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https-bobreynolds · 1 month ago

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save her

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x thunderbolts*! reader

summary: during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

warning: mentions of bloods, injuries, a curse word mentioned, anxiety and self-blaming. mentions of y/n. also, reader’s a badass who has powers like wanda.

author’s note: i’m not gonna lie, this is my BEST fic yet and i’m pretty sure it’s gonna be hard to beat so i hope i did the action sequences justice!! this is inspired by @disillusioniary ‘s comment on my bob headcanons post!! hope you like it <3

the thunderbolts* was currently on a mission deep in enemy territory. your target was a highly fortified secure facility that contained weapons of mass destruction. the mission was complicated because the target was heavily protected by an elite special ops division, so you were all expecting heavy resistance.

the team was currently moving through a heavily guarded corridor. the area was well fortified and manned by heavily armed guards. every corner was armed with motion detected weapons, and there were multiple barriers in strategic locations to make progress more difficult.

you had been briefed before the mission, and you were aware of the risks you were all taking. the mission brief was clear: reach the target and retrieve the weapon, or destroy it if you can’t recover it.

every member of the team was confident they could complete the mission, but they were also fully aware that there was a very real chance they wouldn't make it out alive.

the team was approaching the target area, and things were getting tense. they could hear voices coming from the other side of the door, and they knew they were about to meet a lot of resistance, there was at least a hundred of them… but they were still calm, still focused on the mission. they all knew the risks, but they were willing to take them.

bob was in the middle of the team, sandwiched between bucky and john. he was feeling nervous, his heart racing in anticipation. he had never been in a situation like this before, had never been in the middle of a fight like this. he felt like a fish out of water, he felt out of place, like he didn't belong here.

he was lost in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down... he was feeling a lot of things all at once, and his nerves were getting the better of him. he was trying to keep it together, not wanting to show the other how scared he was... but his breathing was coming out in short, quick bursts.

you noticed him from behind, quickly patting his shoulders in reassurance, giving him a nod and a smile when he looked back at you with his doe eyes, thankful for the reassurance, and making him feel so much better, knowing that you were there to support him.

that brief sense of peace was quickly tarnished when bucky made a signal with his hand ‘1, 2, 3’ and within seconds, the door exploded wide open, revealing a large amount of soldiers ready to kill them all.

all hell broke loose. bullets started flying, alexei was screaming “FEEL THE WRATH OF THE THUNDERBOLTS!!”, and the team scattered, taking cover and firing back. bob was crouched behind a corner, his heart pounding in his chest. he could barely see past his own fear, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold his gun... then he heard a voice, one of the others calling out to him.

“bob- look out..!” you yelled, jumping in front of him, quickly moving your hands to literally, work your magic through. you are a master of telekinesis, chaos magic, and mind manipulation- though not as strong as your mentor, wanda maximoff, yet.

he snapped out of his fear induced trance and turned to look at you, just in time to see you jump in front of him. he could see the energy surging from you, the magic surging through the air, he felt a wave of disbelief wash over him... was this really real?

“focus..!” he heard someone yell out, only God knows who, in the midst of the chaos. he shook his head at that, trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening around him. the battle was all around them, the bullets flying and the explosions thundering. it was sensory overload, and he was trying to stay focused.

“bob, try and get the weapons, will you??” yelena said from across the room, as calmly but still firm as she could, shooting at the enemies. bob swallowed his own spit, adam’s apple bobbing, ‘m-me??’ he thought to himself, wondering why the hell was he here instead of washing the dishes back at the tower.

his thoughts was disturbed as he heard an “i’ll cover you, go!” from you, energy surging once more, covering the man with a chaos-magic shield.

bob took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart... he could see the weapons on the other side of the room, and he knew he had to get to them. he was scared, but he knew he had to trust you to keep him safe. he nodded to you, trying to summon the courage to make a move.

he quickly ran, feeling a surge of adrenaline, bullets bouncing off from your magic shield. it made him feel safe, really, but you were getting tired, having to protect not only yourself but bob. only realizing now, that you’re holding off the enemies in front of you with one hand while protecting him with the other.

‘almost there…’ he thought to himself.

the moment he was there, his mind were in shambles, trying his best to think straight. ‘the mission was either to retrieve or destroy…’ and the latter seemed much easier than the first one.

he grabbed onto his gun and shot directly at the weapons, seemingly having to forgetten the fact that they are in fact, highly explosive.

after that, everything just seemed to go in slow motion- the moment the huge explosion occurred: alexei quickly pulled yelena into a bear hug, protecting his little girl from the debris, and they were fine- as they both were furthest away from the weapons.

bucky quickly threw a punch on a soldier before he ran and slid away from the explosion, leaving him to safety. walker got his shield to protect both him and ava, still getting pushed by the impact of the explosion though.

you however?

you completely lost focus on your surroundings and focused it all on his, placing both your hands in front of you, at him, using the energy surge to create a much more powerful shield for him- the impact of the explosion immediately throwing you and several shrapnel onto the wall, causing you to spit out blood, cuts everywhere.

“shit, y/n, are you okay??” bucky asked, from somewhere in the background.

bob couldn’t look, couldn’t believe what he had done... the explosion had been massive, and he was expecting to be injured, to have been hit by shrapnel... but none of the debris had touched him- you were protecting him, shielding him from the explosion... he felt guilty, guilty that he had done this to you. he tried to look back at you, hoping beyond hope that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, trying to find a way to help... he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. he crouched down next to you, trying to assess the damage... he could see that you were struggling, and it was tearing him apart.

“i-i’m alright, bob…” you said slowly, trying to reassure him as if you weren’t a few seconds away from fainting, eyes starting to feel so… heavy.

bob didn’t know what to say, he just crouched there, shaking, as if he’s the one in pain. “you know damn well she’s not.” a familiar, dark voice suddenly came to his head, it was the void.

“you did this to her”

“this is your fault”

bob’s heart sank, his mind racing with guilt... it was all his fault, he had caused this. he could see that you were struggling, that you were in pain, and it was all because he had failed to think rationally.

“i… i don’t k-know what to do… i don’t know how to help her…” bob scrambled, feeling like he was spiraling, trying so hard to remember the first-aid kit tutorials that you showed him several nights ago, “why can’t i… w-why can’t i remember??”

“you can’t save her...” the dark voice immediately says, as bob’s thoughts were being consumed by guilt and fear, like he was drowning- like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a whirpool of anxiety.

“but i can.”

bob froze, he knew that voice... it was the other one, the one that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“p-please…” in a second, bob closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him away, wanting nothing but you to be safe, “save her…”

the next moment, bob opened his eyes, now with golden rings around it, it was no longer bob, it was the void. bob was long gone, replaced by a cold and calculated demeanor, his black silhouette... his gaze fixated on only one person, you.

bob the void immediately stood up, and in an instant, flew across the room, throwing punches at the remaining soldiers who dared stand against his way. he was like a storm, destroying everything in his path... he moved with such grace and speed, like a work of art, each punch executed with precision and accuracy.

it was almost like an… overkill, even, he didn’t care about their wellbeing at all. he just kept throwing punches even if they were already unconscious. unbeknownst to him however, you were becoming weaker and weaker. the blood loss making your eyes droopy, your breathes shorter.

the more he fought, the more angry he got... he could feel the rage building up inside him, could feel himself losing control... but he didn’t care, all he cared about was taking the soldiers down, one by one.

he found himself on top of a poor soldier, punching him to oblivion. he couldn’t stop- until he heard a familiar voice, john’s to be exact, “bob. that’s enough.”

but that alone wasn’t enough to stop him, ava, who was holding your weak body, yelled at him, “you have got to save her, bob.”

for a moment, it seemed like the void might listen… his fist was inches away from smashing the soldier’s face in again, but he froze, almost shocked by what he heard.

‘save her’ he repeated in his mind, as if reminding himself. her. the girl who had bob in a chokehold, the girl who had shown him affection that nobody has in more than twenty years, the girl who’d do anything for him.

he abruptly stood up, walking back to them, to you... the others immediately prepared themselves, ready to defend themselves in case he gets volatile, “you can’t save her, not by punching people… not like this… but the sentry can” yelena says, desperate to save her friend.

the void stood there, trying to make sense of what he had been told… ‘the sentry?’ he thought, ‘how can the sentry possibly save her?’ he couldn’t understand, but he wanted to try, for her.

he suddenly remembered, the sentry is a being… so powerful… so almighty… that he can heal others with a simple touch. “i can… save her…” the void bob muttered, feeling a sense of determination wash over him… he had to try, he had to save you.

in a few second, his black silhouette started to fade away, going back to bob’s figure- but the others could tell that it wasn’t him, not with golden rings around his pupils anyway.

he was quiet, slowly moving closer to the girl. but it wasn’t because he was afraid or anything like that, no. it was because of his pride, knowing that he is the only one who could save you.

he knelt down next to you, his gaze fixed on your injured frame... he could see the pain you were in, the suffering you were going through... it made his heart ache to see you like this, but he would never admit to that.

he looked at the others, one by one, as if saying ‘look at me, look at your savior’, before he touched your arm, hands glowing a golden bright aura.

the others watched in awe, they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next- never could they have imagined your scars and wounds healing in just a mere seconds, your breathe coming to a better pace, and your eyes, opening once more.

you groaned, your eyes fluttering open as you slowly came to... you could feel something different, something had changed... you weren't in pain anymore, you weren't feeling sick anymore... you were good as new.

“bob..?” you asked softly, looking at the man with the golden eyes. he let out a small sigh of relief before his eyes went back to his normal state, closing it shut, and fainting right next to you.

you were immediately alarmed to see him collapse next to you, worried that he was hurt somehow. you checked him for injuries, and when you couldn't find a single one, you looked over at the others, searching for an explanation.

“don’t even ask.”

part two

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ilovolderman · 2 months ago

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Operation Mugshot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam tries to set a trap to catch your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, drones and oranges

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson had a plan.

He’d spent the better part of two weeks compiling evidence, cross-referencing time logs, analyzing coffee consumption patterns, and creating a red-string bulletin board that would’ve made any conspiracy theorist proud.

Today, all that paranoia was finally going to pay off.

He sipped his decaf—yes, decaf, because he needed to stay sharp—and watched the living room like a hawk disguised as a houseplant. Or maybe the other way around.

The trap was simple.

Step 1: Hide in the pantry with snacks, a thermal imaging tablet, and a drone disguised as a spice rack. Step 2: Wait. Step 3: Catch you two being adorably romantic in high-definition.

Easy.

Sam sipped his decaf, checked his drone feed, and muttered into his earpiece—connected to absolutely no one. “Wilson to base. Operation Mugshot is live. Targets are expected in T-minus one minute.”

Five minutes in, Sam was regretting the plan.

Ten minutes in, he was beginning to lose feeling in one leg.

Fifteen minutes in, the door creaked open.

He tensed. It was happening. Showtime.

But it wasn’t Bucky.

It wasn’t even you.

It was a Roomba. Rolling casually into the kitchen, bumping into a cabinet, and then zooming away like it had places to be.

Sam exhaled, annoyed. “False alarm.”

Twenty minutes in, the door opened again. Finally.

A creak. Footsteps.

Bingo.

You shuffled in wrapped in a burrito blanket, yawning with your whole body. Your socks were mismatched. You still had a pillow crease on your face. You looked, in Sam’s words, “suspiciously domestic.”

A beat later, Bucky wandered in.

Barefoot. Wearing a t-shirt that just so happened to look a lot like one you “lost” last week. He blinked at the pantry.

Bucky tilted his head ever so slightly toward the pantry. The door was open a fraction too wide. There was a faint hum—Sam’s drone, probably watching like a nosy Roomba.

He mouthed, Trap.

You mouthed back, I know.

So, naturally, you played it cool.

“Morning,” you said casually, reaching for a mug. “Nice weather for emotional espionage.”

“Sure is,” Bucky replied, pouring himself coffee like a man who hadn’t just spotted a super-spy hiding behind the cereal boxes.

You both stood in suspicious silence for a moment.

Then Bucky dropped the act, leaned over, and whispered, “We should absolutely mess with him.”

You grinned. “What do you have in mind?”

Cut to ten minutes later: you and Bucky sat on opposite ends of the couch, the most awkward six feet of exaggerated distance between you. No eye contact. Arms folded. The tension so forced it might as well have been acting school improv.

Sam, crouched in the pantry, stared at the screen. His drone hovered silently, recording the scene.

“Huh,” he mumbled. “No touching. No shared glances. No whispering. That’s… not what I expected.”

The footage was useless. You both looked like coworkers waiting for a Zoom call to start.

Then—movement.

Sam tensed.

You got up. Walked toward Bucky. Bucky looked up.

Sam’s heart nearly exploded with victory.

You said, “Do you have… the thing?”

“The thing?” Bucky echoed.

“The thing for… that work thing?”

“Ah,” Bucky said, “the… report?”

“Yes,” you said stiffly. “That report.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. They were talking code. He scrambled to write it down. THE REPORT = PROBABLY CODE FOR SECRET RELATIONSHIP.

Sam was vibrating.

“They’re debriefing,” he whispered. “This is it. This is the heart of the operation.”

Then he shifted too hard and knocked over a box of granola bars.

The pantry door creaked.

