounding you before the moment could spiral too far.

Your stomach flipped. The anger, the frustration—it melted in an instant, leaving something quieter in its place.

“I know,” he murmured. “But we don’t have a choice.”

He hesitated for a beat before his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, his fingers barely ghosting your jawline. 

“Baby,” he murmured softly, testing the word, letting it hang between you. His eyes searched yours. “Is that okay?”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the nickname, or the fact that you didn’t mind it.

You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest, but eventually, you nodded.

Jongseong held your gaze for a second longer before his hand dropped, tension breaking just enough for you to exhale again.

You cleared your throat, stepping back slightly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It matters,” he murmured again. His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he turned and walked toward his room. He pushed the door open, revealing a clean and modern space—a bed that somehow seemed too big, a desk neatly arranged, shelves lined with things you hadn’t paid attention to before.

“This will work,” he said simply, like it was nothing. Like moving you into his space wasn’t going to alter everything.

You stepped into the room cautiously, running your fingers along the edge of his desk. This was real now.

Jongseong moved beside you, hands slipping into his pockets. “You’ll take the bed, obviously.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch.”

“No.” The word left you before you could think about it. Because that would be too obvious. Too much space. Too much defiance against what they were expecting.

Jongseong tilted his head. “No?”

You swallowed. “If they’re monitoring, we can’t make it look fake.”

His expression was unreadable. Then, after a long silence, he said, “We’ll take sides.”

You nodded slowly. “Sides.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Neither of you moved.

The weight of the agreement pressed in around you. You would share a bed. You would be inches apart at night. The pretense of distance was officially gone.

Jongseong finally sighed. “I’ll move your things in tomorrow.”

You nodded. Then, after a pause, you took a small step toward him. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

He smirked faintly. “Nothing about this has been.”

You exhaled slowly. “Then we should make it look real.”

Jongseong’s smirk faded slightly. He tilted his head, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. That look. That tension. 

Without thinking, you reached for his wrist, fingers curling around it just briefly before pulling away. Something about touching him first felt necessary.

Jongseong didn’t pull back. Instead, he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing against yours before he murmured, “We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, stepping back. “We have six days.”

His lips quirked. “Five and a half.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. Then, before you could change your mind, you turned and left the room, your pulse still unsteady in your chest.

______________________________________________________________

The first night in the same room felt heavier than you had expected. You sat at the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the sheets as the reality of the situation fully settled over you.

Jay was in the bathroom, the faint sound of running water filling the silence of the bedroom. Your bedroom now. Your bed, which was suddenly meant for two.

When he stepped out, towel drying his hair, you didn’t look up immediately. Instead, you focused on the shifting space around you—the way your books now lined part of his shelf, your blanket was folded at the foot of the bed beside his, your perfume lingered in the air now.

The room was no longer just his. It was becoming yours, too.

Jay let out a slow exhale as he tossed his towel over a chair. When you finally looked up, your gaze caught on the fact that he was shirtless. He had no intention of sleeping in one, it seemed.

“I don’t sleep with a shirt on,” he said casually, noticing your stare.

You swallowed and cleared your throat. “Can you—just for tonight?”

Jay’s brows lifted slightly before he let out a quiet chuckle. “You really think a shirt’s gonna make a difference, baby?”

Your stomach flipped at the nickname, the casual way it rolled off his tongue. The second time tonight.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Just for tonight.”

He sighed, but didn’t argue, grabbing a t-shirt from the dresser and slipping it on before climbing into bed. “Happy?”

You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck and nodded.

“You okay?” he asked after a beat, watching you.

You blinked. That was the first time he’d asked you that all night.

“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “Just… adjusting.”

He hummed, turning onto his back. “You’ll get used to it.”

Would you?

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “We should set some ground rules.”

He nodded, shifting to get comfortable. “Okay. Like what?”

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “No unnecessary touching while sleeping.”

Jay smirked. “You think I’m gonna be all over you in my sleep?”

Your stomach flipped at the teasing edge in his voice. “I think accidents happen,” you countered, narrowing your eyes.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. No unnecessary touching.”

You nodded, though the warmth in your cheeks refused to fade.

“Anything else?” he asked, glancing toward you as he adjusted the pillows.

You hesitated again. “What if, what if one of us wakes up first?”

Jay raised a brow. “Then the other keeps sleeping? That’s usually how waking up works.”

You glared. “I mean, do we pretend to still be asleep? Do we—do we greet each other? What’s the etiquette here?”

Jay let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused. “I dunno. Do you want me to say good morning all soft and sweet? Maybe kiss your forehead while I’m at it?”

You shot him a look, but the mental image sent something warm curling in your stomach.

He grinned. “I’ll just say ‘morning’ and get out of bed. Sound good?”

You nodded. “Okay. That works.”

Jay leaned back against the headboard, watching you for a moment before tilting his head. "By the way," he murmured, "you don’t have to keep calling me Jongseong. Jay is fine."

You hesitated. "Are you sure?"

He smirked slightly. "Yeah. Sounds better when you say it."

Your stomach did an odd little flip at that, but you masked it with a nod. "Alright. Jay." 

“You sure you’re comfortable?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

He hummed again, like he didn’t fully believe you, but didn’t push.

Then, just as you were about to shift under the covers, he reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected softness of the gesture. It was casual, like something natural, something instinctive.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice lower now, almost drowsy. “It’s just me.”

Just him.

The realization settled somewhere deep in your chest as you nodded slowly. You lay back, facing the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the quiet rhythm of the room. Eventually, Jay flicked the bedside lamp off, and darkness swallowed the space between you both.

After a long stretch of silence, you swallowed and, almost in a whisper, asked, "Are you already used to it?"

There was a pause before Jay shifted slightly beside you. His voice was softer than before when he finally answered. "Not yet."

Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. You had spilled coffee on your only clean work shirt, and barely made it to your job on time. Meetings ran over, projects piled up, and no matter how much you tried to get ahead, the day kept dragging you down.

Then, to top it all off, the train home was delayed, and your wand flickered weakly when you tried to summon your keys at the door. By the time you finally stepped inside the apartment, exhaustion clung to your bones, irritation simmering beneath your skin.

You kicked off your shoes with more force than necessary, throwing your bag onto the chair with a frustrated huff. Everything sucked. Absolutely everything.

Then you looked toward the bed.

Jay was already there, half-asleep, his head turned toward the door as if he had been waiting for you. His hair was messy, his bare shoulders peeking out from beneath the covers. The dim lighting made his features softer, relaxed in a way that nearly made you forget how awful your day had been.

“Took you long enough,” he mumbled sleepily.

Your frustration flickered, the sharp edges of it dulling almost instantly. You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Yeah. Today was hell.”

Jay hummed, eyes barely open as he shifted, making just enough space for you. “C’mere, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the way he said it, voice thick with sleep, laced with a quiet warmth that had no right making you feel better. 

You sighed again, but this time it wasn’t frustration—it was something softer, something that melted under the weight of his tired gaze.

You moved toward the closet to change, but Jay groaned softly, burying his face in the pillow. “No, just talk to me. I wanna hear about your day.”

You shook your head, exhaling as you unbuttoned your shirt. “You’re barely awake.”

“So?” he muttered, voice muffled. “Still wanna hear you.”

His insistence chipped away at whatever was left of your bad mood. As you moved through your night routine, you found yourself telling him everything—the stupid meetings, the unbearable commute, the way your boss kept mispronouncing your name even after working together for months.

Jay hummed occasionally, nodding in half-conscious agreement, eyes drifting shut between your sentences. But every time you stopped, thinking he had finally fallen asleep, his voice would break the silence.

“What happened after that?”

“Did you tell them off?”

“Bet you rolled your eyes at least five times.”

By the time you finally crawled into bed, most of the weight from the day had lifted, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled deep in your bones. As you exhaled, sinking into the sheets, Jay shifted beside you. His eyes were barely open, sleep pressing heavy against him, but he still reached out, fingers brushing against your cheek.

Without thinking, he murmured, "C’mere," and before you could register what was happening, he pulled you in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against your lips. It was warm, slow, edged with sleep and something softer, something that made your chest tighten.

By the time he pulled away, his lips barely ghosting against yours, he was already halfway asleep again. "Better?" he mumbled, his voice slurred.

You swallowed, your pulse unsteady. "Yeah," you whispered. Jay’s fingers brushed against your arm as he exhaled a long, satisfied sigh. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Me talking about my day was more for your entertainment than comfort, wasn’t it?”

Jay’s lips curled lazily. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting under the covers. But then Jay mumbled, “No shirt, no pants? I know you don’t like to wear your pants to sleep.”

You exhaled, already feeling the exhaustion tug at your limbs. “Fine.”

His fingers flexed against the sheets, satisfied. “Good. Together, we make one whole pajama set.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jay hummed in agreement, already drifting off. Only when you settled beside him, feeling the shared warmth beneath the blankets, did he finally stop fighting sleep. But before he did, his hand found your cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

Without thinking, he leaned in again, this time pressing a softer, lingering kiss against your jaw. You exhaled slowly, your hands hesitating for only a moment before one of them lifted, fingers grazing the bare skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his lips trailing down to brush a barely-there kiss against the curve of your neck, his hand moving up to cradle the side of your face. 

"Sleep," he mumbled against your skin, voice fading into exhaustion, before finally letting go.

You woke up to warmth. A slow, steady heat radiating from beside you, the blankets feeling heavier than usual. 

Your eyes blinked open to see him still asleep, lying on his stomach, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other stretched out lazily, fingers grazing your side. His breathing was even, his face completely relaxed in sleep. 

You hesitated, watching him for just a moment longer than necessary, before attempting to shift away.

The second you moved, Jay groaned low in his throat. “Stay,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. His fingers flexed against your hip before retracting as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you yet.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at his drowsy tone. “I need coffee.”

Jay cracked one eye open. “You always need coffee.”

You huffed. “And you always wake up in a good mood. How?”

He smirked sleepily, rolling onto his back with a slow stretch, his toned stomach peeking out from under the sheets. “It’s a gift, baby.”

The nickname sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you pushed the covers off before he could catch your expression. “I’m making coffee.”

Jay hummed, still blinking away sleep. “You’re really just gonna get up and leave me like this?”

You paused, turning to glance at him. “Like what?”

He grinned lazily. “Cold and abandoned.”

You scoffed but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so dramatic in the morning.”

Jay only smirked as you made your way to the kitchen, the comfortable ease between you lingering even as you started your morning routine.

Moments later, he joined you, still shirtless, hair a mess, moving to grab a mug from the cupboard. As you handed him his coffee, he leaned in absentmindedly, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder before taking the cup. The motion was so casual, so natural, that it took you a second to process.

You blinked, turning to face him. "Aren’t you kissing me too much?"

Jay stiffened slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. But then his lips quirked, and he leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee.

You watched him for a beat before setting your mug down. "Fine."

Before he could ask what you meant, you leaned in, arms lifting to loosely wrap around his neck as you pressed a soft kiss just beneath his jaw, your lips grazing the warm skin of his neck. You felt the slight shudder run through him, the way his grip on his coffee mug tightened just a fraction. Jay's breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening around his mug.

When you pulled back, you smirked at the way his ears had turned red. "Happy now?" 

"You should kiss me more," he teased.

You shot him a look, passing him a cup of coffee. “You’re lucky I made extra.”

Jay took a sip, sighing in content. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, baby.”

You pretended not to react to the name, but the warmth stayed with you longer than your coffee did.

As you took another sip of your coffee, the quiet hum of the morning was interrupted by the sound of fluttering wings. An owl swooped in through the open kitchen window, landing gracefully on the counter, a neatly tied envelope clutched in its beak.

Jay sighed, setting his mug down as he reached for the letter. "That'll be from my parents."

You watched as he untied the parchment, unfolding it with a slight frown. The owl hooted softly, waiting for a response.

Jay's eyes scanned the page, his expression unreadable at first. Then, with a small exhale, he muttered, "They want to see us."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug. Us.

“You’re staring at it like it’s gonna bite,” he mused, taking a sip of his coffee.

You huffed. “I just don’t know what to expect.”

Jay exhaled through his nose, setting his mug down. “My parents… they’re not bad. Just… traditional. They’ll expect things to look a certain way.”

Your fingers curled around your cup. “And what if they don’t?”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Then we make sure they do.”

There was something unreadable in his expression, something both reassuring and unsettling all at once. He was taking this seriously—not just the Ministry part, but the part where you both had to convince his family, too.

You bit your lip. “One thing at a time?”

Jay smirked slightly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “One thing at a time.”

You weren’t sure why the thought made your stomach twist, but something about meeting Jay’s parents, about having to present this marriage as real to them, felt heavier than anything you had prepared for.

Jay looked at you then, tilting his head slightly. "I can write back later. No rush. Honestly, let’s just get through the last Ministry visit for a while first—then we can deal with my parents."

You swallowed, nodding. "Right. No rush."

The owl flapped its wings, as if impatient, but Jay simply placed the letter aside, returning his focus to his coffee. The weight of the letter lingered in the air between you, unspoken but present.

The morning had started normally enough. Work had been relatively uneventful, save for your coworker Mina pulling you aside as you both sorted through some files in the break room. She leaned against the counter, stirring sugar into her tea with a knowing look in her eyes.

"So," she drawled, "how's married life treating you?"

You blinked. "It’s… an adjustment."

Mina scoffed, taking a sip of her tea. "Adjustment? That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. You barely look married. No ring marks on your fingers, no swooning over your husband’s lunch visits."

You huffed. "He doesn’t visit me at work, but he does pick me up after. And we do kiss and stuff."

Mina’s brows shot up, interest piqued. "Kiss and stuff? So, what, like a peck on the lips? A lingering moment? You making out against the nearest wall?"

Your face burned. "Not making out. Just… normal kissing."

Mina gave you a deadpan look before taking another sip of her tea. "Okay, listen. Make out. Suck his dick. Get laid. In that order."

You nearly choked. "Mina!"

She smirked, unbothered. "What? Jongseong is a total hottie, you’re stressed, and all this weird tension you’re feeling will go away the moment you two start properly acting like husband and wife."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "You are actually the worst."

Mina shrugged, grinning. "I’m just saying, sweetheart, at some point, you’re gonna have to stop pretending this is a polite roommate situation. Might as well enjoy yourself in the process." 

She only laughed, patting your shoulder. "I’m just saying, if you’re already forced to live together, might as well enjoy the perks, right? Bet he’s not bad in bed either."

Mina shrugged, clearly unfazed. "I’m the realist. You’re the one making this more complicated than it needs to be."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fully shake her words from your mind as the day went on.

Jay had suggested going out for lunch—something about fresh air being good for you, but you had a sneaking suspicion he was trying to get you out of your own head. The tension of the upcoming dinner with his parents had been lingering between you both, and he was trying to shift the focus.

The café was cozy, tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the kind of place that blurred the line between magical and Muggle. Small, levitating candles hovered above each table, but there was also a very prominent espresso machine steaming in the background, giving the place a strange but warm blend of both worlds.

Jay was different today. More touchy.

The first time he reached for your hand, it caught you off guard. You had been gesturing while explaining something, only to have his fingers wrap around yours mid-sentence, lacing them together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You blinked down at your joined hands, but he only smirked, continuing to listen as if nothing had changed.

Jay tilted his head slightly. "By the way, you always talk about Niki, but what about your other friends? Jungwon, right?"

You blinked. "Yeah. Jungwon and I have been friends for a while now."

Jay hummed. "Funny. I actually tutored him for like a week back in school."

Your eyes widened. "You? Tutoring Jungwon?"

He smirked. "Yeah. He was struggling with Charms. Thought he could figure everything out by himself, but he kept botching the spellwork."

You laughed. "That does sound like him. How did it go?"

Jay shrugged. "He quit after a week. Said he learned better by messing up on his own."

You snorted. "That sounds even more like him."

Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Guess we’ve had more overlapping connections than I thought."

It wasn’t until later that evening, back at the apartment, that you realized just how much more comfortable Jay had gotten with you.

You were sitting on the couch, legs curled up beneath you as you skimmed through a book, when Jay walked in, plopping down beside you with absolutely no regard for personal space. Without hesitation, he reached for your arm and tugged gently, signaling for you to shift.

You raised a brow. “What?”

Jay smirked. “Come here.”

You scoffed. “Why?”

He sighed, as if you were exhausting, before simply pulling you toward him. You barely had time to react before you were settled against his chest, your back pressed against him as he stretched his legs out comfortably. His arms caged you in, warm and steady.

“Jay,” you muttered, stiffening slightly. “What are you doing?”

“Relaxing.” His voice was easy, like this was normal. Like you hadn’t just settled directly into his lap.

You swallowed, unsure of what to do with yourself. “I—”

“You’re warm,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

The worst part was that he was warm too.

After a few seconds, you exhaled, finally allowing yourself to relax into him. Jay hummed in approval, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear as he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip around you. The touch was fleeting but intentional.

“You really don’t mind all this?” you asked quietly.

Jay chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “Mind it? I’m starting to think I like it too much.”

You sucked in a breath, but before you could respond, he nuzzled against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your ear before closing lightly around it in a teasing nibble. Your breath hitched, and your fingers instinctively gripped his arm.

"Jay—"

He didn't pull back. Instead, his arms tightened around you, and his lips moved lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the curve of your neck. The warmth of it sent a sharp jolt through your spine, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned slightly in his lap, tilting your head toward him.

It happened naturally—his mouth met yours in a kiss that was slower, deeper than either of you had intended. The shift in energy was unmistakable, tension curling between you like an unspoken understanding neither of you wanted to break.

Jay's hands splayed against your back, pulling you closer as your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself. When he bit at your bottom lip, a quiet noise escaped you, and he responded by deepening the kiss, tilting his head as if he couldn't get enough.

By the time you finally pulled away, breath uneven, his forehead rested against yours, his lips just barely brushing over yours again in a lingering tease. Your heart was still racing, your hands still lightly curled against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Jay's breath was still uneven against your skin, his hands resting against your lower back, keeping you close. You could still feel the warmth of his lips, the lingering tension settling between you both like an unspoken acknowledgment.

His arms tightened slightly, and he nuzzled against your cheek, pressing a barely-there kiss against your temple. "You feel safe," he murmured, his voice lower, softer.

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Jay exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself in your presence. "With you. I feel safe with you."

The confession sent a warmth through your chest that you weren’t prepared for. Your fingers twitched slightly against his shirt, caught between the instinct to pull away and the need to stay exactly where you were.

Jay tilted his head, his nose brushing against your cheek. "You like taking care of me, don’t you?" he mused, teasing but sincere.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "You’re impossible."

His smirk returned, albeit softer this time. "Maybe. But I think you like me this way."

You huffed, shaking your head, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself sink just a little further into his embrace, knowing—deep down—you weren’t quite ready to let go yet.

"Told you you'd get used to it," he murmured, his voice husky.

“Jay,” you warned, though your voice came out softer than intended.

He only smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder like he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “You’re overthinking again, baby.”

And you hated that he was right.

You had been dreading the Ministry’s visit from the moment the letter arrived, confirming the final scheduled check-in before a long evaluation period. It was supposed to be a relief—this was the last time, for a while at least, that an official would come snooping around, dissecting your marriage like it was an experiment instead of your actual life.

But relief was the last thing you felt.

There was something suffocating about the expectation of passing. You and Jay had gotten good at playing your roles, good at the casual touches, the familiarity, the easy, teasing back-and-forth that had started feeling more real than pretend. But today, something felt… off.

Maybe it was because the words still echoed in your mind.

You should kiss me more.

You feel safe.

Jay had said it so easily, as if it was second nature to him now, to be comfortable around you. But comfort didn’t mean security, and today, everything felt like it was hanging by a thread.

The Ministry official, a stern-looking woman with wire-rimmed glasses, sat across from you both in the living room. A notepad in her hands, quill poised. Watching. Always watching.

“So,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “We’ve received positive reports so far on your integration as a married couple. How has the transition been?”

Jay, as always, was calm, composed, charming. “It’s been good. We’ve built a routine, settled into daily life together.”

Her eyes flickered to you. “And you?”

You swallowed. “It’s… an adjustment, but I think we’re getting there.”

The Ministry woman nodded, making a note. “Good, good. And the cohabitation aspect? Shared space, sleeping arrangements?”

Jay didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

You nodded, feeling the walls close in around you. You wondered if she could sense the strange weight in the air, the tension neither of you had fully addressed.

She glanced down at the file in her lap. “As you know, by the next evaluation period, the Ministry will be monitoring this aspect through magical verification. We must ensure that your union progresses naturally.”

Naturally. As if any of this had been natural from the start.

Her gaze sharpened. “And, of course, I must remind you that by the second year of marriage, procreation is expected. The Ministry understands that adjustments take time, but ultimately, your union is meant to strengthen the magical bloodlines.”

Your stomach clenched. Jay’s jaw tensed.

“Understood,” Jay finally said, his tone even.

You managed a nod, even though your heart was pounding in your ears. The official studied you both for a moment longer before standing, closing her folder.

“I believe that will be all for now,” she said, giving a tight smile. “We will check in again at the next scheduled period. Until then, I suggest you continue settling into your roles as husband and wife.”

And just like that, she was gone. But her words lingered, thick like smoke in the room.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Then, Jay let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that was fun.”

Your jaw clenched. “Fun.”

He glanced at you, sensing the shift in your tone. “What?”

You stood abruptly, pacing toward the kitchen, needing space. “Nothing.”

Jay sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Come on, baby, just say it.”

And maybe it was the way he said it—so effortlessly, so casually, as if nothing had just happened—that made something in you snap.

“Say what, Jay?” You whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “That I hate this? That I hate how the Ministry talks about children like we’re required to breed for them? That I hate how we have to act like our lives are some scripted performance?”

Jay exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You think I don’t hate it too?”

“Do you?” The words were out before you could stop them, sharp, biting. “Because sometimes it feels like you’re perfectly fine pretending.”

Jay’s expression darkened. "I’m trying to make the best of this, but you act like I’m the enemy. We’re in this together, or have you forgotten that?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Together? Jay, sometimes it feels like you don't even care. Like you're just rolling with this because it's easier for you."

Jay’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his posture stiffening. "What do you mean I don't care? Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wake up every morning thrilled about the fact that my life got rewritten by some Ministry law?"

You exhaled sharply. "I never said that."

"No, but you sure as hell act like I’m the one who forced you into this." His voice was sharper now, frustration laced into every word. "I’ve been trying, okay? Trying to make this livable, trying to make it easier for both of us. But every time I do, you push back like you’d rather pretend I don’t exist."

You crossed your arms, hating the way his words stung. "I don’t pretend you don’t exist, Jay. I just—" You swallowed hard. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to balance what’s real and what’s not," Your heart pounded, "I haven’t forgotten that we're in this together. But maybe I wish we weren’t."

Jay’s entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, but no less sharp. "What do you mean, you wish we weren’t?"

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. "Jay—"

"No, say it," he pressed, his voice laced with something raw. "Has this all just been an inconvenience to you? Have I just been another part of the mess?"

You inhaled shakily. "That’s not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His eyes bore into yours, frustration and something else—something closer to hurt—bleeding into his gaze.

You hesitated. "I just meant… I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore."

Jay’s expression darkened further, his frustration spilling over. "It’s all real, because this is our life now! This isn’t some fantasy, or some nightmare you can wake up from. This is it. We’re here, together, and no amount of wishing it away is going to change that."

Jay let out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe it isn’t normal, but it’s ours. And if we keep tearing it apart every time something doesn’t go the way we want, then what the hell are we even doing?"

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Neither of you willing to be the first to break it.

The silence that followed was deafening. Jay’s face didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did. A flicker of something that looked like hurt.

And then, just like that, the moment passed.

His jaw clenched, his voice measured. “We have dinner with my parents tonight.”

You inhaled sharply, your stomach twisting. You had completely forgotten in the middle of the chaos.

“Great,” you muttered. “Can’t wait.”

Jay exhaled, stepping back. “Just… get ready. We’ll deal with this later.”

The carriage ride to Jay’s family estate was quiet, tense. You barely spoke, both still reeling from the heated argument earlier. Jay’s gaze was fixed outside the window, jaw tight, and though you knew this dinner was important, you couldn’t shake the unease crawling under your skin.

By the time you arrived, the grandeur of the Park estate was impossible to ignore. The house—no, the manor—was a striking example of old magic, the kind of wealth that had been passed down for generations.

Tall wrought-iron gates opened with a soft creak, revealing sprawling courtyards lined with lantern-lit pathways, their glow flickering in the cool evening air. The mansion itself was regal, its high stone walls blanketed in ivy, windows aglow with warm golden light.

Jay straightened the moment the carriage stopped, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by something practiced. Reserved. This was his world, and you were only stepping into it.

A house-elf opened the massive front doors before either of you could knock, ushering you into a vast foyer lined with polished marble floors and an intricately carved staircase leading to the upper levels. The walls were adorned with enchanted portraits, all featuring past generations of the Park family—stoic figures in rich robes watching you with unsettling scrutiny.

Jay’s mother was waiting in the grand entrance hall, regal as ever. Her dark hair was elegantly styled, her robes immaculate, her presence exuding the effortless grace of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

"Jongseong," she greeted, her voice smooth but edged with expectation. "It’s been too long."

Jay nodded, a polite smile barely reaching his eyes. "You know how it is."

His father stood just behind her, taller than Jay, his presence commanding even in silence. His features were sharp, his stare assessing, but there was a flicker of curiosity when he glanced at you.

His mother’s gaze shifted toward you, scanning with the precision of someone accustomed to weighing worth. "And you must be my daughter-in-law."

The title landed heavily. Daughter-in-law. It sounded more binding coming from her than it ever had from a Ministry official.

You dipped your head slightly. "It’s lovely to meet you."

She studied you for a long moment before giving a small nod. "Come in. Dinner is ready."

The dining room was ornate and intimidating, the kind of place where silence held weight. A long, polished table stretched across the room, set with fine china and gleaming silverware. Floating candles hovered overhead, casting a warm but almost oppressive glow on the deep mahogany walls lined with more ancestral portraits.

Dinner was served in meticulously timed courses, each plate appearing at the perfect moment as house-elves moved soundlessly through the space. The food was exquisite, but you barely tasted it—your mind too occupied with the undercurrent of tension between you and Jay.

His parents, though polite, were assessing you, their questions carefully crafted to evaluate rather than genuinely get to know you.

"Tell me," his mother finally said, dabbing her lips with a pristine napkin, "how have you been adjusting to married life?"

You forced a smile. "It’s been an adjustment, but we’re finding our way."

Jay’s father hummed, swirling his wine glass. "Finding your way?" His sharp eyes flickered between the two of you. "That’s an interesting choice of words."

You felt Jay tense beside you. "We’re managing just fine."

His mother tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharper than before. "Did you two have a fight?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller. Had they already noticed?

Jay let out a measured sigh, fingers tightening slightly around his fork. "It’s nothing. Just—" he exhaled, sparing you a quick glance, "a disagreement."

His mother hummed thoughtfully, setting her napkin down beside her plate. "Marriage isn’t about never fighting. It’s about how you handle the fights."

His father nodded, his deep voice breaking the tense silence. "A marriage built on avoidance will always crumble. Disagreements are inevitable, but how you choose to move forward from them is what matters."

The weight of their words settled heavily between you and Jay, a third presence at the table. It wasn’t accusatory, nor was it particularly comforting—it was simply fact. And it left you feeling exposed.

His mother’s gaze lingered on Jay for a moment longer before softening just a fraction as she turned back to you. "It will take time, but if you are both willing to build something real from this, then you must learn to meet each other halfway."

You swallowed, nodding slowly. Halfway.

After dinner, as the plates vanished and the dining room emptied, Jay’s mother turned to you with a calm, knowing expression. "Come," she said, rising gracefully from her seat. "Let’s wash our hands before dessert."

You hesitated for only a moment before following her, feeling Jay’s gaze linger on you as you exited the room. The air in the corridor was cool, laced with the scent of fresh linen and aged parchment. You expected her to lead you directly to the washroom, but instead, after you rinsed your hands, she gestured toward a side door that opened into a moonlit garden.

"A walk will do us both some good," she murmured, stepping outside.

The estate grounds were vast, illuminated by the soft glow of floating lanterns. The paths were lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and arching trellises of enchanted flowers that bloomed faintly in the evening air. It was quiet, serene, the opposite of the tension you had felt all night.

She walked beside you in silence for a few moments before speaking. "I can see the weight you’re carrying, dear. You don’t need to hide it from me."

You exhaled slowly. "It’s just… a lot. Adjusting, trying to understand what all of this means, what’s expected of me… and Jay."

Her lips curled slightly, not unkindly. "My son is… difficult at times. But I know him well."

You glanced at her, uncertain. "You seem to know a lot about us already."

She chuckled. "I know marriage is not easy, especially one like yours. But I also know that my son is not as indifferent as he pretends to be. He may act as though he’s handling everything well, but I see the way he looks at you. And I see the way you look at him, even when you don’t realize it."

You swallowed. "I don’t know how to make this work."

She stopped walking, turning to you. In the dim light, her gaze was softer than before. "Then start by meeting him where he is. And let him meet you there, too."

You nodded slowly, her words settling deep within you.

Then, as if sensing your next question, she offered a small smile. "If I know my son—and I do—he’s waiting for you upstairs. In his old bedroom. He may be stubborn, but he won’t go to sleep without trying to fix things."

The warmth in her voice was unexpected, and when she placed a gentle hand on your arm, she added, "Call me Mom. Family is built over time, but you’re part of ours now."

Something in your chest tightened, but you found yourself nodding, feeling the smallest bit lighter.

"Go to him," she murmured, stepping back toward the house. "The night is long, but love is patient."

The hallways of the Park estate were quiet, dimly lit by sconces casting soft, flickering light. The house smelled like old parchment, polished mahogany, and something herbal—like a potion left brewing long enough to become part of the walls. The weight of history pressed in on you as you followed the familiar path to Jay’s childhood bedroom.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you stood outside his door, slightly ajar, warm lamplight spilling onto the dark floorboards. Your heart was a riot in your chest, each beat slamming against your ribs.

You pushed the door open.

Jay was there. Waiting.

He sat on the edge of his bed, one elbow propped on his knee, fingers pressed to his temple like he had the beginnings of a headache. His sleeves were still rolled up, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his shirt hung loosely over his frame, collar slightly undone like he’d been tugging at it in frustration. His hair was tousled—from his hands, or maybe from the weight of the night.

He looked up as you entered. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders tensed.

The room was suffocatingly personal. The bed, bigger than you expected, was covered in dark gray sheets that had long lost their crispness. The walls, lined with old Quidditch posters and bookshelves crammed with textbooks and novels, spoke of a younger, more ambitious Jay—one you had never known.

Your throat tightened. This was his space. His past. And now you were stepping into it.

You shut the door behind you, your breath unsteady.

“Your mom told me you’d be here,” you said softly.

Jay scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "Of course, she did."

The silence that stretched between you was thick with unspoken things. You shifted on your feet, nerves crawling up your spine. It shouldn’t be this hard to talk to him.

You exhaled. "She also told me to call her Mom."

That got his attention. His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to decide if you were serious. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "She gave me some advice, too. About meeting halfway."

Jay inhaled deeply, rubbing at his temple before looking at you fully. "Sounds like her."

More silence. It wasn’t cold anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Just hesitant. Fragile.

Finally, he sighed. "I don’t like fighting with you."

The words hit you harder than they should have. A lump formed in your throat. "Me neither."