The drone wobbled and dropped like a bug with stage fright.

You stood calmly and opened the door.

There was Sam Wilson. Looking like a kid caught stealing cookies—except the cookies were a pile of tech gadgets, caffeine charts, and about four different colored highlighters.

You blinked. “You okay in there?”

He looked down at his tablet. “I was… conducting surveillance.”

“For breakfast?”

“DON’T PLAY DUMB,” Sam snapped, pointing dramatically.

Bucky offered a hand to help him up. “Are you good, man?”

Sam slapped it away. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. I just got ambushed by—by deception and romantic subterfuge.” He gestured wildly.

“Coincidence,” Bucky said, way too smoothly.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You will slip up one day. You think I didn’t notice how you both hum ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ while making toast?”

“That was once,” you said defensively.

“ON THREE DIFFERENT OCCASIONS.”

“Okay, twice.”

“Also,” Sam added, “you share coffee stirrers.”

Bucky blinked. “We don’t even use stirrers.”

“You do!” Sam yelled, unhinged. “YOU DO. I HAVE SCREENSHOTS.”

There was a beat of silence.

You turned to Bucky. “We should be concerned, right?”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “Very.”

Sam’s drone bumped into the wall and fell with a soft whirr.

“…Friday,” Sam said, defeated, “run the footage back. Look for emotional cues.”

Then Friday chimed in: “Sir, your footage today is 97% couch silence and 3% you chewing a granola bar while whispering ‘enhance’ at a static screen.”

Sam’s eye twitched.

“I’ve failed,” he said.

You walked over and gently patted his shoulder. “You tried.”

“I hate both of you.”

“You love us,” Bucky said, smiling softly.

Sam pointed at him. “I will find the truth. Someday. I’ll be ready.”

“Sure you will,” you said sweetly.

Sam stormed out. Then stormed back in. Grabbed his granola bar. Then stormed out again. He grumbled under his breath “This isn’t over. I’ll crack the case eventually.”

FRIDAY chimed softly from above. “Sir, your blood pressure is once again elevated.”

Sam glared at the ceiling. “FRIDAY, remind me to install lie detectors in every room.”

“Noted.”

Once Sam had disappeared, you leaned into Bucky’s side, chuckling softly.

“That was beautiful,” you said, still snickering. “I almost feel bad for him.”

Bucky grinned, kissing the top of your head. “Nah. He’s probably already planning his next move. But at least we know one thing for sure.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He kissed your forehead again, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re definitely not getting caught.”

And as long as Sam kept chasing wild theories, you knew the two of you had the perfect cover.

For now.

From the hallway, Sam peeked back in, only to see you both on opposite ends of the couch again, scrolling your phones.

He narrowed his eyes.

“…One day,” he muttered. “One. Day.”

Later that morning you sat on the blanket Bucky laid out—curled up in one of his hoodies that was at least two sizes too big, sleeves draping over your hands like paws, the collar loose enough that it slipped off your shoulder every time you shifted.

The rooftop garden was quiet except for the lazy hum of bees somewhere off near the lavender.

Above, cottony clouds drifted across a soft blue sky like they were in no rush to be anywhere else.

Bucky sat beside you, legs stretched out, peeling an orange with the slow, careful ease of someone with nowhere else to be. He offered you the first slice with a crooked little smile—the kind he only ever gave you. The kind that made your heart skip like a stone across still water.

You took the orange slice, your fingers brushing his. His fingers lingered.

Another slice. For you.

One for him.

One he tucked into the front pocket of your hoodie with exaggerated seriousness, like it was official mission protocol.

“For later,” he said, his voice low, amused.

You chuckled, letting your head fall lightly against his shoulder. His hoodie smelled like him—cedar, warmth, a little like whatever laundry detergent he pretended not to care about but always remembered to buy.

He leaned into your weight, resting his cheek against your hair, and for a few minutes, the two of you simply were—content, warm, quiet.

“This is nice,” you murmured.

Bucky hummed. “Even if Sam installs spy pigeons next?”

“He already tried. They were drones.”

He tilted his head just enough to give you a look. “You’re kidding.”

“Swear. I caught one trying to blend in with the doves last week.”

“…Did it coo?”

“Worse. It beeped.”

You both burst out laughing, your voice muffled against his arm. Bucky’s chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, and you could feel it under your cheek like a heartbeat made of joy.

“You know he’s never going to stop,” you said, lifting your gaze slightly to meet his eyes.

“I hope he never does,” Bucky said, soft and sure. “Gives us an excuse to keep playing these little games.”

You smiled, fingertips absently tugging at the cuff of his sleeve.

“I like our games.”

“I like you.”

He said it like a secret. Like something holy. Like the sun had come out just to eavesdrop on the moment.

Then he tilted his head and kissed you, slow and soft, a kiss that tasted like orange and quiet and safety. The kind of kiss that wasn’t asking for anything, just giving everything.

You smiled against his lips. He kissed that smile, too.

Then, a soft whirrrr in the distance.

You both looked up.

A drone hovered nearby, clearly struggling against the wind.

Bucky leaned close, whispered in your ear, “Five bucks says he crashes it into the tomatoes again.”

You grinned. “You’re on.”

Moments later, the drone dipped, wobbled—

Thunk.

Right into the tomato trellis.

Bucky held out his hand. “Pay up.”

You laughed and kissed his lips.

“Acceptable payment,” he said solemnly.

Meanwhile in somewhere in the compound Sam was scribbling in his notebook again.

CASE #111: They ARE Dating.

Surveillance Compromised Drone Casualties: 1 (Tomato-related incident) Emotional Evidence: Off the charts Investigator Notes: “They’re definitely dating. I feel it in my spleen. But also… maybe they deserve to be happy. Maybe… I’m the problem.” Status: Unofficially Admitted, Still Officially Denied

And then, in desperate, scrawled print:

“WHY IS IT SO HARD TO CATCH PEOPLE BEING IN LOVE?!”

Underlined three times.

“They’re too innocent. It’s a setup. It’s reverse psychology. They want me to think they’re not dating so I give up—BUT I WON’T.” he muttered

Then, he paused.

Stared into the middle distance.

“…Wait. What if I’m the one being surveilled?”

Friday, ever patient, replied from the speakers: “Sir, please go outside.”

next part

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cathnospam · 2 months ago

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Ever since Deku seen you and Bakugo have sex 3 days ago that night he haven’t been able to stare at neither of you the same.

He haven’t been this jittery and defensive since he thought shoto knew about the truth of his quirk all those years ago.

Everyday during a lecture he sits a row behind you and Bakugo and all he could do is stare and noticing the small interactions you both do,

like how Bakugo lends you his pen without word, how you casually steal his water bottle to sip on, how he leans over to make an incoherent comment causing you to giggle and playfully push him,

did he whisper something sexual to you?

Deku’s mind was racing an hour a minute, he felt his freckled tan cheeks get hot when you would approach him with your doting smile to talk.

All he can see is your face when you cum from getting head.

Or when you laugh/yawn, around him his eyes target on you.

All he can hear were you moans when Bakugo slips his dick inside you. You sound so different, and cuter.

Bakugo isn’t free from Deku’s stares either, he’s a straight guy, but he is confident in his masculinity to know Bakugo is a good looking guy and he gets embarrassed seeing the vast difference between him alone with you vs in public.

Was he always like this?

The way how his eyebrows are always furrowed, even though he’s not mad.

But they’re relaxed and content when he’s laid with you, inside you.

The way how his raspy deep voice pretty much gravels when he speaks.

But it’s softer when he speaks with you.

Everything pretty much changed in his mind about you both to the point he started to add more notes about you two in his notebook.

“Y/N: Her weak spot is on her ear. She’s very clingy—-

Bakugo: Weak spot on his neck. Curses more than usual when he’s close—-“

It’s shameful, but he can’t really help himself. He swears he’ll tell you one day, but he is 95% sure Bakugo will find out and risk being the #50 ranked hero to kill him.

Especially if he found out since then he past by your door every late night to hear you both again.

Deku has been trying to avoid you since, but he’s your best friend and you have no issue figuring it out if there was something wrong with your best friend.

“Hey, Zuzu…can we talk?”

You see his eyes practically pop out of his head to your touch on his shoulder, “Y-yes! What’s up?”

You pull him to the side by the bench, “You okay? You been ignoring my text the past few days. I missed my gaming buddy.” You playfully shove his shoulder to get a chuckle out of him, but all he could do was pull out an awkward one, “You okay?”

He couldn’t tell you. Not now, he couldn’t let you know he watched you get fucked, he couldn’t tell you how turned on it made him, and he definitely could not tell you how he got off to it.

As pretty and innocent as your eyes looked right now, in the back of Deku’s mind he knew, he knew EXACTLY what you really were.

His adam’s apple bobs up and down, trying to examine your face for a moment he notices the mark on your neck, “Did you hurt yourself?”

When he points to your bruise you jump, “Dammit ‘Suki.”

“Oh, yes! I ran into a pole the other day sparring. I’m okay.”

Liar. Dirty little liar.

“Well I’m fine I just…been a little distracted.”

“Oh?” You were giggly to know the tea with your bestie, “Girl trouble?”

“What?”

“You and Ochaco. I know you both are close….having a hard time trynna ask her out?”

“N-no! Nothing like that we’re …okay . I haven’t properly asked her out even though we—-not important I was just—“

“Yo.”

For some reason Bakugo’s rugged voice made Izuku freeze in his sentence, as if the air got sucked out of his own throat.

“Here. For yesterday. Now I don’t owe you again.”

A wad of cash was placed in your hand, you jokingly fan it and smile, “well well well, looks like I’m 7,300 yen richer. Thank you.”

“Tch.” He scoffs and readjust his eyes at Deku while you put your money in your wallet, “Also, Aizawa said we have work study together, Deku. Tomorrow at 10am don’t be late and make me look bad.”

“Y-yeah. Got it.”

Bakugo noticed his cheeks blushing, it ticked him off a little seeing as he knew Deku knew about the assignment with him, and he could’ve easily zelle’d you the money back he owed you it’s just—-

He felt a little bit of jealously when he seen how close you were sitting beside Izuku.

He trusts you both completely, he knew Deku wasn’t into you and he knew you weren’t into Deku, many nights were spent between you both explaining that, and his excuse to approach you both was silly, but he couldn’t help it.

Your Blondie stared at you one last time, kind of similar to a warning glare and walked off, “He’s so silly. Anyway. What were you saying?”

“Uh….nothing actually, but maybe this weekend we can go to the arcade or something?”

“Of course, yeah totally. Just making sure you’re okay.”

After practically running off the rest of the day went by quick, he spent it in his room, pacing, writing, pacing and writing, all the way until 11pm. That’s when he heard the small patter of footsteps next door.

When Deku creaked open his door his heart began to race, there you were, in your little silk night down being pulled into Bakugo’s room. Once his door clicks his feet moved before his thoughts did and he tip toed to it, leaning his ear beside the door, he could just barely hear what you two were talking about.

“You make me jealous on purpose don’t you?”

“No, you make yourself jealous, ‘Suki, you know I only want you—-aaahh!”

Once he heard your pretty noises again he immediately ran to his room to shut the door, in a rush he quickly took down the framed posters above his bed to listen in closely against the wall, it seemed he heard you both a little more clearly now.

It wasn’t long until he began to hear your moans and whispers of Katsuki’s name, a couple comments stating he had to be up early turned into almost an hour of his headboard tapping against the wall. If he pressed his ear hard enough he was able to hear the sloshing wet paps of him fucking you.

Deku tried to imagine the position you both were in, doggy? missionary? to the side again, maybe you were on top he did hear Bakugo make a few strained noises and curses.

He felt guilty imagining it was him instead. His fist right back in his sweats like it was a few days ago, using his imagination to picture your breast bouncing inside his mouth while he suckles as you use him.

It’s wrong he knows, but everybody has their guilty pleasures though, right?

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layaispunk · 2 months ago

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still here with me

my masterlist | taking requests! <3

pairing: jackson!joel x female!reader

summary: you save Joel.

warnings: spoilers for episode 2. canon typical violence, jackson's hoard, angst, lil bit of fluff. Ellie isnt mentioned.

a/n: i love abby but NOT ON MY WATCH. anyway .... how are we feeling ....? 🫂

The sounds of gunfire crackled through the cold.

The blizzard felt like an entity - roaring, kicking up like ash as the hoard was running toward Jackson’s gates - hundreds of them, more than you'd ever seen. Clickers, stalkers, runners. Screeching. Crawling. Dying in waves, but still coming.

You stood on the wall beside Tommy, breath steaming in the cold as your rifle jerked back with each shot. “There’s too many, Tommy. We need the barrels."

“Fuck!” Tommy yelled, loading another round. “Keep your aim steady!” Tommy barked.

But you weren't hearing him anymore. Your ears were ringing. Joel.

You blinked hard, fired another round. “Tommy,” you muttered, voice tight.

He didn’t turn. “What?”

“I have to go.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I need to find him. I need to find Joel. Amy said he's at the ski lodge."

Tommy finally looked at her, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?"

“Something’s wrong, Tommy. I can feel it.”

Tommy grabbed your arm. “You run out now, you’ll die. Its a death trap.”

“Then I'll die trying.” you muttered, his hand still on yours.

He hesitated—just a breath—then nodded toward the watchtower behind them. “Back gate. It’s clearer that way. Take a horse and ride fast. You hear me? Be fuckin safe. Go."

You sprinted to the stables, saddled a horse with shaky hands, and rode like hell—snow blurring your vision, heart screaming louder than the wind, outrunning the hoard. Toward the lodge.

Every fiber of you wanted to scream Joel and Dina's names to look for them. To cry out. But you had enough experience to know that you couldn’t.

If they were in trouble, if they're hurt —you yelling would only paint a target on your back. Or theirs. It wasn't an option.

So you rode low in the saddle, head ducked beneath the howling wind, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

When you finally reached the edge of the lodge, you dismounted, boots hitting the ground heavy and wet. Snow clung to your coat and lashes. The horse huffed, nervous.

You crept forward, one foot after the other. Fingers clenched around your rifle. No footprints leading away from the door. No sign of anyone leaving in a hurry. Just quiet.

The sky above you was darkening fast, blizzard now in full force.

You walked in, slowly. . It felt like your body knew something before your mind did, like it was bracing for impact. Weathered wood, furniture covered in plastic. Then, you saw a door. You placed your gloved hand on the knob, the other pressing your body flush to the wall beside it. Then you leaned in, ear to the wood.

Voices.

Muffled.

A woman’s voice.

"where was the last place you saw the fireflies?,” she was saying, her tone sharp but almost distant, like she was trying to keep steady.

Think. Think, think, think.

You didn’t know for certain—It could be anyone. But something in your chest twisted so violently, it was like your body already knew Joel and Dina were in that room, and they were running out of time.

How many voices? Two? Three? More? Your blood roared in your ears. You couldn’t make out words—just tones. Angry. Confident. Like they weren’t worried about being caught.

You stepped back from the door, trying to breathe past the knot in your chest and move as quietly as possible. You had to distract them. Get them away from him. Make them come to you.

You crept down the hall, eyes sweeping the room. Old furniture, untouched for years. You spotted a rusted kettle on the stove and stealthily, you knocked it off with your rifle. You usually do this tactic with glass bottles, but you needed to think fast.

It hit the ground hard—clang—echoing through the lodge.

Shouts followed. Heavy footsteps. “What the hell was that?”

You dropped behind furniture just as two came around the corner, both unarmed.

There was a high-pitched ring in your ears, drowning out everything but your own pulse.

Your hands moved before your mind caught up and you stealthily walked behind them and plunged the knife into the side of their throat, a trail of bodies behind you now.

You crept back toward that door, heart slamming against your ribs. You kicked it open hard, rifle raised—ready to die if it meant he lived.

Joel. On his knees, arms up, breathing heavily. Dina passed out on the floor. And in front of Joel —a woman. Armed. Blonde. Braid hanging down her back. Gun aimed at his head.

You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Bang.

She dropped before she even turned fully.

The other two put their hands up, trying to save themselves. You fired again. And again. You needed to move fast.

You ran to him. You dropped your rifle, crossed the room in seconds, and crashed into him like you were afraid he might disappear if you let another second pass.

Joel caught you with both arms, pulling you in so tight it felt like your ribs would snap. His eyes were red and teary, his body was shaking. You could feel his heart hammering through his chest, loud and frantic, like it was trying to fight its way into yours.

Neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing—sharp, broken. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand tangled in the back of your jacket like he couldn’t let go.

By the time you made it back to Jackson, the blizzard had quieted, but the damage was done.

The wall was down. Dead clickers littered the snow, half-buried in blood and snow. Smoke curled from where fires had been. Guards moved slowly through the wreckage, dragging corpses, calling out names.

You rode in with Joel just behind you, Dina slumped between your arms on the saddle. She hadn’t woken up yet, still drugged, still breathing.

Tommy met you at the gate - or what was left of it. His face was pale with ash and blood, eyes going wide when he saw the three of you.

Joel slid off the horse first, then reached up to take Dina from your arms.

You followed, boots hitting the red-streaked snow, gaze locked on the chaos around you.

Jackson had survived, but just barely.

You and Joel sat in the quiet of the house, the kind of silence that only comes after something that violent. Your jacket was still damp from the snow, but your hands were warm now—held out toward the fireplace in your home.

Joel hadn’t said much since you got back.

You’d stayed behind, helped with the wreckage. But Tommy had grabbed your arm, eyes heavy, voice low. “You’ve done enough. Take him home. Take care of him.”

So now here you were. Home. With the love of your life.

He sat in the armchair beside you, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was still catching his breath from hours ago. The firelight danced across his face, cutting soft gold into the bruises blooming along his jaw. Gosh, he looks so beautiful.

You walked over slowly, knees brushing his as you knelt in front of him. He looked up—eyes tired, but still Joel. Still your Joel.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached forward, pulling you into his lap like he’d been waiting all night to feel you close.

You curled into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands threaded into his hair. He let out a shaky breath against your neck, like he’d been holding it in for hours.

You pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him.

Then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Slow. Careful. Like you were afraid he might break if you weren’t gentle.

“I’m so happy you’re still here with me,” you whispered, voice thick with everything you didn’t say out loud.

Joel didn’t answer—not with words. But the way he held you tighter, like he’d never let go again… that was enough.

For now, it was enough.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #dbf!joel #jackson!joel

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s1rawb3rry · 3 months ago

Text

Cupid’s arrow has struck… the wrong target!

Oh cupid… do you love me, or do you love me not?

synopsis: As a cupid, Y/N's job has always been to make people fall in love– that has been her task for centuries. However, everything goes horribly wrong when Jake accidentally locks eyes with her instead of his intended match. Now, she's stuck with a hopelessly in-love Jake, following her around like a lovesick puppy. The worst part? Cupids aren’t allowed to fall in love…

word count: 10.3k

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, no smut, maybe a little suggestive, absolutely smitten and hopelessly in love jake, he fell first and fell harder, acts of service jake, jake is somewhat yn's boss, magic (???)

genres: office au, cupid au, rom-com, slow burn

pairing: enhypen Jake x reader

featuring: Chungha

a/n: oh my god this took FOREVER but im so glad its done im so happy with it hehe

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @veilstqr(comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

Cupids don’t wear halos and wings, or float around on fluffy clouds. At least, not anymore. We live among humans, blending in seamlessly, living for the purpose of matchmaking. Year round, we work behind the scenes of every soulmate pairing. This has been my classified, top secret occupation in the world for centuries, that I wouldn't trade for anything. When I'm off the clock, I work at a dull office job– that I love!– but it's boring enough to allow me to keep up with my much more important tasks.

Seeing my Boss slowly making his way near my desk, I planted my hands on my keyboard and started to type away, pretending to be fully immersed in the spreadsheets that are on my computers. In actuality, my mind was completely preoccupied, I kept eyeing the thin paper folder with the name “J.S.” on it. I was assigned my last assignment before my much-needed “cupid break”. The thought of rest made me giddy enough to move my hips in my office chair and hum an off tune harmony.

“What's the matter with you?” Chungha asked once she noticed my movement, her desk in front of mine. I smiled like a kid on christmas, well really rest did feel like christmas to me, “i got my final assignment before my break. I just have to find this Jake Sim.” I whispered to her. She smiled, sharing my excitement. Chungha has been one of my, if not the, closest friends for years. She is the person who knows everything about me, she knows me like the back of her hand. She is the one and only person that I could ever trust with this secret job.

“I swear I heard that name not too long ago… “ she said, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, trying to remember. I jump in my seat, lean forward to reach her desk and hold her hand in mine, “I beg you, tell me who he is so I can go into this break early.” I whisper-yelled, misery clear in my voice.

As she was laughing at my desperation, the clear glass office door swung open with an exaggerated creak. Our Boss strides in like a man who will make the biggest announcement of the decade, again. He always makes this grade entry, makes you feel like he will say something important, only for you to find out it's absolutely nothing. His dramatic flair is only rivaled by his complete lack of self-awareness. I suppress an eye roll and stare back at my spreadsheets, these seem way more interesting in fact.

“Team!” he calls out, his voice booming as he stands at the front of the office room, making a couple chairs turn around and make multiple people stop talking and clicking their keyboards. “I’d like you all to meet your new supervisor for the upcoming project I already told you about–” he told us about a new project? – “This is Jake Sim, our new project manager. So he will only be here for a couple of months until the deal with the other company is sealed.”

My eyes widened and my ears perked up when I heard that name. I glanced at Chugha who was already looking at me with that same bulging eyes. There he is– Jake, my new assignment. He stood tall in the sharp lines of his suit, his dark hair neatly swept back, and his dark eyes carrying a quiet intensity. As the Boss continued talking, jake gave the group a friendly but reserved smile. As his eyes were scanning the room, as if he's trying to memorise our faces. I tried to follow his gaze to get his perspective on my colleagues. Maybe I can find his pair in the office?

As my eyes look back at him, our eyes lock. He held it for a second before he gave me another polite smile. I returned the smile fast enough before he continued his scan of the room. I perch up on my seat when I notice Jake staring for longer than usual at the other side. My eyes land on a coworker, Mira. Both of them also exchange a polite smile.

As the boss continued to babble about the new project, that familiar feeling comes to me: when an idea of a couple clicks in my mind. Jake and Mira, they seem perfect together, well on paper they do. I open my Jake’s paper file and quickly read the notes written on him, trying to confirm to myself that he is a perfect match for Mira. Warm personality. Charismatic. Loyal. Energetic… Oh, it’s spot on.

“Alright team, that's all for today. You can get back to your work.” he wrapped up his speech, which dragged on longer than needed, motioned to Jake to follow him. Jake smiled and nodded his head at us one last time before turning his back on us. I clicked my pen and started scribbling some notes about Mira in Jake’s file. I can not waste time on a case like this. I can get in and out quickly out of it, sending them on their merry way. I beamed with excitement, unwrapping a chocolate covered almond from my drawer and popping it in my mouth.

“I remember now where I heard his name,” Chungha whispered to me. I looked up from my notes, paying my attention back to her. “He has been going to the café I always go to after work. I heard the barista always calling his name, that's why it's familiar.”

“Wait, that's perfect,” I said as the idea sparked in my mind, “if we can get Mira to come with us to the café, I can absolutely do the job there.” I continued with Chungha nodding at me. “Leave it to me, I will ask her.” she said, getting up from her office chair. I watched as she walked over to Mira, starting up a conversation with her. A moment later, her head turns to me, smiling, I smile back and do a little wave to her.

I pull my eyes from her, when I notice the light of the office in front of us turn on. That office is almost always empty, so my surprise grew when I saw Jake again, standing at the doorstep with a small moving box. He walked over to the desk and placed the box on it. Oh that's his office now. Well, him being right across from us just made my job a whole lot easier. I can monitor the progress of my work firsthand, almost front-row seat to a movie I directed.

-♥︎-

As the workday wrapped up, the three of us settled on a table in the café, the scent of bitter roasted coffee beans filled the air, making me wrinkle my nose each time the barista made a new espresso. Mira and Chungha were chattering up a storm, drinking their coffee orders while I stirred my strawberry milkshake’s straw absentmindedly, barely registering anything that is being said. My focus was set on the door, waiting for him, in any minute, to come in. Every second that passes is a second closer to my break. I take a sip of my drink, trying to suppress my excitement.

Yet, nature called at the worst moment, “I'll be right back, I need to use the restroom,” I said, sliding out of my seat and leaving my milkshake barely touched. They nod at me before returning to their conversation.

As I step out a few minutes later, wiping my hands on a paper towel, I pause just outside the restroom door. As if it’s a twist from fate, I find myself standing in a perfect spot to have the perfect shot. Jake was standing, waiting for his coffee, not noticing me. His position is exactly where I need him, flawlessly aligned with Mira. Excitement ran through me, It’s almost too perfect.

Almost there… One clean shot– quick and easy.

Letting my muscle memory instinctively reach for a cupid arrow, I take a steady breath and discreetly wind up my arrow. My heart bubbles in my chest in anticipation. Just as I’m about to let the arrow fly…

“Hey, did you notice that–” Chungha said, coming from behind me, disturbing the silence.

I gasped, her sudden loud voice making me jump forward and making my heart leap to my throat. My hand jerks, my aim going completely rogue, accidentally hitting Jake. I gasped again, “oh my god, no!” panic sets in my bones as I walk forward to try to recover the arrow. Before I can even process the rest, my foot catches on a stray chair leg making my world tilt.

I closed my eyes, bracing my fall before I felt two tight arms around me, steadying me effortlessly. When air got back to my lungs, I opened my eyes to find Jake's face inches away from mine. Oh dear god, please no… “I’m so sorry,” I said, the words left out of my mouth with my mind running much faster. Am I sorry that I fell or that I accidentally struck him? This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to see Mira, not me.

His usual polite warmth in his expression softens into something more tender, something deeper. His brows furrow just a little, as if he's suddenly aware of a feeling—a feeling that stirs something in him undeniable. The more I look at his eyes, the more my plan crumbles.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks, his voice low and surprisingly gentle, his gaze lingering a little too long. His grip on me is still tight, my heart and stomach felt twisted in knots, as if they were bound together. This doesn’t feel like love—it feels more like alarms blaring in my mind.