Jay’s eyes softened just slightly, his posture relaxing the smallest bit. "I meant what I said earlier. This… us. It’s real, whether we wanted it to be or not."

You swallowed against the sudden sting behind your eyes. Real. That word lodged itself deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You took a slow step forward. Then another. And another, until you were standing between his knees.

Jay’s hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

"I don’t know how to do this," you whispered, voice tight.

Jay’s throat bobbed as he exhaled, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His hands slid up your hips, fingers digging into your waist just enough to make you feel it.

“Then let’s figure it out together,” he murmured.

A small, broken sound escaped you before you could stop it. His grip tightened.

Tears slipped past your lashes, and Jay’s entire expression shifted. His fingers brushed up, cradling your face, wiping them away.

"Baby, hey—" his voice dropped lower, raw. "Why are you crying?"

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You sucked in a breath. "You call me baby like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like we’re normal. And I don’t know what to do with that."

Jay studied you for a long moment, then tilted his head forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

His warmth seeped into your skin, anchoring you. He smelled like home.

"You don’t have to do anything with it," he murmured. "Just let me hold you."

You let out another shaky breath before you did something you hadn’t done before.

You settled into his lap.

Jay’s entire body stiffened, but he didn’t stop you. His arms came up instinctively, wrapping around your waist, holding you tighter, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Your fingers toyed with the edges of his collar, trailing along the warm skin just beneath it. His pulse thrummed under your fingertips, fast but steady.

Then, without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant—a brush of lips meant to test the waters. But when Jay sighed against your mouth and pulled you flush against him, the hesitation melted away.

He kissed you deeper.

You could feel everything in the way he held you—his hands sliding up your spine, his fingers tracing your ribs, the weight of every moment leading up to this one.

By the time you pulled away, you were breathless. Your forehead rested against his, lips still tingling.

Then, in a hushed, teasing voice, you whispered, "I love it when you smother me with yourself. It makes me feel beautiful."

Jay froze.

Then—a deep, rich laugh rumbled in his chest. He tipped his head back, grinning. "What?"

Your cheeks burned. "It sounded better in my head."

Jay’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing over your temple as he chuckled. "God, you’re ridiculous."

You hummed, tracing absent patterns over his chest. "But you love it."

Jay exhaled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as if he belonged there. "Yeah, baby," he murmured against your skin. "I do."

For the first time that night, everything felt right.

The morning sun poured through the windows the next morning, casting golden streaks across the bedroom floor. You stirred slightly, feeling warmth wrapped around you—solid, firm, undeniably Jay.

His arm was draped over your waist, his breath hot against the back of your neck, slow and steady. His entire body was flush against yours, the weight of his leg thrown over yours, as if he had unconsciously tangled himself around you in the night.

You froze, hyper-aware of every point of contact. His hand splayed low on your stomach, fingers curled just barely under the hem of your shirt. His breath fanned over the shell of your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Then, he tightened his grip.

You sucked in a breath as his fingers flexed against your skin, pulling you back against him. A low hum rumbled in his chest, deep and sleepy.

"Mmm. Stay," he muttered, voice thick with sleep, gravelly in a way that made your stomach flip.

You should move. You should pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him, just for a second. The feel of him—his bare skin against yours, the solid press of his body—had your mind spiraling into dangerous places. He was so warm, so strong, so impossibly close.

Your breath stuttered as you felt his fingers slide just a little lower, his palm pressing just a little firmer.

And then, realization hit.

You jerked away, heart hammering, but Jay barely reacted. He let out a tired groan, stretching his arm over his head before blinking at you through half-lidded eyes.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was hoarse, his gaze still heavy with sleep.

You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to stay even. "Nothing. Just… we should get up."

Jay smirked, lazy and knowing.

"If you say so, baby."

The walk home was silent, but thick. Every brush of your arms, every accidental glance, every moment of quiet between you carried an unbearable weight.

You weren’t sure when it had started—this undercurrent of something more, something dangerous. But you could feel it burning beneath the surface.

When you stepped inside the apartment, the air changed.

Jay lingered near the kitchen, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. He watched you, gaze heavy, unreadable. You could feel it—the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You’re different."

You glanced at him. "So are you."

His lips quirked. "That a bad thing?"

You didn’t answer. Because no, it wasn’t. And that was the problem.

It started small. A test. A game.

You began pushing his buttons—on purpose.

Brushing past him with too much force. Leaning in just a little too close when speaking. Letting your fingers trail over his wrist absentmindedly, just to see if he’d react.

And Jay? He played back.

His palm ghosting over the small of your back when he passed behind you. His lips brushing your ear as he murmured something teasing. His fingers trailing down your spine for just a second too long.

Then came the moment when he finally called you out.

One night, as you passed him in the hallway, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

He turned to face you, his eyes dark, smirk sharp.

"What’s this, baby? Trying to get my attention?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been. But you weren’t about to admit it.

You scoffed. "In your dreams."

Jay chuckled, but there was something dangerous in his expression now.

"Oh, I think you’ve been in my dreams, too."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was winning. And you couldn’t have that.

So, you did something reckless.

As you moved past him, you let your fingers drag over his stomach, just barely skimming the skin exposed by his loose shirt.

Jay stiffened.

For the first time, he looked affected. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his sides.

Then, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You keep playing with fire, baby."

You turned, eyes locking onto his. "And what if I am?"

His lips parted. His fingers curled into fists.

He was so, so close to losing it.

It happened in the smallest, most ridiculous way.

You were reaching for something on the top shelf in the kitchen when Jay stepped behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his hand effortlessly grabbing it before you could.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice low and deep in your ear.

You froze. Every inch of him was against you. His chest, his hips, his hands.

Then, you pressed back against him.

Jay let out a quiet, shaky breath. His fingers dug into your waist.

"You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he whispered. His lips brushed your ear, his breath warm.

You turned slightly, your lips just barely grazing his.

"Then show me."

And that was it. That was the moment. Jay grabbed you, spun you, backed you against the counter.

His mouth crashed against yours—needy, desperate, hungry. A gasp escaped you, swallowed instantly by his lips. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with ease.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, so, so close.

Jay broke the kiss, panting, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands shook as they held onto you. "Tell me to stop."

You shook your head. "Don’t you dare.".

The air between you and Jay was electric, charged with unspoken desire that had been simmering for far too long. It was too much now, a weight pressing down on you both, demanding to be released. When his lips finally claimed yours, it was with urgency, with hunger, as if he had been holding back for months.

The kitchen—such a normal, mundane setting—was suddenly transformed into something far more intimate, more dangerous. The cool granite countertop pressed into your back as Jay’s lips crushed against yours, sending shockwaves through your body.

At first, your lips parted in surprise, but the moment you surrendered, it was over. His kiss was hungry, his mouth moving fervently against yours, tasting, exploring, claiming. His tongue swept inside, demanding, possessive, like he was marking you as his own.

A soft moan escaped you, a sound of surrender, of need.

It seemed to unleash something in him.

His hands, which had been resting gently on your thighs, tightened with fierce intensity. His long fingers dug into the soft flesh, leaving imprints as he pushed you further into the counter, molding you against him. Your back arched instinctively, pressing your body closer, craving more of the heat between you.

The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier. A whimper slipped from your lips, and Jay responded with a deep, primal growl, his mouth leaving yours to trail fire along your jaw, your neck.

“God, baby,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, wrecked. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling in your stomach. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

Your thoughts were incoherent, lost in the sheer intensity of him.

Your hands, which had been resting against his broad shoulders, now tangled in his dark hair, tugging, pulling him closer. You needed more, needed to be consumed by him, needed to drown in the way he was touching, kissing, ruining you.

"Do something about it," you whispered, your voice thick with want, raw with need.

It was a challenge, a dare—one that Jay was more than willing to accept.

With a feral grin, he pulled back, his eyes dark with pure desire. “Oh, I will.” His voice was low, dripping with promise.

In a swift motion, his hands gripped your waist, strong fingers spanning your sides as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his hips on instinct, as if you had done this dance with him a thousand times before.

And then, you felt it.

His hardness pressing against you, just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to send a delicious thrill racing down your spine.

Jay devoured your mouth as he carried you out of the kitchen, his footsteps unsteady, his grip unrelenting. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, matching his fervor with your own.

The urgency between you both was palpable, nearly unbearable.

By the time Jay kicked open the bedroom door, his lips never leaving yours, his hands never loosening their grip on you, your entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out.

He stumbled inside, kicked the door shut with his foot, and suddenly, everything blurred.

You barely had time to register the bed before you were falling onto it, your body sinking into the mattress as he followed, covering you, pressing you down, making sure you felt every inch of him.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growled, his voice thick, rough with need. “Every fucking day, I’ve fantasized about having you, about claiming you like this.”

Your fingers traced the strong lines of his jaw, relishing the roughness of his unshaven skin.

"Then take me," you whispered, a boldness you didn’t even know you possessed. “Make me yours.”

Jay’s response was immediate.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head, his grip firm but careful. His free hand roamed, tracing your curves, exploring, memorizing.

His thumb brushed over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, your body arching instinctively.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, his voice like gravel, heavy with restraint. “All of you.”

Your heart pounded as you sat up, pulling your shirt over your head, revealing the delicate black lace beneath.

Jay’s eyes darkened. His breath hitched.

Releasing your wrists, his hands moved to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened peaks, rolling, stroking, watching you squirm beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips finding yours again, a searing, devastating kiss.

His mouth trailed down, down, down, leaving a path of kisses, nipping, sucking, making you tremble beneath him.

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, and you arched into him, desperate.

"Please, Jay," you begged, your voice a breathless plea. "I need you."

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Oh, you’ll have me, baby. But first… I want to taste you."

And then, he did.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers—all of him, taking his time, taking you apart.

You were a trembling, gasping mess beneath him, gripping the sheets, crying out his name.

And when you finally shattered, when he pulled every last moan from your lips, he moved back over you, watching you, waiting, drinking in the sight of you undone beneath him.

You reached for him, pulling him down, wrapping yourself around him, whispering his name.

And when he finally slid into you, deep and slow, filling you in one smooth stroke, you knew. This wasn’t just need. This wasn’t just hunger.

This was everything.

Jay buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning as your body clenched around him, gripping him perfectly. He moved slow, deep, deliberate. Like he wanted to make sure you felt everything. Like he wanted to ruin you.

And he did. He whispered your name against your skin.

And when you both tumbled over the edge together, it wasn’t just ecstasy. It was something more.

Something terrifying, something dangerous, something neither of you were ready to name. Afterward, Jay didn’t move.

He just held you, his lips pressing absentminded kisses against your temple, your jaw.

The sheets were a tangled mess beneath you, the room still thick with the remnants of last night—the heat, the whispered names, the overwhelming need.

But morning had arrived, and with it, clarity.

You lay still, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, stomach twisting. You could feel him beside you, the warmth of his body still clinging to yours, the weight of his arm draped lazily over your waist.

You should move. You should get up.

Instead, you stayed still, afraid to break the moment. Afraid of what came next.

Then, Jay stirred.

A slow inhale. A shift of weight. Then, his hold on you tightened.

“Baby, you know I'm in love with you right?” he murmured, his voice thick, raspy from sleep.

Your stomach flipped, heat rising to your cheeks at the way the word slipped so effortlessly from his lips.

Then, he pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder.

Something inside you clenched at the tenderness of it. The way his lips lingered, soft and warm, like he was memorizing you, grounding himself in the feel of you.

It was so different from last night. Last night had been fire, hunger, pure desire. But this? This was something else entirely.

Something terrifying.

You swallowed hard, your body going stiff beneath his touch. He noticed.

Jay let out a quiet exhale, his fingers tracing soothing circles over your hip. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I meant what I said.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His words. The confession you hadn’t acknowledged.

“I know,” you whispered.

He shifted, his grip tightening just slightly, as if afraid you’d slip away. His lips found your bare shoulder again, pressing another slow, lingering kiss.

“My Doll,” he murmured, his voice softer this time, but still weighted with emotion. “You don’t have to say anything. Not yet.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his for the first time that morning. He looked different.

Softer. More open. But just as intense. Your lips parted, but no words came. Because what could you say? You weren’t ready. You weren’t sure what this was.

But Jay just smiled, small and knowing, like he understood anyway.

“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just… let me be here with you.”

Your chest tightened. That was the problem. He was already here. Closer than he had ever been. You didn’t know if you had it in you to push him away.

It took days. Maybe longer. But it was always there, lingering between you.

Jay never said it again, but you could feel it in everything he did.

The way he pulled you close when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he touched you—not just with heat, but with reverence. The way he whispered "Baby" like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But the moment it finally hit you, it was almost embarrassing how obvious it had been all along.

It wasn’t in the quiet nights, or the way he held you in his sleep.

It was something as simple as Jay waiting for you outside of work.

It had been a rough day. One of those days where everything felt heavy. And when you stepped outside, seeing him leaning against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, waiting for you like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It hit you like a train.

He smiled the second he saw you, pushing off the post and walking over like he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

And instead of answering, you just stood there, staring at him—this man who had somehow become everything.

Jay frowned slightly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You let out a breath, and before you could stop yourself, the words just slipped out “I love you.”

Jay stilled. His fingers twitched against your cheek, his expression unreadable.

Then, his lips parted. “Y/N…”

You panicked. “I—I mean it too I-”

But before you could take it back, Jay was already moving, already kissing you like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear you say those words.

And when he finally pulled back, breathless, a little dazed, he just grinned.

“You can say it again, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he leaned in and whispered, “Say it again, baby,” you did.

Because you meant it.

Months later, the apartment felt different. Warmer. More like a home than a place you had been forced into.

The nursery had been Jay’s latest obsession. He had spent the entire day painting the walls, rearranging furniture, making sure everything was perfect. And now, he was sprawled across your bed, half-asleep, waiting for you.

You stood in the doorway, hand resting on your six-months-pregnant belly, watching him with amusement. His shirtless form was stretched across the mattress, hair still messy from the day’s work, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“Babe,” you called softly.

He groaned. “Mmm.”

You stepped forward, nudging his foot with yours. “You’re hogging the bed.”

Jay cracked one eye open, a slow, sleepy grin spreading across his lips. “And you’re glowing, mama.”

You rolled your eyes, crawling into bed beside him, letting out a relieved sigh as you sank into his warmth. Jay turned onto his side, one large hand coming to rest on your belly, thumb rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your shirt.

“Tired?” you asked.

“Exhausted,” he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “But you’re worth it.”

You smiled, letting your fingers trace the ridges of his forearm. “You’ve been working too hard.”

Jay hummed, shifting closer, his lips grazing your jaw, your cheek. “You’re carrying my kid. I’d build a whole damn castle if you wanted one.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He nuzzled against your cheek, voice growing drowsy. “Only for you, my Doll”

You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

Jay smiled into it, whispering, “Can’t wait to meet them.”

Your heart squeezed, warmth flooding through you.

“Me too,” you whispered, letting yourself sink into him. “Me too.”

Then, in his half-asleep state, he muttered, “But if they have your stubborn streak, we’re doomed.”

You snorted. “Then you better start preparing now.”

He pulled you in tighter, his lips brushing your forehead. “I already have everything I need.”

You yawned, stretching your fingers along his bare chest before whispering, “Come here, baby.”

Jay let out a pleased hum, shifting fully into your arms, resting his head against your shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around you, careful yet firm, his warmth seeping into your skin as he melted into you.

“Mm, I like it when you call me that,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

You smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Good. Because I’m not stopping.”

As sleep began to claim you both, Jay murmured, “You know, I hated every second of that damn law.”

You sighed, your fingers tightening against his chest. “Me too.”

“But…” he continued, his voice soft and full of something deep, something real, “I’ve loved every second with you.”

You smiled, pressing a final kiss to his skin. “Me too, Jay. Me too."

fin.

taglist: @wonnienyang @firstclassjaylee @belle643 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heelovesmeknot @heeseunggotrizz @jaeyunsbimbo @immelissaaa @somuchdard @jkslvsnella @vernorica123 @lillotus17

[causenessus]

foggy days . . . | chuuya + dazai

chuuya x gn!reader + dazai x gn!reader (seperate scenarios!)

"...god loves you, but not enough to save you. so good luck taking care of yourself." (sun bleached flies / ethel cain)

↑ you don’t have to take care of yourself alone. people come into your life and you enter those of others' so that everyone helps take care of each other. to be human is to love more than god can. more than god ever intended. - ness <3

3.2k words

notes: my og title was super long for this work so i’ve split it up into three parts each with their own song lyrics bc i’m in my yearning era. hopefully everything makes sense :> there is no longer any continuity between the formats of any of my posts and idrc. a little suggestive in chuuya's, a little bit of tongue action, once again i'm a whore for manga-chuuya so don't be offput by his eyes being described as brown LMAO. lots and lots of comfort, basically scenarios of chuuya/dazai + you on a foggy day,,, enjoy <3

thank you to @osamucide for helping me w/ dazai's choice of song <3 this ones for u <3 smooching u <3 ily <3 my life is dedicated to u <3 what a coincidence the lyrics you associated him linked directly back to the ending line i wrote for his scenario before i had even asked you for suggestions <3 we're just soulmates like that <3 mwah <3

. . . kisses on the tip of your nose (chuuya)

“hey, do you wanna see the west with me? ‘cause love’s out there and i can’t let it be." "...love’s never meant that much to me, but i’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need.” (thoroughfare  / ethel cain)

on foggy days, chuuya finds you on a bench underneath the warm flood of light from a lamp post above. air is transparent; it has no color, the phenomenon behind fog is simply that the air has become denser, increasing its visibility while lowering the sight lines of others. yet the humid air eagerly reflects and intensifies any color that shines through it, which allows for the sight in front of him now: like a flickering candle in the middle of a dark room, the throw of the single beacon of light on what must be yokohama’s foggiest day frames and spills atop the crown of your head, making you look more angelic than you already always do. if he had a camera on him, maybe he’d try to take a picture, assuming that the fog wouldn't harbor the clarity of the lens.

you think he looks cute, standing there lost in his own thoughts for a moment, hands stuffed into the pockets of a coat lined with that prickly, stiff, woolen fabric no one like but, regardless, cannot complain about because it keeps them warm. he’s finally abandoned his normal attire for something that's still classy, of course, but more appropriate for the weather.

a scarf is tied around his neck, the way you taught him to so that he wouldn't complain about how itchy or tight it felt, and he’s buried the lower half of his face deep inside the warm fabric, trying to keep his nose from freezing off.

you want to hold his face between your hands, nuzzle the tip of your nose against him, kiss the tip of his nose, then maybe the bridge of it, then the space between his brows, then over each of his eyes, then his cheeks, and then finally, his warm, warm lips.

but you'll do that after he stops scowling at you, shoulders hunched up to try and shield his ears from the nipping cold as best as he can.

he's also, of course, wearing that hat of his. you almost tell him to go back inside in case the moisture of the humid air affects the worn leather it's made of.

but he's braved the cold and stepped out of the house to find you, and you know it's useless to try to suggest the idea to him unless you're following him back in.

"what're ya doing out here in this weather?" he's not scolding you or upset with you, just utterly confused. he steps closer, removing his gloved hands from his pockets to pick up your bare hands that you had resting in your lap, holding them between his warm ones. "shit, i can feel how cold you are through my gloves, doll. you okay?" even if he happened to be irked by something you did, he could never stay mad at you for very long before he was overwhelmed with how much he loved you. now his eyes are warm and soft, focused on your own, brows laced with concern and the scowl gone from his face.

this is where you kiss him all over his face.

and that's exactly what you do, humming a small "yes" to his question before escaping the grip of his hands, locking your arms around his neck and using all the strength you have to pull him on top of the bench you're on.

it's harder than you expect, although maybe that's on you for thinking it'd be easy. he's an executive of the port mafia and most certainly their strongest; no matter how much he typically lets his guard down around you, it's only natural that he tenses up at your sudden attack.

but it's an attack of kisses, to his surprise, and he exclaims as he comes toppling onto you, your back hitting the spindly worn wood of the bench below you. his legs are tangled with your own, and he's placed his arms on either side of you on the bench to support himself, but you don't let him move another inch away from you, running your hands (warming by the second thanks to all the heat your stealing from him) up his neck to caress the side of his cheeks, pulling him close.

whatever he's been chiding you about now dies in his throat when you pull him close. when only your noses touch, and you look into his pretty brown eyes with those flecks of amber and blue, the prettiest eyes you've ever seen, his breath is warm against your lips, his own curling into smile as he huffs. "don't tease me now, sweetheart," whatever consequence he was going to threaten you with falls silent again when you ignore the jeer, shifting his face down slightly so that the tip of his nose meets your lips, and then you're kissing him all over, small murmurs of "i love you"s whispered between every other kiss. his eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks warming by the second despite your freezing hands, unable to keep himself from getting flushed from your overwhelming amount of love he swears he’ll never get used to.

he’ll always get worked up just from the sight of you, overcome with his uncontrollable amount of desire to kiss you and hold you in his arms, and he’ll never be able to stop his eyes from always tearing up the slightest bit along with the stir of his heart in his chest every time you tell him you love him. he'll never get used to your love, he swears, but he doesn't want to.

when you finally place your lips to his, he hums in pleasant surprise, pressing against your lips with just as much fevor, shifting one of his arms to rest himself on his forearm so that he can run his fingers through your hair.

the fog and cold weather pricking your skin through your layers of clothes fade away when you feel his tongue swipe against your lips, asking to be let in. and when you part your lips and his warmth pulls you inexplicably closer, you don't think even the coldest of temperatures could freeze you to death.

not when you're with him, virtually and inexplicably the sun of your life. melting away any ice in your heart and mind with the warmth that comes from the brightest star that's always giving to others; all in the form of the single man who's in your arms right now.

the slight push of his knee against your legs, nudging them farther apart as he finally parts from you, leaving your mouth empty once again, your chest heaving while he takes to trailing burning kisses down your neck, acting completely unaffected, has you running your hands through his strawberry blonde hair, tugging him ever so gently up so that your faces are mere inches apart again.

"chuuya, we're in public," you rasp, and it seems it's your turn to scold him.

"are we now?" he's only grinning at you, fingers grazing the side of your cheek as he brushes a strand of your hair away from your face. "should've thought about that before ya kissed me like that, then. since we’re 'in public.'" he mocks your words and you can't exactly argue back. you’re racking your head for a comeback but he doesn't give you the time to reply before going on, "there's not even anyone around. that's why you came out here anyway, is it not?"

he knows you too well, and all you can do is give a small smile back, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face. he leans into your touch letting your warming hands mold to the shape of his heated cheek. 

"it is," you murmur, feeling the need to explain yourself as if he doesn't already know you. but you keep talking anyway, and he doesn't stop you. he likes hearing you talk. "i just recently started to like this weather, around the same time i met you. i like how this weather makes everyone disappear. i like how I can't even see two feet in front of me, i think it's beautiful in its own way— like i’m stepping into the unknown, but i'm not scared. and maybe that’s because i know you’ll find me in it no matter what. you’ll be with me, and i’ll be with you. i like being with you. the only reason i left this morning was just to enjoy the silence... but i'm ready to go back in."

his face is nestled back into the crook of your neck, placing light butterfly kisses over your pulsating temple ever so often as he listens to you speak, feels the rumble of your voice through your throat with how closely he's pressed to your skin.

"we can stay out here, i don't mind. i like that it makes everyone go away, too. everyone but you. i like coming out here to find only you; the only one i want to see, anyway," he whispers back, letting his lips place a longer, more firm kiss than before on your neck, sending shivers down your skin. "wherever you want to go, baby. like you said, i'll always be right behind you. no matter how heavy the fog, i swear i’ll find you." 

. 

. 

. 

♡

. . . and muddied knees. (dazai)

“...don’t wait too long. i don’t want you to get tired of me. am i just that damn hard to love?” (golden age / ethel cain)

sleeping with dazai is always an experience.

every night, you both cuddle under the same futon and yet his hands and feet are ungodly freezing. he whines and blames it on poor blood circulation (but not because of his bandages! they aren't that tight, he made sure to add the first night you shared a blanket and fell asleep in each other's arms) leaving the responsibility to fall into your hands–or, more realistically—you’re the lucky one whose been chosen to be his personal heater, cold hands sneaking up your shirt to rest on your navel, his long legs coming to tangle with yours.

usually, he warms up after getting to hold you so closely, and that's why waking up to a cold spot beside you is all the more shocking.

a little bit of light is spilling in from the nearby curtain of his dorm and you're willing yourself to slip out from underneath the warmth of the futon, in search of something–someone more important than the heat. you shiver as you look outside, trying to assess what time it is.

the sky is a light hazy gray, there's no sun in sight, and the trees and ground are darker than usual, soaking wet with the drizzle of rain that had pattered down on the roof above the two of you last night as you fell asleep.

there had been two beating hearts underneath that futon when you closed your eyes.

but when you opened them, you could only hear the pulse of your own life in your ears. and after a little bit of tip-toeing around his small dorm, you were fairly sure it seemed that he wasn't hiding anywhere in the dorm, either.

slipping on the nearest pair of shoes you can find, wrapping one of dazai's heavier jackets tightly around you, you brace the nipping cold as you open the door of his dorm, peeking your head out.

he’s not out taking in the view of the ground below him, leaning dangerously far over that old, worn, metal railing of the dorm’s building as you sometimes find him doing, so you start your usual trail of places you're bound to find him. it's not surprising that he's wandered off alone, lost in his thoughts. in fact, it's at least a weekly occurrence and by this point maybe anyone else would have gotten used to his sudden disappearances, knowing he was bound to show up back on the doorstep at some point, but you cann't help chasing out after him. you don’t want him to be alone, you don’t want there to be a time that comes where he never returns, and maybe it’s all because you weren’t there with him when he needed you.

you’re his partner; the one he wraps his arms around when he finally, after an entire day being the strong one, relaxes and just becomes osamu again. your osamu. you're the one osamu lets undress him sometimes, let's kiss over his skin, and help him wrap his bandages if he needs. if they exist, you're fairly certain osamu's your soulmate. and if they don't exist, he's surely the closest he can be to one. and maybe he doesn’t see you the same way back, but how could you not go out looking for your soulmate, the one you love, every time he wanders off alone? is always being by your boyfriend's side not what it means to love him? how could your heart not be eating away at you, knowing how far apart your other half, crying out to you to find him?

there’s no need to justify why you’re wandering through the humid mist of the early morning. if dazai asked why you always came after him, you’re not sure you could say all of that to his face. all you could probably say is, “because i love you.” and that’s what it all really boils down to in the end, isn't it? doesn't everything you do for him stem from a place of insatiable love? one that you’re not sure he’s always ready to accept, but one you are always willing to give him more of whenever his mind allows himself to let you love him as you want to. fully.

he's not near the bridge he's often teetering off the edge of and sometimes falling into. he's not found on the boardwalks of yokohama either. the shore is especially ghostly today, absent of any people, and the heavy fog that lays over the rippling blue water doesn't help with the eerie atmosphere.

but you find him at the third spot, which on a day like this, you felt was where you would find him from the start, anyway. 

you climb up the concrete steps quietly, seeing that familiar head of tousled brown hair leaning against a headstone. the engraving of a name that's been etched into it, the grooves aged and soiled with time, faces towards you.

you bow, placing your hands together and paying your respects as always to osamu's friend. the one you’ve never met, but by this point perhaps know just as well as osamu with all the stories he's fondly spoken of, lulling you to sleep on countless nights. after a moment of silence, you pass by the gravestone to join osamu on the dewy grass.

"[y/n]," he says your name, lolling his head against the curve of the top of the gravestone to look towards you.

his eyes are bright and wide, and you almost go as far to say he seems especially energetic today, but you know that no amount of light in his eyes can promise that he's doing well.

your eyes flick down to his hands, bandages just barely peeking out of the beige coat he's wearing, and you kneel next to him, not minding the way the soil sinks against your knees when you do, slightly leaning over him as you take his hands into your own.

"are you not cold? it's freezing out here and you're not even wearing an extra jacket. i should have brought a scarf or something—" you're half speaking to yourself, half speaking to him, and he only continues to watch you as if in admiration of something, which you come to understand with his next words.

"don't you ever get tired of warming me up? do you get tired of having to come find me? are you tried of getting your hands dirty because of me?" his words are gentle, still spoken lightly as if he’s simply telling you about the exciting day he’s had, not asking you questions that have you pausing for a second. in this moment, his tone only speaks volumes to you about how much of his true feelings he's hiding, but none of that works on you anymore.

"no, osamu," you look up at him from where you've been focused on his hands, clamped between your own as you try your best to give him everything you have, willing the warmth of your hands to transfer to him. it's not exactly how science works, but you'd bare the cold for him, freeze your very hands off and give him all of your warmth down to your beating heart if it meant he was warm and well taken care of.

"i'm never tired of you, or anything you do. i'll never get tired of you. i'm happy i get to warm up your hands every night. i'm happy i'm the one that gets to do that and wander around looking for you. you make me so happy, osamu, i don't care about these clothes, or how dirty i get, as long as i get to be by your side. as long as i get to be the one to hold your hands tonight." the curved smile he greeted you with is slowly dropping by the second, but that doesn't mean your words are upsetting him. it's the opposite; his facade is slowly peeling away. "do you see, osamu? you make me so happy. i'll dress warmly and take care of myself just to make sure that i'm always able to warm your hands because i love you. all i hope is that i can make you happy, too."

one of his hands, now slightly warmer, reaches up to slide against the side of your face, brushing the upper ridges of your cheekbone with a thumb. "you do make me happy, angel. sometimes i just have to get out, like my love for you is too much. i don't deserve so much happiness, so i have to return to places that once depressed me in order to force everything to settle down. i don't want to overwhelm you with how i feel, whether that be an emotion good or bad."

"don't hold yourself back or water yourself down for me, osamu. i want to love you through the good and the bad. i want to be there for all of it. i want to warm you up every night, not just on the ones where you feel deserving of it. you're always deserving of love, in my eyes. i don't want just the good parts of you, i want all of you. and if you still have to wander out and return to old places, then i'll come along with you, if you'll let me. i'll keep you warm wherever you go. i love you."

he lets out a breath that sounds like he's been holding it in for hours before he's smiling softly. it's genuine this time when his lips turn upward while he's pulling you onto his lap, your muddied knees straddling his own. "i love you, pretty. i'll do my best to keep you warm, too. with happiness, love, and whatever else you need. i hope you never get tired of me. because i will surely never tire of you." 

.

.

. 

♡

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (17/28)

for @bucktommyfluffebruary today i swapped in the alternative prompt anniversary. it's in the lap of the fluff gods whether this one counts tbh.

fill is here and below for those that prefer to read on tumblr

Tommy's acting weird. Extra solicitous, extra careful, extra generous, and Buck can't work out why. And Buck's never going to complain about his man spoiling him but there's a faintly manic, white-knuckled edge to it he can't quite put his finger on.

"Oh," Tommy says, when Buck asks. "I didn't realize I was being… It's been almost a year."

Buck frowns, calculates. Oh. It's been a year.

"Babe…"

"It's just…been on my mind, I guess."

"You mean you've been beating yourself up about it," Buck says.

Tommy hesitates. "Yeah. I guess - yeah."

"Okay," Buck says. He reaches over the table and takes Tommy's hand. "If it makes you feel any better, I honestly hadn't noticed."

"And…now that I've reminded you?"

Buck takes a breath. Thinks about it. They were some of the shittiest three months of his life. But the nine months since? Some of the absolute best.

"Honestly, I'm really proud."

"Proud? Really, Evan?"

"I'm proud of you. I'm proud of us. Of how far we've come."