Chungha, my traitor of a best friend, noticed the mistake she just made. Her eyes darted between us, her face painted with realization. I could see her from the side of my eyes trying to come up with a last-minute fallback plan.

“No way!” she exclaimed almost cartoonishly with an exaggerated gasp, practically lunged forward tugging me out of his grip with force, “I—uh—I forgot something at the office! Come on, let’s go!” she lied, turning her heel to the opposite side of the cafe, with my heels right behind her.

With my heart still pounding, I slapped a 20 dollar bill on our table, grabbed my coat and pushed both Mira and Chungha out of the café. I could feel his piercing gaze on me as we were shuffling out of the café. He was still looking at me as I was walking away—like I was the center of his universe.

-♥︎-

Later that night, I stood in my dimly lit kitchen, surrounded by flour, sugar and butter. My stand mixer whirring loudly with the warm smell of cookies coming from my oven. My hands trembled as I measured out the flour, my mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. I turned off the mixer, slowly adding the flour.

Chungha leaned against the kitchen counter, looking in the oven to see the cookies. Then her eyes landed on the already freshly baked cookies on the counter, still warm. She watched my unsteady movement with a confused expression, her eyes held concern. “This is the batch number…?” she asks, leaving the question for me to finish.

I exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady myself and my hands. “Baking calms me down,” I muttered, my voice tense, matching how my muscles felt, “besides, it’s the only thing that doesn’t make my head feel like it’s about to explode.”

“I’m sorry…” she said quietly after a moment passed, her voice full of guilt, referring back to what happened in the café. I sighed in defeat, putting down the mixing bowl. I gave her a weak but genuine smile, “it's not your fault. I'm the one who was impatient,” I said before going back to my bowl, “I never rushed the process of pairing a couple, look where that got me…"I trailed off, scraping the side of the bowl a little too roughly.

She stayed silent, looking at me, waiting for me to actually explode. My frustration bubbled up again when I dropped my spoon on the floor, even dropping spoons is putting me on edge. I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath to ground myself, “this whole situation is too risky,” I started once Chungha picked up my spoon and started washing it.

“Men liked me before, but none were under the influence of a Cupid’s arrow. It's just too strong. If this goes wrong, if I fall in love, I will systematically lose my job. I love my job, you know that.” I rambled, pouring out what's in my heart.

Chungha was silent, listening to me, “So… what now?” she asked, uncertainty laced her voice.

I exhaled a shaky breath, turning back to my mixing bowl, “I have one week. A week before the arrow’s effect turns into true feelings.” I said, grabbing a new, clean mixing spoon, not sure if I was trying to focus on the dough or just distract myself from my spiraling thoughts. My hands moved automatically, though my mind raced, “I have a week before this turns into a full-on disaster. If I don’t reverse the arrow in time.”

“That’s not a lot of time.” Chungha commented, taking a cookie. “You're not helping, Chungie,” I grumbled. She laughed, biting into a cookie, “don’t worry, we’re in this mess together.” she said, her hands found my tense shoulders, reassuring me. I just nodded, leaning into her.

I began to bake again, the nervous energy inside me didn’t dissipate. There was no time to waste. I couldn’t let him genuinely fall in love with me. Not when everything I’d worked for hung in the balance. My hands shook slightly as I carefully scooped the cookie dough onto the tray. I close my eyes for a second.

Focus. One week. I can reverse the arrow’s effect. I have to reverse it.

♥︎ DAY 1 ♥︎

I strolled into the office with my heels clicking behind me. I readjusted my purse on my shoulder when I noticed a pink drink sitting beside my keyboard. Condensation beads down the plastic cup, the whipped cream still holding its shape—fresh.

“You got me a milkshake?” I gasped in awe, turning to Chungha. She appeared from behind her screen, brows knitted together, “I got you a milkshake?” she echoed my question, leaning to the side to see what I’m talking about.

I blink at her as if she just sprouted another head. "Yes, this!" I said, looking back at the milkshake, squinting at a small sticky note attached to the side of it. I carefully unstick it from the drink, holding it like it’s evidence in a crime scene.

forgive me for making you leave early yesterday… - Jake

I closed my eyes hoping, wishing, the earth would open up and swallow me. Of course it was him. Chunghun leaned forward to catch the note, squinting. A smile grew on her face, “okay, you gotta admit that this is cute.” I shoot her a glare, “I need to thank him.” I said, placing my purse on my desk and grabbing the milkshake. Chungha’s grin widened at my announcement, “you caused this.” I reminded her playfully before leaving.

Each step I took toward his glass-walled office feels oddly heavy. It’s just a thank-you. Nothing more, not a big deal. Knocking the door twice made Jake turn around. His eyes brightened when he saw me, just like a puppy who was told they will go on a walk.

“Hello, sir,” I greeted, the milkshake suddenly felt a little too heavy in my hands.

"Good morning," he says, a smile full of warmth and admiration spread across his face. Oh, he got it bad…

I held up the milkshake, "Thanks for this. You really didn’t have to." I said, returning the smile sheepishly.

His eyes glowed with adoration, "Consider it an apology. Hope I got the right flavor?" he said, motioning to the milkshake. I should be the one apologising.

Then it dawned on me, he did remember the flavor… "Yeah," I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be. "You did."

He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden interruption from outside the office stopped him, “Team!” our Boss shouted before his voice became muffled to me. Slightly jolting, I gave Jake an apologetic look, “I must go. Thank you again for the milkshake, sir.” I said, watching him walking towards me.

“Jake,” he said, as if he’s correcting me. His gaze flickering between my eyes.

I stared blankly at him, “I’m sorry?”

“Please, call me Jake.”

-♥︎-

Avoiding him was proven to be impossible. It started off small: he held the elevator door open for me even when I was still ten steps away, he would offer to buy me anything and everything the cafeteria offered, even suggesting ordering something. But now it was the worst situation. We had a meeting before we could leave for the day, something about that project the Boss keeps fussing about. Focusing, however, was beyond me.

Between Jake sitting besides me and the lack of sleep last night, my brain was running on fumes. The anxiety of this whole situation tangled itself around me, and that damn milkshake moment kept playing in my head like a broken record. I blinked hard, trying to fight off the weight of exhaustion dragging my eyelids down. My notes in front of me blurred together. The voices in the room became distant, background noise to the quiet battle I was losing against sleep.

A small piece of folded paper appeared on the table in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jake's hand retreating back to his side. I tried to decipher his face from the position i was in, but his expression was unreadable. Carefully, without trying to pull attention towards us, I unfolded the note.

Are you feeling okay?

I stared at his handwriting in black ink, oddly neat, like he had taken his time. I reached for my own red pen, scribbling down how I just didn't sleep well last night. I refolded the paper, sliding it back to him. A few seconds later, his response appeared in front of me.

Close your eyes. I can cover for you.

I almost snorted, exhaustion making everything funny now. What is he even talking about? Hesitating only for a moment, I grabbed my pen and scribbled back something. I straighten my back, trying to wake myself up. Again, his response popped up in front of me.

Trust me on this one. No one will notice.

I frowned in confusion, but before I could decide on how to respond, he subtly tilted his body, his broad shoulders blocking me from view. All I could see was his back and how everyone else was listening to the meeting.

Slowly, undeniable fatigue took over me, making me shut my eyes.

-♥︎-

“Hey… Wake up.”

A hand shook my shoulder gently, pulling me from the depths of my nap. I stirred, my mind still heavy with exhaustion, before I finally blinked my way back into consciousness. Once my vision focused, I found Chungha standing beside me, casually packing my notepad and pens into my purse.

“Meeting’s over,” she announced, tilting her head. “I was this close to tucking you in and leaving you here." she laughed, putting my purse on my lap. I groaned, stretching out my arms as I forced myself upright. My body still felt sluggish, my brain foggy from sleep. The conference room was empty now—everyone was gone.

“Now, come on, let’s go eat something. I’m starving…” she grumbled, heading towards the door. As I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder, I slipped my hands into my coat pockets out of habit. The sleepiness fog vanished the moment I felt a piece of paper already in my pocket. I pulled it out only to find very similar handwriting in black ink.

Didn’t have the heart to wake you up.

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be.

♥︎ DAY 3 ♥︎

I had spent the last two days trying every trick, every strategy, everything and anything in my power to undo this ridiculous mistake. Yet, every desperate attempt led me to a dead end. It was completely hopeless.

I tried acting uninterested, distant, cold, downright dismissive towards him. Jake would greet me every morning, warm smiles and bright eyes. It took every ounce of willpower not to match his puppy-like energy, to keep my response flat and indifferent. "Morning," I’d say, voice devoid of emotion. But no matter how lifeless I sounded, his grin never wavered.

I also attempted to make him lose hope by acting like I have a ‘secret office admirer’, Chungha’s idea. We thought, maybe, this would make him give up on me.

“Are you sure this will work?” I whispered, watching her place a vase of flowers– that she picked– onto my desk. She shrugged at me as we eye the soft yellow and white rose bouquet with a small note. It looks legitimate, at least in my eyes. I sighed as I popped a chocolate covered almond in my mouth.

When I felt Jake’s presence coming closer, I started acting as if I just noticed the bouquet, putting on a full play in front of Chungha. His steps slowed as he passed my desk a few steps away, watching me pull out the note that was with the roses. I made sure to read out the note in a loud voice, I cleared my voice, "To the most beautiful woman in the office. I hope these flowers bring you as much joy as your smile brings me, your secret admirer." I read, acting surprised while turning to Chungha, “that is adorable.” she played along, smiling.

His chuckling made me turn my head towards him, “didn’t know there were secret admirers in this office…” he muttered, hands in his pants pockets, his tone dripping with amusement. I glanced at Chungha who’s now completely turned away from us, speaking to another colleague.

He bent down his head a little to read the note in my hand, his cologne was woody and intoxicating. I could see his slicked back, soft, black strands. His closeness made a fluttering warmth spread through my chest. “What’s funny is that they call themselves an admirer…” he started, his voice snapping me back to reality, “... yet they got your favorite color wrong.” he said, eyeing my outfit, my accessories, my desk decorations– all pink. He looked at me one last time in the eyes before turning his heels, leaving my heart into a wild, nervous rhythm and warmth rising to my face.

That was not the intended effect, and not on the right person.

Desperate times called for unflattering, repulsive measures. I was standing next to the vending machine after buying myself a Coke. Jake and a couple other colleagues were standing on the other side, chatting away. Perfect position.

I took a long, fast and exaggerated sip of Coke, stood for a moment when I felt the carbonation bubble up in my chest. I eyed Chungha who was on her phone, slowly sipping her coffee.

Then, it erupted like a thunderstorm. A loud, unexpected burp that could’ve registered on the Richter scale. Chungha choked on her coffee, the room fell silent, eyes were on me. I stood there, waiting. Surely, this would do it. No one finds that attractive.

Jake burst into laughter, his eyes glistening with adoration, “Impressive," he said, smiling and nodding before turning back to his conversation.

I turned back to Chungha, my jaw to the floor, “oh he didn’t find that disgusting. Quite the opposite.” she whispered to me, smiling in amusement, “I want to throw my Coke at him.”

I told myself that the next time he compliments me, i would be ready to shut it down. I was standing next to the printer, waiting for it to finish printing a paper that the Boss asked me to finalise. Jake passed by me, his eyes shimmered with light when he noticed me. "You look nice today." he said, stopping right dead in his tracks.

Bingo. I smiled sweetly, itching to put on another play. "Oh, thanks! I haven’t washed my hair in three days." I beamed, brushing my hair with my hands. A normal person would recoil. A sane person would be appalled. But him?

"Still looks stunning," he said easily, tilting his head. "What’s your secret?"

I wanted to scream. Who gave him permission to be this… tantalizing?

If I couldn’t drive him away with disgust, maybe I could with annoyance, if I just bother him enough to make him lose interest. I thought about barging into his office every hour or so, each time asking for something different but completely useless. I thought that if I just got under his skin, he would get tired of seeing me. I already went in, asking for a stapler, even though both him and I know I have one on my desk. Yet he gave me his without hesitation.

Half an hour later, I stood in front of his office door again, knocking as hard as I could, making sure that even my knocking was irritable to listen to. I opened the door after I heard a faint ‘come in’ from the other side.

I walked into his office as if I owned it. "What are you working on?" I asked him, as if he's not my higher up and could fire me. He looked up from his laptop, amused. "Something very important," he replied, still smiling.

Each time I left, I felt a little more defeated.

Twenty minutes later, I was back at his office. "Still working on something important?" I asked. Oh my god please, any reaction.

This time, he just laughed and shook his head. "You tell me. You seem very interested." he grinned, his arm propped up with his head resting in his hand. I stared at him, searching for a flicker of frustration, anything to indicate he was growing tired of this. But no, he looked at me like I was the one who painted the sky.

Then, I decided to really test how far I could push him. “Hey… uhh…” I squinted at him, tapping my forehead as if I’m really trying to remember something, “What was your name again?” I asked, trying to act casual, pulling out some chocolate covered almonds from my pockets and popping them in my mouth. This reverse the arrow mission will actually get me fired.

He raised an eyebrow, but there was no sign of irritation, only humor. Jake let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in return. Slowly, he pointed to his nameplate that’s on his desk. “Jake Sim,” he said, dragging out his name with a knowing smile.