Tommy looks…doubtful.

"We should do something," Buck suggests. "Mark it somehow."

"I thought about that," Tommy admits. "We're on opposite shifts."

"Damn. You got late or early?"

"Late."

"Okay. How about I come by for lunch before my shift? I can bring enough for everyone so they don't give us shit about kicking them out of the kitchen for an hour or so."

Tommy frowns. "Evan… You shouldn't - " he cuts himself off, and it's Buck's turn to frown.

"Finish that thought, please."

"It'll piss you off."

"Do it anyway."

"You shouldn't be the one doing something nice. I should."

"Tommy. You know you don't - you don't have to make up for anything, right?"

Tommy shrugs, looks away. He's infuriating, and Buck loves him so much.

"I don't know. Sometimes it feels like I should spend the rest of my life thanking you for giving me a second chance."

"Do I have to spend the rest of my life thanking you for getting us past hot chicks?"

"That's different," Tommy says.

"What, because it's me?"

Tommy shrugs. "I guess."

Buck decides to bring out the big guns.

"That doesn't piss me off," he says. "But it does make me a little sad."

Tommy gives him a look like he knows exactly what Buck is up to, but can't really argue it.

"I mean it," Buck says. "It's a good thing that it was a year ago. It even - god, don't get me wrong, it sucked. But this - what we have now? How we are now? It's better, right? It's better than how we were doing things before?"

It's not really a question, but Buck feels like being difficult, so he waits for Tommy to nod his agreement.

"I don't know about you - " (Lie. He absolutely does) " - but I wouldn't trade the rest of our lives for three measly months."

"You're very persuasive," Tommy admits.

Buck grins and brings Tommy's hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. "You know it."

[violet-moonstone]

I know this wasn't the focus of the racism referenced in the most recent episode of Severance, but Mr. Milchick being reprimanded for "using too many big words" really stuck with me. I know how it feels to be in the "model minority" position, and sometimes you honestly don't know how much of your personality is genuine (either because of your upbringing or natural personality) and how much of it is a survival tactic.

But either way, being chastised for sounding "too smart" by people who you have to work twice as hard to impress because they already don't expect much from people who look like you is just....dear god it's so aggravating.

Because if it really is just the way you are, people (in and outside your race) will still accuse you of "trying to sound White". Then you end up not being "Black enough" for Black spaces but never being White enough to avoid being Othered. You just end up in this in-between space where you don't know where you belong.

And even if it is a carefully crafted persona, it's what you have to do to be taken seriously/seen as non-threatening in White spaces a lot of the time! And you still get punished for it!

I have a family member who has been told she "dresses too nicely" at work and that it intimidates other people. But I know for a fact that if she rocked up to work in leggings and a messy bun like a lot of her non-Black peers, she would not be seen as professional enough. She was basically like "thanks for your input but I will absolutely not be doing that."

Anyway Mr. Milchick is my favourite character currently and I hope he either becomes a major villain in his attempt to be seen as an equal or rebels against Lumon when he realizes that they will never see him as one. I'm here for either one.

[waynes-multiverse]

Alex, this was amazing!! I absolutely loved this! I think I laughed throughout without pausing. Like, I was cackling vividly 😂😂

Dean:

He’s not sick. Because he doesn’t get sick. Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

That already took me out. First two lines. Bravo. You've done it 🤣

I'm guessing this is post Chuck lmao

“I’m find,” he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

You know why I picked it 😝 (👏👏👏) And not the flannel and the runny nose, yikes. Loved this exchange (and callback) lol

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

Took a brief second from laughing, so I could push tears out of my eyes 😭

But absolutely agree, you'd have to wear Dean down and force him into it lmao

Beau:

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn’t even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

Back to laughing. My God, that was the sneeze of the century 😂😂

“Nah, can’t be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today,” he says.

Mutually exclusive, obviously 🤷‍♀️

“How long until I’m allowed out, warden?” he asks.

Seems like the man flu hasn't swallowed the charm either 🥰

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. “Hey, uh…can I have some chicken noodle soup later?” “Of course, baby. I’ll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you.” “And some saltines?”

And that's the moment I realized Beau's like my husband when he's sick 😂 (🙄)

It's like you were in my house and wrote a transcript of the last man flu epidemic of 2024 😆🤌

(PS: Real proud for finding that gif 😂)

A good add-on for Beau would be talking about his symptoms and aches... constantly loll. ("Babe, my throat is still dry and very weird right here. I googled and it says it could be laryngitis, cancer or the Marburg virus." 😂)

Ben:

Oh and then, Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben... I thought for sure he'd be the worst, like this virus is a personal attack on his virility 🤣 But I was pleasantly surprised when you brought in memories of his mother 🥹😭

“Fuck,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back.

That immediate fuck got me so hard 🤣🤣

He’s a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to.

Ah, yes, gramps 😂🫶 (And he honestly shares that with a lot of old man in hospitals and nursing homes who have to be repeatedly told to stay in bed lol)

“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. “I’m getting you a yacht for Valentine’s Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim.”

*snorts* Of course the brat's online shopping for yachts 😆

“Why can’t you put some fucking steak in it or something?” he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough. “Why can’t you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you,” you snipped back.

Oh God, all their bickering was amazing! It's honestly always one of the most fun things when writing SB – the sheer frustration of the reader 😭😂🙈

And I loved the addition of Priestly!! 😍💚💙🤘 (I've been thinking of finally writing that one-shot for him lol)

“Aw, that’s still good,” he argues.

Great idea, man. Add a stomach bug to that man flu lmao

“Know what would really make me feel better?” he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

I could also totally see him turning into a Monica there 😂

“When you’re feeling better, you can ask me that question properly.”

Oh, oh, thank God! The relief I felt 😂 I mean, it's so, so sweet, but also you're very sick, dude, and germy... like, it's a lot 😆

(And I also sincerly hope there will be a proposal follow-up one-shot/drabble... maybe? 👀)

I loved this so much! You were spilling nothing but truths here! 😂💯🩵

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[activesplooger]

ʜɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ | ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ!ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ | ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: OK IM KINDA PROUD W HOW I DID THIS AHH. i hope u guys like it bc if not i will evaporate out of embarrassment.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your plan to get out more fails miserably and you end up in an even crappier situation. But over the next week, things start to look up as you finally get to go out for a work event. What bad could happen there?

ᴄᴡ: obsessive behavior, stalking, yandere, infatuation, smut, vox is mean and a pathetic lil bitch, hypnotism, dubious consent, humiliation, use of toys

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5,257

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴘᴏꜱᴛ!

Vox had laid the ground rules for this little arrangement of yours:

No leaving the penthouse without his approval

No saying "no" to him, if he needed you to do something, you'd do it.

If he caught you cheating— "you'd never do that so why even bother mentioning the punishment!"

No talking to Valentino unless Vox was present

He would always have access to your phone and passwords.

but there were some advantages that he laid out for you as well! -

You could use his credit card any time for anything

You had full access to his private chef, private stylist (hair and clothes), chauffeur, and pretty much anything material that you desired

All your past bills that you neglected would be paid off

And, you got his love and affection! (you could do without that part)

__

Vox made sure you followed his rules, not that you were going to break them— as much as you hated to admit it, it's kinda better than barely scraping by. You were pretty much stuck in the penthouse all day (he'd never give you permission to leave, rule number 1 was practically useless). However, there was a silver lining! Vox was at work 24/7 and unless he gave you a surprise visit, you had the day to yourself!

When Vox was home, he wouldn't leave you alone. He was literally on top of you, sexually and non-sexually, non-stop. Touching you, showering you in gifts, whispering little words of affection in your ear. His love was suffocating. It might all sound endearing, but the "love" was veryy one-sided. You think part of him knows he doesn't love you. Does he care? No. As long as you say those three sweet words to him, nothing else matters! Even if they're told out of fear and force.

__

You've been living in his penthouse for a week, and you hadn't stepped out once. You became restless, and a little kooky, you had to get out for the sake of your mental health.

Grabbing out your phone, you swallow your pride and text Vox. You grimaced at his contact name "Love <3"— you figured he'd taken he liberty of changing his contact from "Boss.". You sigh as you bullshit the fakest lovey-dovey text ever. Anything to get out of this God-forsaken penthouse.

Love <3: < Where are you?

< I was in the shower

< Without me? ;]

Read Yesterday 8:57pm

—

Today 1:23pm

< Hello my love! Can I come visit you at work? <3

< Miss me already?

< Yesss, can I come?

< I don't know if I want you making a trek all the way over here.

< I'll be home at 9:00pm, don't worry, doll.

< But I miss you nowwww, it's only an elevator ride. :(

read 1:25pm

Oh god damn it, he left you on read! You silently prayed that he would respond, you couldn't take it.

Love <3: < Fine. Only because you begged. Come down and do not fucking talk to anyone, okay? I'll be watching you so don't even try it. Hurry.

< Thank you!! Love you so so much!

< Love you more, Doll.

__

You slapped on something modest so Vox wouldn't freak out and headed out to his office. The walk there wasn't nearly long enough. But, you could dawdle a bit and play it off as being clumsy and Vox would be none the wiser.

Walking out of the elevator, you make your way to his office slowly. "Doll!" he calls out, swiveling his chair to face you, "come here.". You step closer and he yanks your wrist, making you sit on his lap. Rough, possessive, kisses plague the back of your neck as you're sat on him. You try to maneuver your neck to get him to stop, but it only makes his touches more greedy. He grabs hold of your face, "You better fucking stop that.". A chill went down your spine, he could be really fucking terrifying when he wants to be.

The hand that's not gripping your jaw snakes down to your thighs, dipping in between them to delicately tease the sensitive skin. Your breath hitches, "V-Vox the door is open-". "Shh," his breath is hot against your ear. He hooks his claws under the waistband of your trousers, "Don't worry, nobody would say a fucking word if they saw anything.".

A shaky sigh escapes your lips as he slowly pulls down your pants. The fabric slides down your legs, the cold air hits your exposed skin causing goosebumps. "You're so beautiful," he kisses your cheek, "arms up, Doll.". He quickly removes your shirt and unhooks your bra, discarding it on the floor by his desk. Your body shakes as you're left naked on his lap, anyone could walk in at the moment. His door is left ajar, a simple peak by an employee— or god forbid an overlord—and they could see everything.

Vox rubs his large hands over the soft expanse of your bare thighs, "I wanna show you something.". In one swift motion, he lifts you off his lap and bends you over his desk. Your body presses against the cold hard surface, buttons prodding and poking at your bare torso.

"Look at this," he yanks the back of your hair, forcing your neck to crane upward at the monitors. With a click of a few buttons, camera footage of you purposefully meandering around slowly plays on every monitor. You can hear his angered, heavy, breathing panting loudly from behind you, "Think you can try this shit on me and not have me fucking find out?". "V-Vox I didn't mean to I-". '"B̶̾̀͘U̴̱̳̳̔͜͜L̷̓L̷̓͌̎Ś̸͙̺͆̏͂H̵̛̘̤̅̿͘͝I̸͂T̷̊̉̕," he roars, his voice heavy with static. A new image appears on the screen displaying the texts from earlier, "See when I said fucking "H̵̛̘̤̅̿͘͝U̴̱̳̳̔͜͜R̷͇̙̎̍́R̷͇̙̎̍́Ý̴̇̈́͘͝". I let you go out, and this is what you fucking do?! Do I need to remind you of rule number two?!". The clank of metal and flop of fabric hitting the floor is all you hear before he thrusts into you mercilessly.

"Fuck!" you yell out, whining at the dry stretched-out feeling. His hands roughly pinch at your nipple and clit while he rams his hips into yours, "This is why you're not allowed outside! Trying to avoid me? Fuck is your deal, brat?!". "I gave you EVERYTHING! Are you trying to get away? Talk to some other fucking prick, huh?!" his last word is punctuated by a brutal thrust. "No, V-Vox I'm so sorry, please-" tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your core starting to throb and clench around him. "Don't. You're never allowed outside again. Got it?"

You whimper helplessly, "Please I-I". "GOT IT?" he yells, yanking on your hair harder. "Y-Yes! I won't go outside!" your body betrays you, a coil building up inside you. You were undesirably close. "Good girl," he coos, releasing your hair only to force your head to the side. Your cheek is squished awkwardly against the hard metal of his desk, your head facing the door.

"I want you to look at whoever may come in, seeing you bent over for my cock like the slut you are," his cock continues to push into at a quick pace. Your face burns red. Anyone could walk in! God forbid it be someone you knew like a co-worker. Even if someone didn't see you, someone can most definitely hear you.

"You love me so fucking much, don't you? You're so fucking close I can feel it," he says smugly, his index finger rubbing lazy circles along your clit to tease you. He growls when he gets no response. A chunk of your hair is grabbed and your head is thrown backward to look at him, "Ä̵́̓N̸̏̒Ś̸W̵̉É̸̪̯̗̀̈̆͑R̷̎̍́ M̶̀͋̇É̸̪̯̗̀̈̆͑ W̵̉̔H̵̛̘̤̅̿͘͝É̸̪̯̀̈̆͑N̸̏̒ I̸͂ T̷̊̕Ä̵́L̷̓͌K̵̛̽̉ T̷̊̉̕O̵͆͊ Ý̴̇͘͝O̵͆͊́U̴̱̳̳̔͜͜.". His voice was loud and full of static. Tears fall down your face as you say the words you know he wants to hear, "I-I love you so much. I-I'm close. Please, can I cum?".

He chuckles wickedly and pulls out of you, the loss making you whine involuntarily, "After the stunt you pulled? No no.". You stand up and turn to face him. He's sat leaned back against his chair; Legs spread wide open, his jutting cock leaking cum from his cyan tip that drips down to his thighs. "On your knees," he commands.

You obey, getting on your knees before him. Before you can act he shoves your head on his cock, bobbing your head manually. The tip of his cock pokes the back of your throat, making you gag. "Watch it," he warns. He releases his forced movement and holds your hair out of your face, "Hnnf, fuck, that's it, SHIT!". Hot cum spurts out of his cock and down your throat. "Swallow," he looks down at you with narrow eyes. You obey, gulping down the slightly salty liquid.

You sit back while he pulls his pants back up, sniffling quietly as tears involuntarily spill from your eyes. "Come here," he curls his finger towards you and settles you on his lap. "Don't cry, doll," his teal claw wipes away your tears, "I do this because I love you. You have to learn.". You hated him. His excuse was total bullshit, the only thing you "learned" from this was how much of a psychopath he was.

But what could you even do in that moment? Rejecting him would only make this go from bad to worse. So, hesitantly, you lean your head against his chest and sob. "Shh shh, that's it," he coos, running a hand through your hair, "don't cry, Doll, I'm here.". You squeezed your eyes shut and clung to the fabric of his shirt, weeping softly. Frustration coursed through your veins, all you could do was sit there and cry.

After a few minutes, your eyes get droopy. You were exhausted and spent. After drifting in and out of consciousness, you succumb to slumber and nap on his lap.

You wake up in your shared bed, now clad in soft shark pajamas you assumed Vox had put on you. Shakily, you sit up from bed and look around at the desolate room. This is where you will reside for God knows how long... You wanted to cry, truly. But you just couldn't. You've cried enough. Now you're just numb, all you could do was start blankly at the tv in front of you.

__

You had fallen asleep again a while later, waking up to the sound of the door opening and closing. Vox strolls in and sits beside you on the bed, a bag of takeout food in hand, "Wake up, Doll.". Turning over, you see his usual grin plastered on his face as he hovers over you. "I brought home your favorite food~" he holds up the bag. You sit up softly, "Thanks...". His eyes narrow in on you, "Don't tell me you're still upset-". "No no-" you defend, "I'm just... not feeling well.". "Good," he presses a kiss to the top of your head, "I hate when you're mad at me, especially for stupid shit.".

The two of you eat the food on the bed, though you could hardly eat. He's constantly checking your temperature and asking if you're okay every 5 seconds. You nod yes and poke around at the food on your plate. "You need to eat," he says softly, bringing a piece of food up to your lips. Begrudgingly, you take it. Despite how much you hated him at the moment, he was right, you did need to eat.

"That's it, princess" he smiles, feeding you another piece. It was kinda nice being fed. No doubt, you hated his fucking guts, but Its no use expressing that either. You leaned into his touch and were complacent when he pulled you close, having you rest against his chest. "I love you, okay?" he kisses the top of your head, "believe me when I tell you I only want the best...". __

A Week Later:

You'd spent the last week trapped in the penthouse, you started going a little crazy, but this morning seemed full of promise! Because of last week's debacle, you had been kissing major ass all week to get back on his good side and hopefully go outside again.

You wake up in a mess of tangled limbs, Vox's long legs intertwined with yours as he stares up at you on top of him, "Good morning. How did you sleep?". "Mm... fine," you mutter. "Glad to hear it," he rubs your back softly, "you've been so good to me this week, how would you like to attend a little work event with me? I'd love to show off a pretty little thing like you on my arm.". "Really?" you sit up and smile. Vox smiles and nods his head softly, "Mhm, as long as you stay by my side-". "Y-Yes! I would love to go!" you say cheerfully. You finally get to leave!

Vox clears his throat, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”. “Huh?” you turn your head, “Oh, right, thank you.”. “Annnd?” Vox turns his head and gestures to his screen cheek. Ugh. You cringe, feigning a sincere smile as you lean forward to kiss his cheek, "I love you.". "Good girl," he praises, "I think I'll take work off today, just spending the day with you until the event.". "O-Oh you don't have to do that-". "But I want to!" he interrupts grinning manically, his eye twitching a bit. "Alright," you respond softly. Jesus this man was unstable.

His long arms grab hold of you and pull you down on his chest, his grip tight and restricting. "Vox-" you mutter, voice muffled against his chest, "can't- breath-". "Shhh," he whispers, "just relax...". You sigh, adjusting yourself so that your cheek is pressed against his chest. His claws rake through your hair, gently massaging your head, and lulling you back to sleep.

__

"Hey, wake up sleepy head."

"hmm?" you blink your eyes open and see Vox slowly lifting you off the bed and into his arms. "Hey," you protest weakly, squirming around in his arms, "put me down!". His grip was firm and unrelenting, chuckling as you tossed around, "Slow down there, tiger, I'm just taking you to the kitchen. I ordered breakfast.". "Put me back on the bed," you whine, overstimulated from his touch and exhausted. "No," he walks into the kitchen and sets you down on a stool beside the island, "It's already 8, time to get up.". You groan and rest your face against the island counter, the black marble cold against your cheek. Ugh. First, he smothers you, and now he's forcing you to wake up? Fuck him.

Vox rummages through the takeout bag and pulls out eggs Benedict encased in a plastic box. Placing a guiding hand on your back, he gently coaxes you upward, "Sit up, sweetheart.". "Mmmngh," you groan tiredly. He cuts it up and takes a forkful of food, bringing it up to your lips. Hesitantly, you take the food. "Hm," you say, your voice muffled as you speak with your mouth full, "this is good. What is it?". "Eggs benedict," he replies, bringing another forkful of food to your lips. You take another bite and swallow, "Is it some type of rich people's food?". Vox laughs, "Depends where you get it from. In this case, yes".

Vox moves closer, his breath hot against your ear, "Anything for you.". Bleh, now your appetite's ruined, "I'm full.". "You didn't each much," he frowns, "you sure you're full?". "Yeah," you sigh, "I'm definitely full.". "Alright," he kisses your cheek and takes away your plate of food, "next time we'll have you try caviar.".

You raise an eyebrow, "The fish shit? I'll pass.". A bark of laughter escapes his lips, "It's good! Trust m-". His sentence is cut off by the ringing of his cell phone, "Oh God dammit what now!". Grabbing the phone out of his pocket, he aggressively taps the "decline" button. He sighs, returning his phone to his pocket and plastering on his showman smile, "Sorry about that, where were we?". His phone rings again. Vox groans and picks up the phone, W̋Hͭ͐Ä̤̝̦́̂̚Țͬ?!". Your body recoils as he yells, his voice distorted and deafening.

He paces around the kitchen as he's on the phone, "uh huh" and "are you fucking serious?" repeating every once in a while. "Fine," he sighs, "I'll be there.". Retreating his phone to his pocket, he turns to you with a saddened expression, "Listen, doll, they need me at the office. Will you be alright here without me?". You fought back a smile as you responded, "I just might be okay.". "Alright," he kisses your cheek, "call me if you need me okay? I love you.". You nod, "I will, bye.".

His eyes narrow, "Bye? That's all?". You tilt your head, "Wh-". "Don't play ̖ͥf̥̖̗̗̔uc̟ͩk̂̋̍i͗n͎͊͒̀g͊͛̊ STUPID, Y/N!" he roars, sparks of blue electricity flying out from his screen. You gasp and flinch, your eyes squeezed shut as you prepare for the worst. "Oh shit," his hand rests on the side of his face in an annoyed gesture. Taking a deep breath, he calms himself down, the sparks beginning to fade, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I'm just frustrated at the fucking idiots at work who can't get anything done. Let's try this again.". He smiles and kisses your cheek, "Goodbye, I love you.". "I-I love you too, bye," you reply weekly. "Good girl," he presses a kiss to your forehead and heads out.

__

Love <3:

< Event at 5:00. Should wrap things up here around 4ish.

< Kk.

< Love you.

< Love u 2.

read 1:30pm

You couldn't help but feel giddy towards the work event happening later today. You found yourself daydreaming about all the things you were about to finally experience again: socializing, being somewhere other than the penthouse, some semblance of normalcy. Ah! You kicked your feet and squealed in excitement.

Just then, you heard a knock at the door. Weird, you weren't expecting anyone— and Vox would've told you if he was getting home early. You swing your legs off the side of the bed and slide down, making your way towards the door.

Opening the door, you see the female imps you know to be Vox's personal stylists. "Oh," you smile down at them politely, "I didn't schedule a styling did I?". "Nope!" one of the imps pipes up, "Vox scheduled it for you.". "He did I-" before you can finish, the stylists let themselves in and take charge setting up in the bathroom.

A blonde imp grabs hold of your hand and drags you into the bathroom, immediately grabbing at your clothes to undress you. "N-No," you turn bright red and stop her from continuing, "I can undress myself, thank you.". She nods and begins to draw a bath.

Once the bath is ready, she gestures for you to step in. As you do, you sink into the warm water, letting the calming essential oils and bubbles relax your muscles, "Mmm.". "Is the temperature to your liking?" she asks softly, sticking her arm into the tub to check it. "Yes, thank you."

With your approval, another imp along with her each grab a limb and starts scrubbing and shaving. You wince in pain as they wash you mercilessly. "So much for relaxing," you mutter under your breath. After they finish their assault on you, you're ushered out of the bath and a robe is slipped onto your naked body.

The two stylists who bathed you sat you down on the vanity where a beautiful brunette imp smiled at you, "Hi there! I'm Gemma, I'm going to be doing your makeup today.". "Hi, Gemma," you respond, smiling back at her. Gemma gestures to the blonde imp who dragged you to the bathroom, "This is Brittany, she'll be doing your hair.". You wave to Brittany and are met with a cold glance as she gathers hair tools.

You couldn't blame her. If you were Vox's stylist you'd be in a bad mood too. The other imp, who wasn't introduced, rummaged through a box of clothes and filtered in and out of your closet gathering dresses and accessories. And with that, the stylists get to work on doing a full glam for the event.

__

4:00pm

It takes a few hours for Brittany and Gemma to finish styling you. Your makeup was done beautifully, natural yet glamorous, while your hair was curled into a blowout type hairdo. As you looked in the mirror, you couldn't help but admire the job they'd done. You looked hot as shit!

Your vanity was cut short as the chair your in is swiveled around to face a stylist holding an array with dresses. "Alright," she holds up a white maxi dress and a light blue maxi dress, "how do you feel about these two dresses?". "Ehhh, I'm not fan, sorry," you admit. "I agree," she tosses the dresses aside, "hideous.".

The stylist goes into your closet and stifles through your clothes. "Aha!" she exclaims, returning from the closet with another dress. She holds it up and shakes it enticingly with a smile, "This is the one!". "Woah, where did you find that?" you get up from your seat and take the dress in your hands, fingers running over the material. "In your closet," she replies. Oh, right. Vox had gotten you so many dresses you had lost track of all of them at this point. The dress was stunning— a deep navy blue with a lace corset and beautiful glittery floral patterns all around.

The imp helps you into the dress and puts on the finishing touches— lotion, perfume, jewelry, accessories, heels, etc.

__

The stylists leave after you pay them and you're left in the penthouse. You take a glance at yourself in the mirror before grabbing your purse and walking out. Right as you exit, Vox enters, already dressed up for the event in a crisp velvet navy blue suit. "Y/N, I'm- Woah," he stops as he sees you, his pupils dilating to the size of tennis balls as you meet face to face, "you look- amazing.". It's almost endearing the way he looks at you. You fight the blush creeping onto your face and turn your head to the side "Thanks, you too.".

He steps forward and smiles, offering his arm to you, "Ready, dollface?". You nod and smile, "I'm ready."

__

You arrive at the event which seemed to be a little soiree for VoxTech affiliates and other overlords. Vox stays by your side the whole time, introducing you to people, escorting you around, and even dancing with you for a short while! It was a great night, Vox got to show off what was rightfully his and have you close while you got to socialize! Win-win!

The night was going smoothly, so smoothly in fact that he let you go unattended for a while to grab a couple drinks. You make your way over to the bartender and order two drinks. While you wait, a tall deer-esque demon approaches you. The Radio Demon. Fuck. Vox had vaguely told you about him before, seemingly not wanting to talk about him. But, he made one thing perfectly clear: Do not ever go near him.

You turn to the bartender, "I'm sorry to bug you but can you make this quick because-". A finger tapping on your shoulder interrupts you. You wince and hesitantly turn around, greeted with a sharp smile from the Radio demon. He extends a handout and shakes your hand aggressively, "Ah, you must be the famous Y/N everyone's talking about! Alastor, quite a pleasure to be meeting you!". "Uh, hi," you take your hand back and keep your responses short.

"So, I see you're one of Vox's victims, I mean partners— though I suppose the two are synonyms in this case HA HA!" he laughs hysterically at his own joke. "Right..." The bartender finally finishes with the two drinks and you grab them hastily and walk past him. Alastor leans against the bar counter with a smug grin, "I would get out of this little predicament if I were you.". You stop in your tracks, did he know about your situation with Vox?

"What?" you turn around. "Your situation," he pushes off the bar counter and steps closer, "I understand how Vox is. I was once you, you know— The apple of his eye you could say.". "You dated Vox?". "Goodness, no!" he laughs, "he simply just had taken quite the liking to me. I rejected him, obviously, but I am aware of his rather... obsessive behaviors.".

"I understand how... annoying, it can get," his eye twitches subtly before returning to its seemingly cheerful state, "what I mean to say is, I have a way to get you out.". "Get me out?" you repeat, eyes widening at his proposition. You fought an internal battle as you considered his words. Sure, Vox made your life torture sometimes but... was it any better than barely having the necessities to survive? Was Vox right when he said you needed him?

"...How would you help me?" you ask. Alastor chuckles lowly and extends a hand out to shake, a green glow emanating from his palm, "How about we make a deal?". Before you can answer, you hear a familiar booming static approach, "̣̝́Y/̼̙̂̈́N̊̐!".

Shiiiiiitttt...

Vox marches up to where you and Alastor are, his eyes fixed on the Radio Demon. Alastor smiles and disappears into a shadow before Vox can get to him. "God ̗̩̜ͅD̽̒Ä̤́̂̚M̰ͤ̚M̰̖ͤͫ̚I̗̝Țͬ!" Vox yells. He turns to you, his breath ragged and shaky. Before you can say anything, he tightly grasps your wrists and teleports you in a wave of static.

__

You're suddenly transported back into the penthouse bedroom. Vox throws you onto the bed and looms over you, "I don't fucking get it! I've given you everything, and time and time again you've fucking- UGH!". He throws his hands in the air and paces around the room, "Money, clothes, food, shelter, LOVE— I'VE GIVEN EVERYTHING. WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP LEAVING??," his voice becomes strained and tears start to well in his eyes.

His words and tears strike a chord with you, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach as he cries before you. This wasn't just about you leaving anymore. Carefully, you reach out and rub his back, "Vox, please... I wasn't trying to leave you this time, A-Alastor offered but I said no! I promise.".

His shuddering stops as you place a hand on your back, his body still as you speak. Once you finish speaking, he lifts his head, his digital display of eyes puffy and red, a scowl on his face, "Fuck! Stop pitying me! I don't know what to do to make you FUCKING STAY!". He jerks his body away from you and stomps over to the closet, searching through some boxes for God knows what.

"Vox?" you call out, "Are you okay?". No response. He comes out a few minutes later with a manic smile, his arms hiding something behind his back, "I'm gonna make sure you fucking stay.". Without warning, he pins you down the mattress and rips off your dress. "Vox what are you-?!". "QUIET," he demands, "I've had enough of that shit! You're gonna be obedient and you're gonna fucking love it.". He slides the dress off you along with your panties.

You shake slightly as he undresses you. His large hand rubs over your calf in a soothing motion, "Don't be scared, I'm gonna make you feel good, okay?". Vox reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a deep red double-pronged vibrator. The sight makes you clench your legs together tightly.

Taking hold of your knees, he spreads your legs apart. "Keep them open," he demands. With a click of a button, the toy jolts to life and vibrates at a low setting. "Hm, not nearly enough to tame this fucking brat," he mutters to himself as he switches it to a higher setting. He turns back to you with a cruel grin, "Much better.". Slowly, he brings the vibrator in between your legs and presses the head of the longer, thicker prong against your core.

"Fuck!" you exclaim, the vibrations causing you to squirm as your pussy aches for more. Scared of defying him, you desperately keep your legs open and thrash around, "Hnnf, oh god thats-". "That's right, doll," he pushes the vibrator deeper into you, causing you to gasp.

As the toy plunges into you, the second prong vibrates against your clit. The double stimulation makes you moan, an embarresingly needy whine that echoes throughout the penthouse, "F-Fuck, mmph, can't take it-". "Yes you can," he pushes it deeper, "and you will.".

He starts to slowly push the vibrator in and out of you. The pleasure becomes all to much for you. He pistons it in and out of you to a point where you're a mess— babbling incoherently as he continues to fuck you mercilessly with the toy.

"Hnnf, I, mmmph," you mumble. Vox chuckles and tilts the toy upwards so it hits your G-spot, enjoying the way your body writhes beneath his touch. You start to see stars as the pleasure overcomes you. Vox looms over you and gazes into your eyes, "Look at me.". Your half lidded eyes meet his swirling ones.

He's trying to hypnotize you, but you can't do anything about it as you rendered helpless against him. "You will be fucking obedient from now on," he says, "you will love me, and NEVER fucking leave me. Got it?". The once repulsive idea suddenly became so... enticing... the longer you look into his hypnotic stare.

"Y-Yes," you mumble, your voice whiny and high pitch. "That's a good girl," he pistons the toy in and out of you faster, "now tell daddy what you want.". "Want...," you mutter mindlessly, lost in a haze of pleasure and hypnotism, "want you.".

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, "That's it, now you're getting it, Doll. Go ahead, cum.". His words snap the tight cord in your stomach and you finally release. "Fuck!" you yelp, your back arching against the sheets as you buck forward into the toy.

You come down from you high and Vox removes the vibrator from you. Dipping a claw into your dripping slit, he scoops up your release and brings it to his lips. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop. "Divine," he looks back at you with a smirk.