I stared at him for a second. Was he really going to play along with this? Did he seriously not mind being the target of my ridiculous antics?

♥︎ DAY 5 ♥︎

I was in front of my computer’s screen, the room was filled with the sounds of keyboards clicking and telephones ringing. Focusing on any type of work was impossible, all I could think about was him. I thought to myself that I should still try to set him up with someone else, Just get him interested in someone. I leaned back into my chair, my gaze following Jake who was at the water cooler. He was standing casually, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up just enough to show off his forearms. The way he moved—effortless, composed, yet somehow magnetic—was enough to make my thoughts spin out of control.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I flew up from my chair and headed towards his direction. “Hello, sir,” I said, politely. Oh suddenly I remembered what manners are…

He turned around his signature warm smile appearing the moment our eyes met. “Hey,” he replied, voice as smooth as ever. “Need a refill too?”

“Yeah, just a little,” I replied, but before I could move, he already took another cup. After he filled the other cup, he handed it to me. “Thank you, sir.”

He huffed a laugh, “you know, the ‘sir’ ages me by a lot.”

“Right, I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said with a soft laugh.

We both stood there, side by side, the silence almost comfortable but the tension between us thickening. Then I broke the silence, “You know, don’t you think Mira is cute?” I asked, trying to sound natural as I fiddled with my paper cup filled with water. “I mean, she’s very elegant. Charming. Professional as well, don’t you think?”

Jake nodded, listening intently, but I noticed him drifting his gaze lower. I froze, my breath catching as I saw his fingers carefully adjust the small cupid bow-and-arrow pendant on my necklace that had somehow gotten tangled. His touch was so gentle, almost like he was afraid to hurt it—or maybe afraid to hurt me. My heart skipped a beat as he carefully set it back in place, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow.

His focus was still on me, his eyes lingered on mine for a heartbeat longer than I expected. And when he spoke, his voice was so sincere, it made my chest tighten. “She’s okay,” he shrugged, “but she’s not what I’m looking for.” His gaze never wavered, locking with mine as if trying to make sure I understood every word, every feeling behind them.

-♥︎-

Later that day, I went to the restroom before heading home for the day. As I was walking towards my desk, I noticed a couple familiar candy wrappers on my desk with a sticky note next to them. They were my chocolate covered almonds, the same brand even. I pulled the sticky note and stared at the neat handwriting, the words so simple, but they made my heart flutter more than it should have.

It simply read, enjoy. Again, not signed.

My fingers lingered over the edges of the paper, tracing the strokes of his pen. I stuffed the sticky note into the drawer of my desk, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest. But even with it hidden away, the flutter in my chest didn’t go away. If anything, it only grew stronger. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I couldn’t let myself feel this way.

♥︎ DAY 7 ♥︎

It was almost the end of Monday, and I felt completely defeated. None of the tricks had worked. Not the cold, distant act, not the jealousy plan, not even trying to be completely gross—nothing. Every strategy I tried to reverse the effects of that damn arrow had failed. It was like Jake just couldn’t be swayed. I was beyond tired, drained in every way. I hadn’t even seen Jake all day, and that should’ve been a relief. but honestly, it instead felt like something was missing. Every time I passed his office, there was a strange ache in my chest.

By the time the clock finally struck five, I gathered my things, shoved them into my bag, and walked out of my office. Today was the last day to reverse the effect, I’m seriously fucked.

As soon as I stepped outside, the sky opened up, and rain poured down in sheets. The cold wind cut through my jacket, and my already exhausted mind screamed at me to just hurry up and get home. Groaning, I fumbled with my purse, mentally preparing myself for the walk home.

“don’t tell me you're walking home in this.” a voice called out from behind me, cutting through the sound of the rain.

I turned around, I saw Jake with his bag in one hand and an umbrella in another. His hair was slightly messy, but still looking incredibly soft. His blazer was draped over his arm, leaving him in his button down white shirt. I forced a laughed, “"It’s fine. I don’t live that far," I said, trying to downplay how miserable I felt. "Really, it’ll just take a minute."

His eyes told me didn’t seem convinced, though. “Let me give you a ride home,” he offered in a heartbeat, but I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine, sir. Really, I—”

Before I could finish my sentence, he interrupted, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to me. "Take my jacket at least," he insisted. As I hesitated to say no, he held up his blazer in front of me, the insides of the blazer facing me. I sighed in defeat– more like too exhausted to argue– and slid my arms into it while he held it for me. As I was fixing the collar, he gently pulled my hair out from underneath the blazer. His fingers traced my neck, leaving hot trails behind. I turned around to see strands of hair falling on his forehead.

"Here, take this too. You will catch a cold." he muttered, handing me his black umbrella. “Thank you, really…” I said, flustered by the gesture. He flashed a warm smile, “anytime.”

without another word, he turned and ran toward his car, the rain pelting his back. As he reached his car, he paused and turned to wave at me. I watched him, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me. He looked like a soaked puppy—wet, tousled, and far too endearing for his own good. It made my heart give a little thump.

"See you tomorrow!" he shouted, his voice muffled by the rain.

I waved back, an involuntary smile tugging at my lips. As I watched him get into his car and drive off, I had accepted the fact that he was in love with me. But that does not mean I will fall for him. Ever.

Pulling the jacket tighter around me, the weight of his gesture still warms me. As I was walking in the opposite direction towards my apartment, I instinctively reached out for my phone and put my hands in his blazer’s pockets thinking it was mine. I frowned as I felt small wrapped spheres in the pocket. Pulling it out, I found a familiar sight: my chocolate almonds.

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head, despite the growing flutter in my chest. That idiot really was hopeless.

-♥︎-

A few weeks have passed after the arrow’s effect has indefinitely settled in. My cupid duties have been on pause for a while, but not the office job. Our Boss kept on giving me– and it seemed like it was only me– many different tasks to finish for this upcoming project that forced me to stay late, after my usual office hours.

The office was nearly empty. The usual hum of ringing phones and clicking keyboards had long since faded, leaving only the soft buzz of overhead lights. I leaned in my office chair with a sigh, rubbing my burning eyes from my screen. My documents were scattered around, words blurring together and losing their meaning.

Despite all my attempts, my mind circles back to Jake. Guilt was eating me alive as I felt like I ruined his life, his love life. He was meant to fall in love with someone who can be with him, someone whose world aligned with his own. The guilt was so unbearable that I started avoiding him. I would turn to the opposite way whenever I sense he's nearby, I would be late for meetings on purpose so I could sit away from him, I would take the stairs so I don’t cross pathways with him in the elevator, I would make it seem like i get an important phone call each time I see him coming my way. I could see that it hurts him, but my remorse was overwhelming. Slowly but surely, his own attempts to speak to me reduced.

Even though his office wasn’t in my line of vision, I could sense his gaze on me from time to time. He was also still in his office, only his desk lamp was on, with him clicking away, very concentrated on his own computer. Whenever I stayed late at the office, Jake seemed to always be there too, leaving only us on our floor. He would never say anything to me, he wouldn't even step inside the shared workspace. He would stay in his office, but I could feel his presence from across the office.

My eyes scanned over to the clock, 1:12 am. I took a deep breath and returned back to my screen. The sound of a foot creaking open made me stop reading a sentence midway. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His footsteps were slow, but purposeful as he made his way to my desk.

“You’re working way too hard.” Jake’s voice was softer than I expected, like he was choosing his words carefully, with his hands in his pockets. I couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. Before I could shut him down, he continued, “Do Cupids get paid overtime as well?”

My grip on my mouse tightened, my heart stilled. For a split second, I thought I misheard him. Surely the lack of sleep made me a little delirious. My eyes looked up at him before I could stop them, Jake had this knowing expression.

My stomach twisted in knots, my head is spinning, “I think you should head home, sir.” I dismissed, my eyes locking back to my screen with a thumping heart. God please tell me I’m imagining this…

He glanced down at the scattered notes on my desk before his gaze flickered back to me, “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Jake said, his smile not reaching his eyes, “You can make people fall in love… but you don’t know what to do when it happens to you.”

I swallowed hard, trying to stay still, unreadable even though every nerve in my body was on high alert. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jake raised a brow. “Really? You have no clue what I’m talking about?”

“No clue.”

He let out a quiet exhale, his expression unreadable. A moment has passed of complete silence, I was praying that the earth’s crust would crack open and swallow me.

“At first, I just had a feeling that something was up...” His voice wasn’t accusing or even angry, just observant. “Miss. Chungha slipped up and said something about how you ‘messed up’ the matchmaking…” the more he spoke, the more my chest tightened itself on my pounding heart.

“And then,” he continued, watching me carefully, “I saw your open files on your desk a couple of times, with the names of couples you helped.” I winced, I should’ve been more careful.

The fragile rawness of my soul felt like it was on open display. It felt like he had carefully taken apart every building block of my defense that i had built and was looking at what was is actually underneath.

The feeling of guilt emerges once again when I look at his sincere eyes. I felt like a deceiver and a liar, he had to know at this point, there was nothing left to hide. I sat up straighter than I already was, forcing my voice to stay even and failing miserably, “the love you feel for me isn’t real. I was supposed to matchmake you with someone—”

“I know.” he said it softly, with certainty.

I blinked, “what?”

Jake tilted his head slightly, watching my reaction as if he were giving me a moment to process it, a soft smile on his lips. “I know about the arrow, Y/N.” He said my name so gently it made my chest ache, my heartbeat pounded in my ears. “I’ve known for a while.”

“However…” he said, leaning on a desk that was near mine, “i think the effect wore off faster than it should have. I think two days later I was feeling normal again.”

I closed my eyes to ease my beating heart, exhaustion and this deranged conversation was a dangerous mix at this hour, “that’s impossible.”

“If I had a choice,” he said, making me open my eyes and look up at him again, “I’d still want you.” He held my gaze before looking at my lips and then back into my eyes.

I could no longer compute rational thoughts, or any thoughts at that. The world was spinning and steady all at once. Jake straightened himself and turned his heels towards the exit, “Don’t stay too late, okay?” his voice called out before he left, without facing him.

He left me with my heart racing, feeling completely ruined. The weight of it all pressed down on me as tears fell down. I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was making me cry– Jake finding out my sworn secret? Jake knowing I messed up on said secret job? or the fact that I have been feeling my powers slipping away? The thought of losing everything I had fought for because of my growing feelings was unbearable. My tears unraveled faster than my realisation that I actually fell for him.

-♥︎-

As if my life couldn’t be any harder, our Boss announced an emergency work trip across the country for a couple of client meetings, big ones at that. The kind that could define the next few months of the company’s future. Our trip was a haze for me, I stayed near either Chungha or Mira the entire time. My jake avoidance persisted despite the tension in the air, if i just act like none of this exists, it won’t affect me.

Before I knew it, we were off the plane and checked into our individual hotel rooms. The hotel lobby had this muted hum of chatter and telephones ringing filling the space. As to not waste time, we were all immediately called down for the first client meeting. As I sat down, my B oss handed me a notepad with a pen, “please, take notes during the meeting.” I just nodded, no energy left in me to argue.

As usual, Jake was running the presentation. Though, this serious and composed attitude was a side of him that I hadn’t seen before. It caught me off guard, the way he stood at the front of the room, the projector illuminating his face as he explained the new project to the clients. His voice was steady, authoritative, and it was clear he was in his element.

My notepad and pen sat in front of me, waiting to be used. But as the meeting progressed, I found my focus drifting from the content of the presentation to Jake. my eyes kept following his movements, how his hands gesture as he explained the key points, how his fingers occasionally adjusted his tie or brushed his hair back in that absent-minded way. The way his dark hair slightly tousled as he leaned forward, the little crease between his brows that appeared when he was deep in thought. In this room, in front of clients, he was assertive, and maybe even a little intimidating.

This was a stark contrast to the Jake who has been putting almond chocolates on my desk, or the one who always complimented my perfume choice of the day, or the one who leaves endless sticky notes at my desk. He was different, and it was… captivating.

I tried another attempt to focus on the presentation by scribbling down the client’s questions, what Jake was saying. The meeting continued, and Jake seemed to glide through it effortlessly. Every once in a while my mind would wander back to him, how easy it seemed for him to command the room with just his presence, how natural he was at all of this.

Soon enough, the meeting wrapped up. The clients were satisfied, Jake finished his presentation with a final handshake and brief thank-you to the clients. Our team packed up soon after, I raced to leave the suffocatingly hot room. The moment that our Boss gave us the green light that we can leave for the day, I beelined to the elevator, itching to just take off these stifling layers of clothes.

Once I reached my hotel room, I started a cold shower immediately, letting the icy stream douse over my skin to cool the heat that had been building ever since the meeting. I needed to clear her head, to push away the fluttering thoughts that refused to leave my mind. As I stood under the water, I kept remembering how Jake moved, the sharpness in his gaze and how my body responded to his subtle but undeniable presence. How can someone look like a cute puppy one second then the hottest man alive the next?

After washing my hair and body, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in the hotel’s bathrobe. My skin was still tingling from the cold water, my face still flushed from my racing thoughts. I left the bathroom and tried to find my phone in the pile of mess I left before rushing in the shower.

Soft knocking was heard from my door, making me stop my search. It must be one of the girls. Another series of knocks made me pick up my pace and rush over to the door. When I opened it, it was, in fact, neither of the girls. I locked eyes with Jake instead. He was only in a light blue button down shirt, the sleeves were rolled up. His hair was a little messy compared to how it looked in the meeting.