As he cleans you up, you lay there and pant. Your mind was racing yet blank at the same time. The once disdainful thoughts about Vox turned to ones of compliance and adoration. You were so deep in "thought" you hadn't realized Vox had dressed you in a large t shirt and pajama shirts.

You sit up and see Vox crawling into bed in just his boxers. You weren't exactly sure why but you craved his touch. Immedietly, you crawl toward him and lay your head on his chest, cuddling close to his body. Vox smiles and massages your head with his sharp claws, "There we go. Was that so hard?". "No," you say mindlessly, nuzzling your head into his chest, "I-I love you.. so much...".

His smiles blissfully and closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek, "I love you more."

The End __

this is the dress reader is wearing btwwwwwwwwwww

GUYS AAAA OK IM HAPPY W HOW I DID THIS SO EFBKHWJEFHKBWE

i will do anotha part if ygs want or if i feel like it so yeahhhh

bone apple tea

(if i missed you or accidentally added you please lmk! also if u wanna be added lmk!)

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ:

@takemetoneverland420, @rlini0914, @ithofficial, @angel-fallz, @sweet-radio, @fru1tbatzz,

@janussillyprompts, @leonotlara, @cosmiiwrites, @liveontelevision

[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts will be here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

Bakugo x female reader (Slight Sero x female reader 👀)

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: Since y'all gave me ideas, this is what you get 😈. Also, there are so many people wanting to be tagged, I didn't think ya'll liked this story so much, so thank you!

Your back rested against the cool wall as you tried to muffle your sobs. Crying like this, like some pathetic loser, only made you feel worse.

The distant thump of music pulsed through the halls, the party still in full swing. Mina hadn’t come back yet. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she was too busy fixing the mess you made.

You felt awful, truly, you did. Yeah, Kimiko got under your skin with all her talk about Bakugo, but it wasn’t really her fault. She didn’t know how you felt. No one did, no one except Sero and now Mina.

But God, it felt like every time she opened her mouth, it was about him. Was that all she ever thought about? Did she have nothing else to talk about?

Still, why had this moment been the one to make you snap? It wasn’t the first time she had gushed about him. Hell, it wasn’t even the most annoying time.

Maybe… maybe it was because you were falling deeper. And every time you saw her flirting, every time you heard his name leave her lips with that dreamy little sigh, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the weight pressing down on your chest.

You groaned into your hands, wiping away another stray tear.

Then, as if to torture yourself further, your mind dragged you back to the exact moment you knew or truly realized.

The hospital.

The hospital room was sterile and quiet, the white walls too bright, too lifeless. When the doctors let you in, you saw him, sitting up in bed, bandaged and bruised, the remnants of battle still fresh on his skin.

Your best friend had almost died. You could still see it, the color draining from his face, the gaping wound in his chest.

Then, he noticed you. His crimson eyes were a little more tired than usual, but still sharp, still fiery.

“Are you just gonna—”

Before he could finish, you bolted across the room and wrapped your arms around him, holding on like he’d disappear if you let go.

Tears spilled onto his hospital gown, soaking into his bandages. “Don’t you ever do something like that again!” you choked out, voice trembling.

You heard him grumble something under his breath, but he didn’t push you off. “Always a crybaby.”

You rolled your eyes, even as more tears kept falling. “You’re so lucky I can’t hit you right now.”

Bakugo pulled back just enough to look at you, his face inches from yours. “You’ve never been a pretty crier, so stop. It doesn’t work on you.” His thumb brushed away one of your tears, his touch lingering for just a second too long before he pulled away.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You leaned back in, resting your head against his shoulder. “I missed you, y’know, I really thought I'd never see you again” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t hear you. But his grip on you tightened, just a little.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped open at the familiar voice.

You turned to see Sero walking toward you, his usual easygoing expression laced with concern.

You wiped at your face quickly. “Hey…” you muttered as he sat down beside you.

“This is the second time I’ve cried near you,” you said with a weak laugh. “God, all I ever seem to do these days is cry.”

“We all have feelings,” Sero said with a small shrug. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He nudged you lightly.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “So… I’m assuming you heard about my 'incident' with Kimiko.”

He snorted. “I think everyone at the party did.”

“Great. Just great.” You groaned, rubbing your face. Peeking at Sero through your fingers, you hesitated. “You’re not… mad? Y’know, considering your crush on her?”

“Nah.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “Although I am curious.”

You sighed, already knowing he’d put the pieces together. “Do I even have to say it? A six-letter word. Starts with ‘B,’ ends in ‘O.’”

Sero hummed in understanding. “Ah.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, “How do you do it?”

Sero raised a brow. “Do what? Because there’s a lot of things I do. I’m a man of many talents.”

You let out a quiet snort, shaking your head. “How do you deal with Kimiko flirting with Bakugo? You like her, right? Doesn’t it suck, watching your crush flirt with someone else?”

Sero sighed, stretching his legs out. "Yeah, it sucks. But, y’know... there are other fish in the sea." He turned his head, meeting your gaze. "If Kimiko doesn’t fall madly in love with me, it’s all good. Just as brave, just as smart, just as sweet."

His dark eyes lingered on yours, and for a second, the air shifted.

Your breath hitched.

You held his gaze for a second too long before quickly looking away, warmth creeping up your neck.

“…Right,” you muttered. “You really have a way with words, huh?”

“I’m just great like that.” He grinned.

And for a moment, just a moment, all the weight you’d been carrying felt a little lighter.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix

[jaegahh]

plsss make mikasa headcannons 🙏🙏👨‍🍼🤾‍♂️🗑️

GIRLFRIEND MIKASA HEADCANONS ᯓᡣ𐭩

content: sfw, female! Reader, fluff, bit of smoking mentioned <3

Mikasa’s strong. Like, really, really strong. She’s effortlessly able to pick you up. The ease of doing so always leads to her swooping you up in her arms when you’re too tired to walk up the stairs of your shared loft. She adores how soft you look in her arms.

Mika’s obsessed with your cooking. OBSESSED. Coming home to a warm plate of food you fixed for her after a long hour at the gym is like coming home to heaven. She’ll definitely make sure you know it, too.

Also because she can’t cook to save her life.

She’s definitely the type to be up at the ass crack of dawn. I’m talking 5:30 am, going on a morning jog, heading to the gym, working on something hands-on.. or sometimes just for the sake of being up. She always makes sure to give you a kiss before she leaves, of course.

Her phone is filled with pictures of you. All 1,209 of ‘em. Her lock screen is her favorite one, where you’re smiling and so beautiful in the pretty beach dress you wore when she first asked to be your girlfriend. It was your senior year of high school, and ever since then you two have been inseparable.

You’ll say something about a new TikTok challenge or a new meme you found while scrolling on Instagram and she’ll nod at you without a clue. She’s a bit behind on pop culture references and things like that :(.. Probably because she’s always off doing something productive.

She’s big on games— especially storymodes, though she doesn’t mind the occasional online multiplayer ones. Any free time she’s got is gonna be spent on her PC playing video games. Usually Red Dead Redemption 2, The Last of Us, Life is Strange.. sometimes Fortnite (she’s definitely a chapter 1 season 1 player don’t play w herr). Every once in a while she’ll force you to play something together. Scary games in particular. God, she loves making you play horror games.

“Im scared! Miki where did that thing go? It was just—,” suddenly, the monster jump-scares you and you’re screaming— almost falling off your girlfriend’s chair. You stare at the screen with a pounding heart and furrowed eyebrows, noting the ‘respawn’ button as you were killed for the millionth time now. You huff in frustration.

“Bye! I am not playing this game no more.” You turn to face Mikasa, when you see her laughing.

You cross your arms. “What’s so funny!?” Mika tries to stop giggling, but the cheeky pout on your face only makes her laugh even harder.

“‘M sorry, you’re just too cute. We can play that roblox game now if you want.” Mikasa giggles, as she exits off the game for you. Pressing a sweet peck to your nape, she gestures for you to flip your position on her lap. Now straddling her waist, you sigh with relief as she rubs soft circles onto your back, thankful that horror is over.

With a calmer heart, you turn to log into your account on the computer. “Let’s play Dress to Impress?”

Giving your cheek a little kiss, she whispers, “Whatever you want, baby.”

She’s very easily flustered. You would tell her she looks pretty and she’s already turning red. It’s adorable how bashful she gets 😭

She’s very, very, veryyy protective. Sometimes even too much. Always has you plastered to her, with an arm around your waist or a possessive hand around your hip. She never leaves you out of sight, even if its a quick grocery run or a shopping day at the mall— you’ll be right in front of her, and she’ll be right behind you. She always has a glowering look on her face, and if her overwhelming body language didn’t scare away lingering stares, then the threatening look on her face sure did. She’d never want anything to happen to her precious girl :(

That also applies to her doing absolutely everything for you. Carrying a bag? She’s got it. Need to run a quick errand? Don’t worry, she’s already grabbed the keys. Too tired to walk up the stairs? She’ll carry you. Heading to book an appointment for a massage? Like hell she’s letting someone touch you. She’ll have the 5-star experience at home.

Her physique is sooo delicious. She’s got strong arms, toned legs, defined abs.. she’s just so fit. Always sends you pictures of her at the gym, all sweaty and pretty for you.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, gently caressing your back.. she lovess to feel you relax in her touch. Really, it’s cause she loves to always have her hands on you. You’re just too gorgeous.

Loves back hugs. There’s just something so sweet about being able to hold you so tenderly, pressing warm kisses to your neck. Definitely her favorite type of hug.

Has to have you sat on her lap. There’s just no other way. When you watch movies together, play video games, when you’re having a quick smoke sesh, when you’re kissing— she’s always gonna have you pulled right onto her. She loves seeing you sat so prettily on top of her

LOVES when you get a new set of nails. Bonus points if they’re long, charmed ones. They feel so good when they’re wrapped around her pretty neck when your making out.

Kissing you is her favorite thing; if it’s on your lips, on your cheekbone, on the spot right in between your eyebrows, anywhere on your body— but she especially loves to kiss your neck. Always before going to sleep, she’ll make sure to snuggle up real close and litter you with kisses all over your face and neck before letting you rest. she just loves you too much

Mika always makes you feel loved. Whether that’s through sweet gifts she spoils you with, thoughtful gestures, passionate kisses, or loving words. She’s just perfect.

A/N: HI BABIES!!! I apologize for the fat text coming up. it’s been one hell of a 2 years. this was just rotting up in my drafts, along with countless other works i haven’t had the time nor motivation to finish. so so sorry for the late response nonnie. this isn’t proofread, and unfortunately isn’t too organized either. the writing and characterization might also suck.. as it’s been quiteee a long time 😅. also, i didn’t use the “Girlfriend!Mikasa who (..)” start.. but i think i might for other works in the future?? would you like that? lmk! I feel like tumblr has moved on from the usual bullet point nd dump haha. sorry again sweetheart! hope this was alright for uuu <3 i will try my hardest to be more active for u guys soon!! MWA💋💋

[mylovesstuffs]

Could you write where a member of seventeen has a s/o that's like very out of their league like him being an idol and his s/o being like a medical student soon to be a doctor or something very different from each other and what would the members say when they found out lol a lot of teasins hehehe please any member would do!! I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH AGHHHHHH

"You’re Dating a What?!" | Hoshi x Medical Student!Reader ft. SEVENTEEN’s relentless teasing

A/N: AHHH THANK YOU!! I love this concept—it’s so perfect for teasing and chaos! I’ll go with Hoshi because I think he's so perfect for the scenario and I love his reaction lol and the members would absolutely clown him for dating someone so seriou. Also, note that, he's very smart too, alright? Let’s not forget how incredibly smart Hoshi is, especially when you look at how he plays Mafia. Have you seen him in action? His chaotic genius is honestly impressive.

Word count: 432 words

Hoshi had every right to keep you (except Dino) and your profession a secret for months. Not because he was ashamed—God, no, but because he knew exactly how his members would react. And he was right.

The moment they found out that their goofy, tiger-obsessed, choreographer leader was dating a soon-to-be doctor, all hell broke loose.

It happened during a normal group dinner just like every other day. Hoshi had stepped away to take a call and his phone lit up on the table with a notification from you.

“Just finished a 12-hour shift at the hospital. Dead tired. Miss you :(”

The room went silent.

Jun, sitting closest, immediately grabbed Hoshi’s phone, “Hospital?” he read out loud. “Wait, wait—guys, who is Y/N?”

“It’s his girlfriend,” Dino answered absentmindedly, stuffing his face with food. Then he froze. “Wait. Why is she at a hospital?”

Everyone turned to look at each other before Seungkwan gasped, “No way.”

Hoshi walked back in at that moment, completely unaware of the chaos about to unfold. “Hey, what’d I miss?” he asked, sitting down.

Jeonghan leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across his angelic face. “Oh, nothing, doctor’s boyfriend.”

Hoshi choked on his water that he was about to gulp. “Wha—” silence. “How do you know?!”

Vernon waved his phone. “You left it unlocked. Rookie mistake, professor’s pet.” Cue every single member losing their minds.

Special scene lol.

The Roasting Session Begins

Mingyu: “You—YOU—bagged a future doctor? What did you do, trip in front of her and pretend to be unconscious?”

Dokyeom: “Wait, wait, so while we struggle to read our own contracts, your girlfriend is out here diagnosing diseases??”

Seungkwan: mockingly “Oh no, Dokyeom’s knee hurts from practice. Let me call my girlfriend.”

Woozi: “How did you even meet her? Was she studying in a library and you accidentally walked into the wrong building?”

Minghao: “Imagine working years to become a doctor only to date a guy who yells ‘I’M TIGER!’ for a living.”

Hoshi sat there, absolutely suffering, his face in his hands, “I hate all of you.”

Jeonghan threw an arm around him. “Nah, we’re proud of you, man. Who knew our little performance leader would be dating someone who actually contributes to society?”

Hoshi groaned, knowing the teasing would never end. But as his phone vibrated with another text from you—

“Heading home now. Call me when you’re free, love. <3”

—he just literally just grinned. Let them tease all they want. He was dating the coolest person in the world. And that was a flex.

The end.

Okay, but imagine Hoshi actually dating a doctor—it’d chaotic and adorable. He’d text you with things like “I sneezed, am I dying?” or “I accidentally ate expired ramen, will I survive?” I loved writing this, and if you want a different member, please let me know!! Thank you again for the request—you’re the best!!

[beca-mitchell]

no ordinary things with you (1/1) (bechloe)

I did this challenge by @ekingston. what a fun idea! And super thanks to @velvetinkkwrites for encouragement and being a co-conspirator.

My "prompt" was: fluff / locked in an escape room / unresolved sexual tension / a hangnail and amazingly, the Bechloe just flowed. I love these dummies.

Summary: Beca and Chloe are stuck in an escape room. Good thing Beca is an extremely calm person.

Word count: 1,000

Read on AO3 or below.

****

It’s Amy’s idea.

It’s always Amy’s idea.

And yet–

“I knew this room wasn’t meant to be completed with just two people.” 

Somehow, Amy is not here.

Chloe sighs in response to Beca’s short tone. “Bec, it’s fine. We can just wait it out.”

A familiar flare of a decade-old competitive streak flares up in Beca at the mere thought—something she had thought long dissipated once they left university. Yet being trapped in a small enclosed space with Chloe Beale has once again made Beca’s fight-or-flight instincts rise to the surface. 

“Why would they even allow us to do this room knowing that we’re two people and not three? They saw us walk in. They heard us say that Amy would be late.” She glares at the puzzle before them that clearly requires at least three pairs of hands and not just the two they have presently available. “Now we’re trapped,” Beca enunciates in an extremely chill, not dramatic way. 

Chloe’s voice. “Come on, Bec. We can at least try.”

Chloe’s soothing encouragement and endless positivity combine to make Beca feel like somehow, they’re back in college and maybe back in the stifling heat of Aubrey’s corporate torture retreat. 

Shockingly, not Amy’s idea.

Chloe’s idea, actually. 

God, that had been a time.

Beca glances at Chloe who is running her hands over the surface of the platform in front of them, clear ridges and grooves meant to be manipulated by multiple sets of hands. It’s a spy-themed room, meant to be dark and mysterious. The dim lights aren’t particularly calming to Beca right this second, especially because the lack of light somehow serves to make Chloe prettier, which is, like, extremely unfair to Beca.

It’s kind of the whole reason why Beca’s kind of being short with Chloe, when it’s really the last thing she wants to do, but distance has always served her well. The issue is that distance in a shoebox studio apartment in Brooklyn is a bit hard to achieve especially if she is sharing an uncomfortable pull-out bed with the person she kind of wants some distance from. 

It’s just that…this little being friends with her ex thing is not working out. Jesse is clearly still bitter and Beca is exasperated, which has never been a good combination. It’s even clearer that they don’t work as a couple more than ever before, now that Jesse isn’t attempting to be remotely chivalrous or protective of Beca’s feelings.

Or his own insecurities, evidently. 

So it's his accusations that are why Beca is now doing her best to not stare right at Chloe’s lips. Because of Jesse’s bright idea that Beca had long-harbored feelings for Chloe and that was why their relationship didn’t work out. 

She has tried to convince herself that it’s just Jesse’s latest wayward accusation in a string of accusations and that his dickish behavior isn’t something she needs to pay close attention to, but this one sticks. It lingers and gnaws at Beca uncomfortably. 

So much so that she has been dreaming of Chloe and her smile and her stupidly blue eyes. 

The worst part is, she doesn’t hate it. 

So, suffice it to say, Beca’s running on nerves and anxiety and of course, Amy’s bright ideas aren’t particularly thrilling to her right now. She’s stuck alone in a locked room with Chloe Beale, who looks unfairly gorgeous with her lower lip between her teeth as she puzzles out the clues around the room. And she keeps touching Beca too, with her pretty hands and smiling at her with her perfect teeth. 

“...Bec?”

Beca blinks.

“Sorry, what?”

“You were frowning.” Chloe’s tone is concerned, but she nudges a foot forward playfully. “Not new, of course. Just frowning harder than usual. Is everything okay? Did you figure something out?” 

That I want you.

“No,” Beca answers, groaning internally when Chloe’s face falls at her short tone. “No, sorry—hey. I just…it was a long week at work and-and–” she falters, trying to find any excuse because now Chloe is all perked up and gazing at Beca with such sad, concerned puppy-dog-eyes that she has to say something. Anything, really. “--this stupid hangnail made it really hard to mix because it—”

Chloe gasps, grabbing at Beca’s hand, suddenly. “I told you to moisturize,” she chides.

“Chlo–” Beca tries to take her hand back, but Chloe holds fast, fingers delicately running all over Beca’s hands like she’s solving a puzzle. Beca had not thought this through. 

She hadn’t considered the possibility that Chloe’s hands, which were doing sinful things to her in her dream just the night prior, would actually touch her like this. 

It’s not even an intimate touch, not really. But Chloe has a way of making everything she does feel like she’s doing it as her last act on Earth. So now, with Beca’s hands in her own, she is being exceptionally gentle and thorough as she tries to find the wayward hangnail that had apparently bothered Beca so much that she was acting out in a random escape room in a random building in the middle of Manhattan.

Because Chloe Beale is the only person to fix all of Beca’s problems. 

(The entire issue is that…well, that’s probably true. Beca doesn’t want to deal with that right this second. She doesn’t want to deal with the knowledge that everything she wants is right in front of her.)

Chloe lifts her gaze, eyes alight with something that Beca can’t quite place. 

(And this part—the part that tells her in a small, defiant voice, that maybe what she wants…wants her back.)

Fuck it.

A distant buzzer-like alarm crashes through the room, jolting them apart. Beca thinks that if she really is asleep now, this is maybe just all one horrible nightmare because surely—surely—if this were a dream she’d be able to kiss Chloe.

If this were a dream, she’d grab Chloe’s head and kiss her. 

And based on the look in Chloe’s eyes, she’d kiss her right back. 

fin

[greensagephase]

🤭

Hiii, Lara pooks!! 🥰 I’m finally answering this ask that’s also been in my inbox since December (I’m sorry).

Not one, not two, but THREE works! I’m honored! May I say that the first one made me giggle because of how sassy he is? “Ya. The only problem? It’s a shitty plan!” I love this sassy mafia man! Also, God, he looks so good while telling whoever he’s talking to about their bad plan.

Okay, so when I first saw this ask, the second drawing on the bottom half of the first panel got me like??? 👀👀 Because I had noticed the green eyes in the previous ask from the half of the drawing comparing 25yr old and 35yr old Miguel. When I first saw the first ask, I thought maybe you were playing around with the eye color (green), and then you dropped this ask and I was like, “WAIT! This is actually a thing” when I saw that this Miguel has green eyes. And now you’ve revealed that he discovered rapture (in the latest ask you’ve sent, which I have yet to answer. I’m so behind with notifications🫠), so now I have questions that hopefully you’ll answer in future art! So, 25-year-old Miguel was working at a lab and he discovered rapture… And that’s why now in his mafia era, Miguel has green eyes! Did he take it willingly, or did something go wrong? And if he did take it willingly, why? How did he go from a geneticist to a mafia don? I have questions, Lara, and I hope we learn more in the future! 😭 🙏🏼

Also, I love the second panel so much! I love how I can tell 35-year-old Miguel looks so much more mature, not only by the white streaks of hair, but also in his face lines. Mwah! I loved that detail, and I need 35-year-old Miguel in my life, like yesterday, please!

I’m not gonna lie, the last panel had me barki- I mean, screaming! The way he’s sitting there, so powerful and handsome? Bout to ask if his lap is taken, or if I may take a seat. 😩 The hair? Sir, please, let me just run my fingers through it! Also! I hadn’t noticed mans has a scar on his eyebrow?! It’s only because of this colored drawing that I realize it’s a scar, and not like, something he decided to do to his eyebrow for himself (you know how some people specifically shave a line off?). Now I’m curious how he got it! Was it Kira? 🤭 Also, the way the light makes his eyes look so pretty?? I wanna gaze into them forever. 🥺

Aughhhh, Lara! Your art! You’re always cooking, and I thank you for that and also for continuing to share your OC and variant Miguel’s lore. It always inspires me to work more on my own, but I never do lol. 💀Maybe in the future! But, thank you once again for sharing your art with me! 🥹 I’m going to hopefully answer the rest of your asks this week. I was hoping to answer more this weekend, but I started feeling under the weather on Saturday. Anyway, feeling alright now, so I should be able to answer my asks and catch up.

I hope you had a wonderful weekend, pooks!💖

Alondra❤️

[ssentimentals]

hi nini!! hope you doing great today 😊 saw your prompt list for your 1.7k followers celebration (HAPPY 1.7K FOLLOWERS NINI!! 🥺💐). could i possibly request svt woozi x oc/reader with prompt no. 8 pls? thank you so much!! been reading your works since last yr and all of it are so amazingggg ><

hi anonie! ahhh thank you so much!! i'm so happy you're enjoying my works :') and of course you can request, thank you for doing so! 💜

prompt: 'who did this to you?'

'baby, i'm home!' you announce, closing the door behind yourself. quickly taking off your hat and scarf, you start unbuttoning your coat, talking loudly: 'god, it's freezing outside! please tell me that you managed to fix our heater, this zero degrees situation is frankly ridicilous. oh and i also got us tacos cause it's friday and we deserve tacos!'

you stumble into the living room with wide smile and bag full of said tacos in your hands, pausing at the sight of an empty room with your boyfriend nowhere in sight. jihoon always makes a point of greeting you from work, has this whole routine of coming over with gentle smile and even gentler hands that instantly pull you close for a hug. the silence in apartment is suspicious and you paddle slowly to the kitchen and then to the bedroom. you call his name again and when instead of a usual 'hey baby' you get 'don't come in!' from him, you start getting nervous. 'what's happening? why i can't come in?'

'uh- nothing, it's all good, you can enter the bedroom just not our bathroom, okay? i'll be out in a second.'

jihoon's voice sounds strained and it lacks usual warmth that he always has reserved for you. without thinking twice you enter the bedroom and make a beeline towards the bathroom, leaning on the door but not opening it, not yet. 'what is going on?' you ask carefully. 'i'm getting anxious here, ji, don't do this to me.'

jihoon knows how bad you are with situations like that, knows that your anxiety skyrockets when you have no idea what is happening. last thing he wants is to make you worried though, so with a sigh he unlocks the door, letting you in. he saw his reflection in the mirror and is aware of how black eye contrasts with his pale skin, but when he catches look of pure shock on your face, he thinks maybe he underestimated his skills of using concealer. 'um,' he starts unsurely. 'sorry, i don't have my own makeup so i took your concealer without asking first.'

that brings you back as you sputter, stepping closer to him with worried eyes. 'wha- you think that's what i care about right now?' you ask indignantly and with careful hands you take a hold of his face. 'baby, what happened? who did this to you?'

jihoon doesn't really want to answer this question. he knows it's very justified but he can't tell you that some guys at work were making stupid jokes about his relationships and one of them took it too far. he normally can't care less of what people think but not when it comes to you; he's not proud of how he handled it, but he doesn't regret sticking up for you against others. looking at your eyes that are slowly starting to fill up with tears, jihoon knows that he'll fight however many guys on this planet because you are his diamond and he won't let anyone speak badly about you. out loud he says only: 'you should see the other guy. this,' he motions to his black eye, 'is nothing compared to how he looks now.'

it's not enough to ease your worries but it does make you laugh and spal his shoulder. 'jihoon!' you shake your head. 'don't even try to cover it up with jokes. oh god, it looks horrible,' you lean closer, inspecting his face. 'oh baby. what happened? are you okay? should we go to the hospital?'

your sweetness washes over him and jihoon smiles, tugging you closer. 'no need, i'm good. just got this black eye and that's it. and we just- misunderstood each other.'

you raise your eyebrow at this. 'you're not type of guy who punches first and asks questions later. what happened, baby?'

jihoon glances at the bag on the floor and smiles. 'did you got us something on the way home?'

you turn, smiling. 'yeah, tacos from our favorite place. wait, don't try to distract me mister, tell me-'

'i am starving,' jihoon interrupts and leans in, pecking your lips. 'you know what can really help me right now? will make me feel better? you on my lap while we're eating our favorite tacos. hm? can we do that, angel?'

jihoon knows that you're tactful enough to know when not to push, but he can see battle happening in your eyes. at last you decide to let it go for now, letting him pull you to the kitchen. jihoon easily wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you on his lap, ignoring your squeak of protest. 'thank you for the tacos, baby,' he mutters, kissing your shoulder. 'you're the best.'

'mhm,' you turn to him, wiggling a little until you get comfortable. 'we will talk anyways, ji. just not now.'

jihoon nods. not now is enough. he was so distraught when he came back home that having you like this is truly the only thing that can make him feel better. he hugs you tighter and leans with his forehead on your back. 'tell me about your day, baby. please,' he asks quietly.

your hand finds his and you giving it a squeeze before starting to recount everything what happened with you today. jihoon feels tension leave his body at the sound of your voice and your body close to him. when you absentmindedly start caressing his hand, he smiles. yeah, he's very okay with getting into fights on your behalf. you deserve it.

a/n: hopefully you liked it, let me know! <3 - nini

request your own here

[farfromstrange]

@fire-joestar Thank you so much for your request, darling! God knows I love an Avenger!Reader as much as the next person. Still took me some thinking though. I did a bit of a mix between object levitation/telekinesis and nature manipulation, so I went just a little off-script to fit the tone better. I hope this still manages to live up to your vision! (Putting most of it under a cut because this got looooong)

Matt Murdock x Powered!Reader Headcanons

Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Former Avenger!Powered!Reader

Request: A bouquet of… tulips and daisies.

Warnings: Fluff.

WC: 965 (got a bit carried away, oops)

Matt has always scrutinized the persecution of powered individuals. So when he meets you—a powered individual and former Avenger—of course, he’s not appalled or scared or anything like that; if anything, he’s intrigued. He wants to know more about you. And it doesn’t take much for him to fall in love with you because you are damaged, too. 

You have your history, and a lot of what happened when you were still an Avenger made you reject the powers you were born with. The way people looked at you after Sokovia and Lagos; the way you were all put into the same drawer and treated like imbeciles, obviously didn’t leave you cold. So, you try to use them as little as possible when you first start dating Matt because even though his senses are heightened beyond what could be considered normal for a blind man—he is Daredevil—he’s still only human. 

But Matt being Matt doesn’t let you get away with hiding. Okay, at first, maybe he would because he wants to give you time to open up, and you’ve just started dating, but he’s less tolerable once you grow closer. 

The first time he kisses you, you’re so caught off guard by this handsome, kind, and unbelievably good-hearted man actually kissing you, that you lose control of your carefully constructed reality for a moment, and the vase on his coffee table starts to levitate. 

And when you finally realize, your hold on the inanimate object eases, and it shatters.

“I’m so sorry,” you blabber, blood pulsing in your cheeks. But he shushes you with that signature smirk of his and says, “It’s alright.” 

It feels weird though, being this way around someone whose ‘abilities’ are solely reduced to his four working senses. 

Maybe he tells you, “Look at me. I don’t care if you have horns or a tail, or you can make a vase levitate several feet off the ground. This is you, and I… I love you, okay? I love you.”

There, he said it. You think it’s a joke, at first, but the look in his unfocused hazel eyes tells you that he’s being honest. You can’t hear his heartbeat like he can hear yours, but you can feel it thumping steadily under your palm and you know he would never lie to you.  

Matt’s infatuated with you. Your uniqueness doesn’t make you any less human or stunningly beautiful to him. Of course, he can sense that you’re different. His senses are so sensitive to the slightest changes in the atmosphere and the human bodies around him, and even on a molecular level, he can sense when something is out of the ordinary. But it doesn’t hurt him.  

He can’t really explain it to you, but there is a buzzing in your veins he can hear and feel. It took him some getting used to, sure, because he doesn’t often experience it, but it’s not unpleasant. Your body doesn’t feel different under his touch—soft as silk—yet he can tell that you’re not ordinarily human. He can feel the power coursing through you, and when you use it, the atmosphere shifts in a way that makes his skin tingle. 

Some nights, when he’s had a rough day and his senses are burning from overstimulation, you take his favorite flowers that have long wilted, and you bring them back to life. You let them float around him until the scent has seeped into his soul. 

You can manipulate the world around you to make it more bearable to him. He doesn’t even have to tell you to do it; when he comes home with his jaw set in stone, his head hung low or his fists bloody, you pull him to the floor and you make the world go quiet. You make him experience all the things that make him happy, and that’s how he falls asleep. 

He knows how to tune out the world on his own, don’t get me wrong, but not if he’s already been trying to do it all day and all night, only focusing on what’s important. When he loses control, that’s when he needs you. And you have the actual power to make it all go away. He’s addicted to how it feels when you use your powers on him or for him, and he would never ask you to stop. 

Or when you place your hand over his racing heart, closing your eyes and trying to get it back to beating normal, he feels you coursing through his very veins, and his pulse slows to a crawl. 

Perhaps, after you express the wish to go with him on patrol—and he would shoot you down the first couple of times out of fear of losing you—he eventually caves when he notices how badly you crave it, seeing him do it every night. He knows you want to make a difference again. To help people. That’s why you became an Avenger in the first place, and after you lost that, you obviously started missing it. 

Is he worried about your safety? All the time. He’s scared someone might hurt you, or someone might arrest you just for being who you are. He’s afraid of losing you. But he also knows you can take care of yourself. 

Let’s be honest, if you were someone with the powers to manipulate nature and a former Avenger, you would be the one protecting him most of the time. Because unlike him, you actually can’t get hurt that easily. So, he caves and he makes sure you fight the good fight together.

Needless to say, Matt would do anything for you.