It took a moment for the both of us to register the situation, the ‘I’m only in a robe’ situation. Jake stood there, looking just as flustered as I felt, making me tug the robe tighter around my figure. His gaze quickly flicked downward to the floor, clearing his throat, “god, I’m sorry. I will come back lat-”

“It’s alright, really.”

“I just need your notes of the meeting earlier,” he said, his eyes now looking at me. “Oh shit, I completely forgot,” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I went back into my room, trying to find my notepad and my phone now, “I swear I can’t find anything. The plane landing, then the meeting… it was all too fast.” I said as I rummaged from my stuff. Jake held the door open, watching me frankly running around the room. “I’m sorry, this is really unprofessional of me…” I uttered. As if professionalism has been common in my behavior these past months…

Jake stepped in my room, letting out a short laugh because of my state, “take it easy, I’m not in a rush.” he said, letting the door click shut behind him. After moving my sweater to the side, I found the notepad tucked under it. I got up on my feet and handed it to him, “here they are, I'm so sorry again…”

“No need to apologise, hun,” he chuckled, taking the notes from hands. The nickname made my heart flip. Considering my current state, this was a really bad time for flirting.

Instead of just walking away or leaving the room, Jake comfortably opened them right there, standing at the door. He quickly scanned through them, his brow furrowing as he reread a few lines. He looked the same way he did in the meeting—so serious, so focused. His lips barely moved as he reread the notes, his entire body leaned forward in concentration. Every little thing he did—how his fingers brushed against the paper, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he concentrated—it all made my mind scream at me to stop looking, to stop thinking about him this way, but my body betrayed me.

“Your face is burning up,” he asked, his voice soft but laced with genuine worry. “Did you catch something from the plane ride?”

Before I could react, Jake gently placed his hand on my forehead, then my cheeks, my jaw, his touch surprisingly tender. His hand lingered for a moment, trying to assess if my red face is because of a fever. The warmth of his skin was clashing with my ice cold shower earlier. He came a little closer as his hand cupped my face, still trying to see if I’m sick.

I looked up at him, I probably looked dazed, “sir…” I finally said something, my voice was barely a whisper. My eyes involuntarily flickered to his pink lips.

“When will you get it that it's ‘Jake’ to you?” he said, his thumb moving from the side of my face to my lips, his touch sent shivers down my spine, his own eyes looking at my lips. The air between us thickened as he leaned in, letting our lips touch.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer to him. Each kiss was more urgent than the last. My fingers tangled in his now extremely messy hair, pulling him deeper. His cologne was stronger than ever. If I could memorise this feeling, if I could memorise how he tasted and felt, before it slipped away I would. There was no thought—only the desperation to feel more, as if this is our one and only chance to hold each other.

I pulled back slightly, catching my breath. His forehead rested against mine, "for a Cupid," he murmured with a chuckle, "you're quite confusing." I couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, my fingers found the nape of his neck.

Just as the distance between us closed again, a loud knocking echoed from the hotel door. “Y/N! Why aren’t you picking up your phone?” Chungha’s voice rang through the door, filled with concern and a touch of annoyance.

I froze, panic seizing me in an instant. "Oh no," my eyes wide with realization. "Jake—" I barely whispered, my mind racing as I quickly backed away from him. Jake immediately took a step back, his hand held mine, his face turning to confusion as he caught the urgency in my eyes. “I can’t be seen like this with my Boss,” I whispered to him urgently.

We scanned the room, finding a hiding spot for him. I ended up grabbing his wrist, leading him to the closet near the door in a hurry. Without protest, I pushed him into the small space as he ducked into the closest with a chuckle, leaving me to try to regain control of the situation.

I rushed to the door and opened it just enough to reveal Chungha’s expectant face. "Hey, what’s going on?" she asked, her eyes darting over me as she stepped inside. I waved my hand frantically, trying to act casual. “Just came out of the shower,” I said, motioning to my robe that I was still wearing, that I was wearing while kissing our Boss.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, trying to distract her. Chungha raised an eyebrow, “I tried, but you weren’t answering. I wanted to order something, I wanted to see if you wanted anything.” She glanced around, stepping further into the room. Her attention was diverted, I could feel my heart pounding, the sound of Jake shifting in the closet just beyond the thin closet door.

I took a deep breath once Chungha was out of my line of vision, and then hurriedly, without thinking too much about it, shooed Jake out the closet. “Go, go, go!” I whispered urgently.

He smirked, “you’re cute when you panic." he commented, as if this was the right moment to do so. “Oh my god, i will kill you with my bare hands, go!” I whispered, pushing him out the door.

“I'm hesitating between pizza and sushi. What do you say?” I heard Chungha’s voice call out as I clicked the door shut. I swear my hotel’s door looks like a revolving door.

“I'm fine with both!” I responded, trying to catch my breath. I leaned against the door for a second, pressing my palms to my flushed face, trying to ground myself. My heart was still racing, my skin still burning from his touch, and worst of all—my lips still tingled from the kiss.

What the hell was I doing?

-♥︎-

After many meetings and conferences that we were all forced to sit through, the familiar hum of the office was back—the ringing phones, the clatter of keyboards, the distant murmur of coworkers chatting by the coffee machine. Everything was the same. Except me.

I sat at my desk, blankly staring at my screen. I blinked, trying to focus on the words that are blurring together, but it was no use. I felt like a zombie, just so drained– not just physically, but in a way I couldn’t even describe.

The little magic I once felt at my fingertips was gone. I used to hear it, the universe’s quiet whisper, the way love threaded itself through the world like a melody only I could recognize. But now? Silence.

Jake noticed my changed humor. Of course, he did. He noticed the pile of untouched almonds on my desk that he left on desk, how I poked at my lunch instead of eating it, and how I barely even reacted when Chungha cracked a joke during their break.

Chungha noticed, but she knew I wanted space, so she didn’t push. Everytime i would space out in my thoughts, she would put her hand in mine, kiss my hand ever so lightly before leaving me to it.

I would catch him staring– his brows drawn together in concern. I would frown back at him, feeling my chest bubbling with unreason frustration. I hate this. I hate the way he looks at me like I am slipping through his fingers, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. And most of all, I hated how much I felt, how much all of this hurts.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to care this much. I wasn’t supposed to lose this part of myself. And yet, here I am. A complete mess without it.

I decided to go home early, my Boss just waved me off while on the phone, muttering a ‘whatever’ under his breath. If I had strength in me, I would have reacted to his rudeness, but I just quietly walked to my desk. Chungha watched me pack my purse, “heading out?” she asks, her eyes sympathetic.

I weakly smiled back at her, “i will see you on monday, i promise,”

“Lemme walk you home, you look pale,” she said, standing up from her seat and ready to put on her jacket. “No, stay. I will be fine. Plus, I don't know what’s up the Boss’ ass right now, but he won't appreciate both of us leaving,”

Her shoulders slumped down, “alright, as you wish.” she said in defeat, pulling me in a tight hug before letting me leave.

-♥︎-

The knocking at my door stirred me out of my nap. I groaned as I lifted myself off my couch, still in my office clothes. I was so tired that I just collapsed on the couch the moment I walked in. I pulled the thin blanket I used tighter around my shoulders as I made my way to my apartment’s door.

The knock came again—gentle but insistent. I glanced at the clock on my wall, 11:45pm. No way it's Chungha… she would've come by earlier than this hour. My eyes and heart still feel heavy, the nap was not enough. I caught a glimpse of myself in my small hallway mirror, hair poking from every direction, puffy eyes, red face. With a sigh, I unlocked the door and used all the force I had left to open it.

The moment it opened, I froze and my throat dried up.

Jake stood there, holding a basket in one hand and some leftover containers in the other. He was no longer in his office suit, instead he was wearing jeans, a simple shirt and a basketball hat, however his heavy signature Rolex is still on his wrist. His brows knitted together in concern the second he saw my face.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat, “I thought you were under the weather, so I made you some beef stew and cookies,” he continued, lifting the leftover containers slightly. I stare at him, and then at the food.

Then, it just hit me all at once as tears filled my eyes. The fact that he’s here trying to fix something he never caused, or the fact he cared so much he cooked me food and dessert, or the fact that I have been unreasonably angry at him, all just made those tears spill over.

“I… I can’t—” my voice broke, “I don’t know how to fix this. Any of this.”

Jake’s face shifted from confusion to alarm the moment he saw my tears. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice softer but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, set the food down as I let out a choked sob. The amount of crying I have been doing has been leaving my head pounding against my skull.

“Everything. I just…” I trailed off, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. I felt pathetic, to be quite honest. He opened up his arms without hesitation, through my tears, I got closer to him and wrapped my arms around him, steading myself.

“Oh, love…” he sighed after hearing another sob from me, his voice filled with nothing but warmth. Without a word, he guided me inside, shutting the door behind us. After setting the basket on the kitchen’s counter, his eyes landed on me again. I probably looked like hell, from the work clothes to the unkempt hair to the probably smudged makeup.

“Y/N…” his voice comforting but hesitant. “Talk to me.”

My throat tightened, not allowing me to speak. When he saw new tears threatening to come out, Jake inhaled, with a quiet murmur of, “come here,” he led me toward the couch. I didn’t argue. Didn’t think. All of those actions took too much energy. I just simply followed, letting myself collapse next to him on the couch.

The grief of losing a part of my identity, the exhaustion, the feeling of failure, the weight of everything—it all felt heavier than ever. I shifted slightly, curling up and resting my head on his lap. He didn’t flinch or hesitate, his fingers found my back, running slow, soothing circles on it.

After a while, the apartment became calmer, the soft hum of the city could be heard outside my apartment window. Jake’s been quiet ever since, every so often you would only hear my sniffling. I let out a breath I have not realized I was holding.

“I’m no longer a Cupid,” I murmured, eyes staring blankly at the side of the small living room, face pressed up against Jake's chest. “And I don’t know what that means for me.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully, his fingers never stopping their soft movements. “Well,” he said, amusement lacing his voice, “you could always be my retired Cupid.”

I huffed out something close to a laugh. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Nah,” he grinned. “Just means you get to sit back and let me do all the chasing. Nothing new.”

I giggled against his chest, hearing his heartbeat again once my laughter faded. “Can I be honest with you?” I asked hesitantly, looking up at him from my position.

“Always.”

I swallowed hard before I spoke up again, “I was… mad at you for a moment,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “For making me fall for you.”

He blinked, surprised, before suddenly laughing. “Wait—that’s why you were avoiding me? Shit, I thought you regretted the kiss.”

“That’s not the case.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Jake stared down at me, one brow raised and a smile slowly forming on his lips. I opened my mouth to backtrack, to save myself, but all that came out was a flustered, “I—I mean, it was—you were—”

he let out a full, warm laugh. “Oh my god,” I groaned, immediately burying my face back into his chest “I hate you.”

“You enjoyed it,” he repeated, smug now.

“Stop talking.” I whined, my voice muffled against his own laughter.

-♥︎-

I walked into the office the next morning, my shoulders feeling much lighter. A warm smile spreads across my face as I greet my coworkers, noticing a slight rosiness in my cheeks. The bounce in my steps slowed down when I noticed a large bouquet on my office desk.

“Always a special delivery for the Miss…” Chungha said, the bouquet completely blocked me from seeing her. I snorted a laugh at her comment before I stepped closer to the bouquet. I ran my fingers ever so slight over the soft petals of the pink roses, my heart doing an embarrassing little flip as I spotted a note tucked between them. Carefully, I unfolded the small card.

For my retired Cupid.

Unsigned. I huffed sharply with a smile, a mix of amusement and something warmer blooming in my chest. Instinctively, my gaze flickered upward—to the glass walls of his office. And, of course, he was already looking at me, probably saw my whole reaction.

Jake didn’t even pretend to be subtle. His chin rested on his hand, smiling and eyes glistening with that same familiar puppy love. I rolled my eyes, a smile still on my lips, I pulled out my phone.

“For someone no longer under Cupid’s influence, you’re really not acting like it.” - “Me”, Delivered 30 sec ago

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sixeyesonathiel · 1 month ago

Text

BITE YOUR TONGUE, I LIKE IT BETTER BLOODY

pairing: bully satoru x manipulative reader

synopsis — gojo satoru hates you. you smile too sweetly, lie too easily, and wear your innocence like armor. he’s known you forever—known how sharp your claws are beneath the lace. but no one else sees it. no one but him. and when he throws milk at your head in front of the whole cafeteria, he swears it’s just hate. but behind stairwells and bitten lips, hate starts to taste a lot like want.

tags: enemies with benefits, public humiliation, dubcon elements (consent is a blurry concept when you're both assholes), manipulation, obsession, power imbalance, mutual degradation, possessiveness, toxic dynamic, satoru is an asshole, reader is worse, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, swallowing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie. 5.8k wc, MDNI.

a/n: another very detailed explicit smut because you guys loved shy reader sucking the soul out of frat!gojo. no thoughts, just enemies rawdogging behind the gym stairs. plot? not here. soulmates? unfortunately. enjoy the filth before i drop my wordcount-heavy apothecary diaries au this week :3

satoru gojo despises your guts.

he makes sure you know it, too.

"oops," he says, voice dripping with false sympathy just before the milk carton arcs clean through the air and smacks the back of your head. it bursts on impact, cold and humiliating, soaking into your blouse and turning it nearly see-through. thin cotton clings to your skin—your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, the delicate outline of lace beneath. the chill bites into your nerves, crawling down your spine like a taunt.

there's a beat. the cafeteria shifts. chatter falters. a few heads turn. someone drops a fork.

you stiffen just for a second. one inhale held too long. then your hand rises to touch your hair, wet and dripping. you blink slowly, lashes damp, before pasting on the kind of smile reserved for misunderstandings and small kindnesses. your lips tremble—not from emotion, but as if suppressing laughter. like you’re charmed by the absurdity of it all.

"my hand slipped," satoru adds from behind, leaning one elbow on the table like he's bored. his tie's loose, shirt half untucked, and the sleeves rolled high enough to show veined forearms. his white hair falls just enough to cast a faint shadow over one eye. he grins, tongue pressing to his cheek, teeth catching on the corner of his lower lip like he's chewing the inside of it. there’s milk on his fingers. he wipes it on his slacks. "maybe don’t stand around like a target next time, princess."

he calls you that like it’s a slur.

someone snorts into their lunch tray. a few others glance up with vague concern, but not enough to intervene. not enough to think it's serious.

you turn with a lightness that's infuriating. wet hair clinging to your cheek, uniform plastered to your back. you look ridiculous—soaked and humiliated—and yet you smile. your fingers trail delicately down your blouse like you’re inspecting damage on fine silk.

"that’s alright, satoru," you say sweetly, as if he’d bumped into you in the hallway. your voice is soft, gentle as a hand on a child’s head. "you’ve always had poor coordination."

a few students murmur agreement. someone chuckles. the tension breaks. someone tosses a crumpled napkin toward the bin, missing it entirely.

but not for him.

he watches the twitch of your lip—the briefest break in the mask that no one else sees. no one but him. and that’s what drives him insane.

because he’s known you since kindergarten. known the tantrums, the fights, the scratches behind school buildings. he remembers how you’d corner some poor kid together—mocking, poking, stealing snacks—and how when the teacher showed up, you’d burst into tears and point at him with trembling fingers. he was the bad one. the instigator. the boy who made girls cry. even when your hands were just as dirty. maybe worse.

you’ve always been like this: clever, calculating, cruel in lace and smiles.

and he hates that no one sees it but him.

hates how you float through school like some porcelain saint. all soft glances and kindnesses, like you’re too sweet to harm a fly. how you apologize so readily, voice thick with false guilt. how even your sighs are delicate things, like spun sugar on the tongue.

but he knows. and he won’t let you forget that he knows.

you dab your temple with a napkin, offer a small bow to the room, then walk away. every step deliberate. he watches the way your skirt sways, the soft slap of your wet shoes, the curve of your back visible beneath the soaked fabric. it’s obscene. like you’re doing it on purpose. he knows you are.

his throat tightens. his pants do, too.

fuck.

he shifts, pressing his palm into the table edge to ground himself. his cock throbs anyway. he glances down, jaw ticking, leg bouncing under the table. his tongue flicks over his teeth. he rubs his thumb against the edge of the bench, imagining it’s your pulse.

he hates you.

he hates how every time you laugh, it turns heads. how nanami makes you smile in that quiet way that you don’t give him. how your voice turns feather-soft when you're being praised, how you say “thank you” with bowed lashes and an angel’s lilt. how you look at others like you’re grateful they exist, and how you look at him like you’re grateful he’s suffering.

he hates that you let everyone believe you’re good.

and he hates that you are good—at lying. at playing them. at leaving him hard in the middle of class after pressing a note into his hand that simply read don’t forget to beg.

he still has that note. it’s tucked into the back of his physics notebook, creased and fingerprint-smudged. he looked at it three times yesterday. once during morning announcements. once after gym. once when you passed him a pencil and your fingers brushed.

he’s not even close to done.

not when you keep pushing him to the edge with every infuriating smile, every light laugh shared with someone else. not when your lip gloss tastes like strawberries, and he knows because he tasted it once. in a stairwell. two weeks ago. you kissed him like it meant nothing. then walked away before he could say a word.

he hates you.

and he wants you so fucking bad it makes him sick.

later, behind the gym stairwell—where the walls reek of sweat, rubber soles, and old water—you find him.

there's a hum in the silence, the kind that rings inside your skull. your footsteps echo first, then stop. only the hush of your breath now, quiet and deliberate, like a secret begging to be found.

he’s already there—slouched against the wall like he’s waiting for something violent. one leg bent, heel hooked behind him, the other stretched out, foot tapping a restless beat against the cracked concrete.

he’s still in his uniform, shirt untucked, collar damp with sweat. the sleeves are rolled up, exposing long forearms slick with effort. his knuckles are red from earlier. a faint bruise darkens near his jaw from sparring. pale strands messily raked back like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. sunglasses gone. his eyes, sharp as cut glass, track your approach with slow disdain.

you take him in, shamelessly running your gaze from his tousled hair to the veins snaking up his forearms, the taut muscles in his chest straining against the fabric of his shirt. your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the subtle flex of his neck, and you feel the heat in your own chest rise at the sight.

something about the way he looks—disheveled, dangerous, and all too aware of his own effect on you—sends a pulse of heat straight through your veins.

he pops a pink lollipop from his mouth, tongue dragging lazily over it before he crushes it between his teeth. the sound snaps the tension like a whip.

“you’re hard,” you murmur, voice syrupy-sweet, almost innocent. almost.

he doesn’t flinch, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. his eyes drop—low, deliberate—then crawl back up your body like a threat, heat simmering beneath his gaze. his lips part, then press together tight, as if reining something in.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, but his voice cracks—taut and ragged, like it’s been dragged through too many thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

you tilt your head, lips curling into something too tender to be kind. “too late,” you coo. “you threw milk at my head and came in your pants about it.”

you look pristine—hair ribboned neatly, lip gloss shimmering under the harsh light, skin flawless like lacquered porcelain. beautiful. breakable. except your eyes gleam with something wicked, mean little stars dancing in a galaxy made just for him.

his fists clench at his sides. one thigh shifts, an involuntary twitch. he breathes out too sharp through his nose, like trying to exhale the want.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” he bites, but his voice stumbles on the edge of something more desperate, less controlled.

you only smile wider, slow and knowing, lashes fluttering as you step forward and then lower yourself to your knees. not in surrender. never that. it’s worship with teeth—dangerous, deliberate. your skirts spread around you like spilled sin. the way you look up at him is reverent and ruinous.

his entire body tightens, chest rising like he’s been starved of oxygen. the bulge in his pants throbs with restraint. his hand flinches at his side, like he’s debating whether to reach for you or himself.

you reach first.

he snatches your wrist mid-motion, fingers locking around your pulse with bruising pressure. his touch is trembling, barely keeping it together. his pupils are blown wide, breath shuddering.

you tilt your head, all mock-concern. your voice is honey-laced poison. “you gonna cry?” you whisper. “go on, satoru. tell them i bullied you.”

his lip curls—not quite a smirk, not quite a snarl. a flash of teeth, predatory and unsure. “you’re not in control.”

“then prove it.”

you move slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the buckle of his belt, the leather cool and smooth under your touch. the scrape of it sliding free pierces the stairwell’s silence, sharp as a blade, bouncing off the concrete like a warning. your knuckles graze the taut fabric of his pants, a fleeting brush that draws a quick, jagged breath from him, raw and unguarded. he’s already throbbing, his cock straining against the material, a dark stain spreading where precum seeps through.

your fingertips linger, pressing just enough to feel the heat pouring off him, the pulse of his desire thrumming against your skin. his legs stiffen, muscles coiling under his slacks, and his hands flex at his sides, curling into loose fists before easing, like he’s wrestling with the urge to touch you.

when you free him, easing the zipper down with a slo I'mw, intentional drag, his cock springs out, flushed a furious red, veins stark, the tip glossy with precum that beads and drips, catching the dim fluorescent light. satoru hisses, shoulders curling inward, the motion abrupt, like he’s been struck. his jaw locks, a tendon pulsing under the skin, and his throat works as he swallows hard, the motion visible. his ice-blue eyes flick down to you, pupils dilated, but they skitter away—to the wall, the ceiling—like he’s dodging your gaze, afraid of what it might cost him to linger.

“pathetic,” you murmur, voice low, barely above a whisper, laced with venom. your hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingers coated in his precum, gripping just enough to make him jerk, a ripple coursing through his frame. you don’t say more—words feel redundant, your focus honed on the weight of him in your palm, the feverish heat, the way he pulses under your touch.

his hand darts to your hair, fingers knotting in the strands, tugging your head back with a force that steals your breath, throat exposed to the cool air. “watch it,” he growls, voice guttural, scraping like he’s dragging it over broken glass.

and yet his thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting, unsteady graze, soft against the snarl. his hips inch forward, cock nudging closer to your lips, needy, unguarded. his other hand clamps onto the wall behind him, knuckles paling, nails gouging the chipped paint. his chest heaves unevenly, shirt stretching across his pecs, sweat beading at the base of his throat, catching the light.

you don’t respond. your lips curve into a faint, wicked smile, eyes fixed on his cock, hunger consuming you. your tongue darts out, barely skimming the head—a cruel, calculated tease that sends a jolt through him, his legs quivering under the strain.

his reaction is instant, a choked, guttural sound ripping from his throat, raw and fractured. his head snaps back against the concrete, the dull thud echoing, white hair glinting as it spills messily over his eyes. his jaw tightens, lips parting, tongue pressing to his palate like he’s swallowing a curse. his eyes snap shut briefly, lashes stark against his flushed cheeks, then flare open, wild and unfocused, pupils swallowing the blue.

then you start.

your lips part around him, slow, reverent yet vicious, like a predator savoring its prey. you take him inch by inch, tongue gliding along the thick vein with a greed that borders on fixation. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down his shaft, coating him in a glossy sheen. your hand moves in rhythm, fingers gripping tight, sliding through the mess of precum and saliva, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet stairwell.

you’re consumed, barely pausing for air, lips stretching around his girth, tongue circling the sensitive tip with relentless precision. no words—just the sloppy cadence of your mouth, a low, hungry hum in your throat as you draw him deeper, ravenous. your eyes flick up, catching his chest heaving, abs contracting with every jolt, his fingers tightening in your hair, tugging just enough to sting before they waver, grazing your scalp.

he struggles to breathe, chest rising and falling in fits and starts, shirt plastered to his sweat-damp skin, collar creased and damp. his fingers in your hair flex, then slacken, like he’s battling the urge to steer you. “fuck—fuck—” he chokes, voice splintering, no coherent words, just raw, desperate noise.

his hips jerk, a small, involuntary thrust pushing him deeper into your mouth, and you hum again, the vibration tearing through him. his head tilts back, throat bared, adam’s apple jumping as he swallows hard, a low groan slipping free. his other hand scrapes the wall, nails clawing at the concrete, leaving faint scratches.

you don’t taunt. your focus is absolute, lips gliding over him, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, slick with saliva and precum. your free hand grips his thigh, nails sinking into the taut muscle, feeling it tense under your touch. saliva drips from your chin, staining his slacks, leaving dark, wet patches.

you take him deeper, throat constricting around him, and he bucks, a sharp, fractured sound bursting from his lips, hips twitching again. your eyes dart up, catching his face contorting—brows furrowed, lips parted, sweat tracing a path down his temple, snagging in his pale hair.

and then he’s coming. too soon, too overwhelming, hot and thick down your throat. you swallow with purpose, slow, deliberate, letting him feel the tight grip of your throat, savoring every pulse, every drop, like you’re claiming him entirely. spit and cum mingle, dripping from your lips, coating your chin in a glossy, obscene mess that catches the dim light. his knees soften, a faint quake in his legs, and his hand in your hair tightens briefly, then releases, fingers quaking as they slide to your jaw.

but you don’t stop.

your mouth keeps working, merciless, lips gliding over his oversensitive cock, tongue swirling with unyielding hunger. your hand strokes the base, slick with his release, relentless, pulling him into a haze of overstimulation. he gasps, nerves raw, eyes snapping open, wide and glassy, pupils blown to hell. “stop—fuck—please—” he chokes, voice shattered, hands fumbling at your shoulders, fingers flexing like he’s torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. his legs quiver, muscles twitching under your palms, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts, catching in his throat.

you don’t answer. your lips tighten around him, sucking harder, tongue pressing against the sensitive head, coated in the remnants of his release. he jerks, a raw, humiliating sound scraping from his throat, body betraying him as his cock pulses again. his head tips forward, chin against his chest, eyes squeezing shut, lips quivering as he tries to breathe through it. his fingers press into your shoulders, leaving faint marks, and his other hand braces against the wall, knuckles pale, nails digging into the concrete.

and he breaks again, release spilling over your lips, hot and messy, dripping down your chin in glistening trails. he groans, deep and guttural, the sound echoing like a confession. his legs falter, knees nearly buckling, his breath shallow and jagged, a man unraveling.

you lick him clean, slow, deliberate, relishing the salt and heat, the way his skin jumps under your tongue. his hand in your hair slips away, fingers quaking, settling on your neck, lingering like he needs your pulse to anchor him.

you pull back at last, lips swollen, chin slick with his mess, and look up. he’s ruined—pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, sweat beading at his hairline, pale strands plastered to his forehead. his chest surges, shirt clinging to his damp skin, top button undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.

“thought you hated me,” you murmur, voice soft but cutting, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, the motion slow, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “thought you were stronger than this.”

he glares down at you, breathless, lips parted, tongue grazing his palate like he’s chewing on a retort. “you—fucking—bitch,” he rasps, voice raw, barely holding together, but his eyes betray him, lingering on your lips, the glossy shine of his cum on your chin, staring too long.

you climb into his lap, slow and deliberate, letting your weight settle against him, your soaked panties beneath your skirt dragging against his thigh with obscene friction.

he groans, low and fractured, his cock stirring again, the tip brushing your stomach, leaving a faint smear of precum. his eyes drop to the dark, wet patch on your underwear, and something in him snaps—his jaw tightens and his fingers press into your hips, hard enough to leave marks.

“soaked,” he mutters, voice hoarse, reverent, like he’s cursing a god. his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his gaze lifts to yours, dark and ravenous, holding eye contact briefly before dropping again, like he can’t resist. “you fucking get off on breaking me, don’t you?”

“maybe i do,” you whisper, voice silk and poison, leaning in until your lips brush his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “maybe i’ve been getting off on it since we were kids. maybe i knew you’d fold the second i got my hands on you.”

his hands seize your hips, fingers sinking in like he’s bracing against a storm. he pulls you down hard against his thigh, and you gasp, sharp and high, hips rocking instinctively, chasing the searing friction.

your breath catches, a flicker of weakness crossing your face—lips parting, eyes half-lidded for a moment, fingers clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt. he catches it, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, lips twitching into a faint, predatory smirk.

“don’t act like you’re any better,” satoru snaps, voice low and ragged, almost a growl. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the curve of your ribs, lingering like he’s memorizing you. “you’re dripping like a fucking slut. you’d crawl for this cock if i let you.”

“i don’t crawl,” you hiss, but your voice wavers, betraying the heat pooling in your core, the way your legs press around his. your fingers tighten on his shoulders, gripping the fabric.

“oh, you will,” he says, dark and certain, his hand slipping beneath your panties like he owns you. two fingers slide inside, curling deep, and you choke, walls gripping him, slick and eager. his thumb circles your clit, tight and practiced, and your hips buck before you can stop them, a soft whimper escaping. his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, daring you to look away first.

he flips you with a force that steals your breath, your back slamming against the cold concrete wall, the chill biting into your spine. your hands scramble, nails raking his shoulders, leaving red lines through his shirt. his cock presses against your entrance, slick with your arousal, hot and pulsing, and you shiver, a soft moan slipping free despite yourself.

your eyes half-close, lips quivering, a fleeting vulnerability crossing your face, your breath hitching as you press your teeth into your lower lip.

“don’t,” you warn, voice thin, fraying at the edges, barely holding together. it’s too much—the way he fills the air, the way his touch sears, the way you want him even as you hate him. your chest tightens, fingers twisting into his shirt, gripping the fabric, a nervous reflex betraying the chaos inside you.

he ignores you. adjusts your hips, pins you there like a specimen, his hands bruising, possessive. “you wanted this,” he snarls, voice thick with need, his lips brushing your jaw, teeth grazing the skin. “you fucking earned it.”

and he pushes in.

slow, devastating, stretching you inch by inch, balls deep, his hips flush against yours. you both groan—low, rough, animalistic. your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper, heels pressing into his lower back. your arms lock around his neck, nails carving crescent moons into his skin.

his face buries in the crook of your shoulder, breath hot and uneven, teeth grazing your collarbone, a faint scrape that sends a jolt through you. his tongue traces the salt of your skin, lips lingering, marking you.

satoru moves with purpose, every thrust a war cry, deep and unyielding. the sound of skin meeting skin echoes like thunder, mingling with your gasps, his grunts, the slick rhythm of your bodies.

your moans grow loud—too loud—and you bite your lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, trying to silence them. his hips drive forward, each thrust measured but forceful, his cock striking deep, making your walls grip him. his breath is ragged, puffing against your neck, and his fingers press into your hips, leaving marks that will darken by morning.

then—footsteps.

heavy, uneven, echoing from the top of the stairwell. a shadow flickers across the wall as the door creaks above, the sound sharp and jarring. your heart surges, panic flaring, eyes darting to the stairs, wide and glassy. but satoru doesn’t stop. his cock plunges deeper, harder, balls deep with every thrust, the wet rhythm of his hips against yours brazen in the silence.

you bite your hand, teeth sinking into your palm, muffling the moan clawing up your throat. your other hand grips his shoulder, nails biting in, and your legs quiver, trying to close, but his hips keep them spread.

“satoru—someone’s—” you whisper, voice frantic, barely audible, your eyes flicking to the stairs again, where the shadow lingers. your breath catches, a sharp, unsteady inhale, and your fingers twist into his shirt.

“let them see,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, voice low and vicious, dripping with cruelty. “fuck, you’re so pretty like this—look at you, no fake saint act, just my filthy little whore, taking me so fucking deep.” his words are condescending, but there’s a raw, genuine edge, like he’s seeing you for the first time, stripped of pretense, and it cuts deeper than his thrusts.

his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, pupils blown wide, and his lips twitch into a faint, predatory smirk. “you’re beautiful when you’re real,” he murmurs, voice dipping, almost soft, but the cruelty in it stings, exposing you. “no mask, no lies, just you, stuffed full of my cock.”

your body betrays you, walls gripping him tighter, pleasure surging despite the shame. the footsteps pause, a muffled voice calling out, “anyone down there?” and your heart pounds, but satoru’s thrusts intensify, more punishing, his cock filling you so completely it’s overwhelming.

you press your hand tighter over your mouth, eyes stinging, teeth digging deeper into your knuckles to stifle the sobs of pleasure. your hips jerk against him despite yourself, chasing the high. the voice mutters something vague, and you pray they leave, pray they don’t see you—legs spread, panties shoved aside, satoru’s cock buried deep, your body quaking with the effort to stay silent.

“shh,” he mocks, thrusting deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your walls tightening around him. “don’t let them hear you, princess. wouldn’t want your worshippers to see you like this, would you? their perfect little saint, fucked stupid by the guy she hates, creaming all over my cock like a desperate slut.” his voice is low, taunting, and his hand slides to your throat, not squeezing, just resting, his thumb tracing your pulse, feeling it race. his eyes flick to your lips, to the way your teeth sink into your knuckles, and he smirks, slow and cruel.

you whimper, shame and pleasure twisting into a tight knot in your core. your hips buck against him, a tear slipping free, catching on your lashes. the footsteps linger, the shadow still hovering, and his hips drive forward, relentless, the slick rhythm of your bodies louder now, brazen, and you bite down harder, tasting blood, trying to lock the moans in your throat.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” satoru murmurs, voice dipping low, almost reverent, but laced with venom. “no pretending, no bullshit. just you, taking me like you were born for it.” the praise is cruel, so genuine it burns, and your walls tighten around him, a soft, broken sound escaping despite your efforts. his eyes soften for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something raw, before they darken again, holding your gaze like a challenge.

the footsteps fade, the door creaking shut, and you exhale, the sound shaky in the air. but the relief is fleeting—satoru’s hand tightens on your throat, just enough to feel your pulse leap, and his cock drives deeper, unyielding.

“you love this,” he sneers, hips snapping harder, making you gasp. “you love being my dirty little secret, don’t you? look at you, clenching around me like you can’t get enough. like the greedy spoiled brat you really are.”

your breath hitches. “i don’t—” the protest dies halfway, strangled by a moan as he thrusts deep and just right, catching that devastating spot inside you. your fingers dig into his shoulder, nails biting through the fabric. your mouth parts, trying to form words that won’t come.

“harder,” you plead, voice breathless, fraying at the edges, a crack in your control. it’s a moment of weakness, raw and exposed, your lips trembling, eyes half-closing as you press your teeth into your lower lip, trying to anchor yourself. satoru catches it, his smirk widening, eyes glinting with triumph, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, as though he can taste your surrender.

satoru gives it to you.

fucks you like it’s the only language he knows, like every thrust is a sharp syllable, every moan a desperate rebuttal. your bodies argue in heat and rhythm, friction and breath. his hips drive forward like a point he's determined to make—over and over, merciless and unrelenting, a cruel kind of eloquence.

it’s not love, but it’s the only way either of you knows how to say stay.

his cock fills you, thick and unyielding, stretching you with every measured thrust, the head grazing your walls, slick with your arousal. the wet rhythm of your bodies colliding echoes, brazen, mingling with the uneven huff of his breath against your neck. his hips surge forward, balls deep, the coarse hair at his base brushing your sensitive skin, sending a spark through your core.

your walls tighten around him, eager, possessive, and he hisses, a sharp, involuntary sound, his jaw locking, a tendon pulsing under his flushed cheek. his fingers press into your hips, bruising, and his eyes flick to yours for a fleeting moment—wild, glassy, pupils blown—before darting away, like he’s dodging the truth.

your body gives out first. the coil inside you snaps, and your spine arches like a drawn bowstring, fingers clawing down his back, leaving angry red trails. your mouth opens, but no sound escapes—just a broken little gasp, sharp and cut off like a secret you never meant to confess. pleasure floods you, white-hot and overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs.

your legs shake, heels pressing hard against his back like you’re anchoring him inside, keeping him close, keeping him real. your brows furrow, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted in a quivering o that never forms a word. your walls pulse around him, slick with your release, a faint sheen coating his cock as he eases back slightly, the sight drawing a low, guttural sound from his chest.

a sob claws up your throat, half-stifled by your palm. your other hand scrabbles for purchase, nails sinking into his skin, and he groans at the sting, at the way your body fights to hold him even as it unravels. his legs tense under yours, muscles coiling, and his tongue grazes his lips, a quick, unconscious flick.

his cock twitches inside you, heavy and hot, filling you to the point of ache. saliva gathers at the corner of your mouth, a thin trail sliding down your chin, mingling with the sweat beading at your throat. his eyes catch it, lingering on the messy shine, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard, his grip on your hip tightening.

he follows not long after.

his body stiffens, chest pressing flush to yours, a quake running through him like a snapped wire. his eyes flutter shut for a second, lashes quivering, and your name spills from his lips—hoarse, cracked, reverent, like prayer and curse in one.

satoru spills into you, deep and pulsing, his release hot and thick, filling you until it leaks out, a slick trail tracing down your thighs, pooling on the concrete below. his breath breaks against your neck, coming in short, ragged bursts, and his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth grazing the damp skin, more mark than bite. it lingers, a claiming, a confession he can't say aloud.

his fingers flex on your hips, then loosen, only to tighten again, like he’s afraid to let go. his eyes open, locking on yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he jerks his gaze away, jaw tightening.

but satoru doesn’t stop.

he should.

you’re shaking beneath him, overstimulated, your breath hitching in choked hiccups. but he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through the comedown, through the soft sounds you make—half-cries, half-whimpers—through the desperate grip of your spent muscles.

his rhythm falters but persists, each thrust carving a space where only he fits, like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he slows. his cock drags against your sensitive walls, slick with cum and arousal, the sound wet and relentless, filling the stairwell. your legs quiver, heels digging into his lower back, and your hand clutches his shoulder, nails leaving faint red crescents.

your other hand presses harder against your mouth, teeth biting into your palm to muffle the sounds you can’t contain. his breath sears your neck, puffing in uneven bursts, and his lips graze your collarbone, leaving a faint trail of saliva that cools on your skin.

“hate you,” he snarls, voice wrecked, raw and shaking. his hips snap forward again, sharp and deep, his cock driving into you with a force that makes your walls clench, a soft, broken whimper escaping your lips. his forehead presses to yours for one trembling second, eyes locked on yours—wide, wild, panicked—like a man holding his breath underwater.

his tongue flicks out again, wetting his lips, and his fingers flex against your hips, a faint tremor in his hands. his thrusts are relentless, each one deliberate, measured, but forceful, the head of his cock hitting deep, making your breath catch in sharp, stuttering gasps.

your eyes flutter, dazed and glossy, lashes clinging to damp skin. your mouth opens, but nothing comes—only the broken breath of someone who should say stop but can’t.

you’re still trembling, thighs clenching unconsciously around him, breath shallow and uneven. your walls flutter around his cock, slick with the mess of your release and his, and a faint, wet trail drips down your inner thigh, pooling on the floor.

he shamelessly drinks in the sight and jerks his gaze away like it burns him, like he’s afraid of what he’ll see—afraid that if he keeps his eyes on you too long, he’ll realize he’s not angry at you at all. his jaw clenches, a muscle ticking under the skin, and his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek.

his hips stutter, just for a moment, but he keeps going, thrusting deep, the wet squelch of your bodies louder now, a rhythmic, obscene echo. his fingers dig into your hips, bruising, and his breath puffs against your neck, hot and uneven, a faint groan slipping free as your walls clench around him again.

he’s angry at how much he wants you to stay.

and how terrified he is that you will.

“you’re such a bad liar,” you breathe, ragged, voice barely there, lips trembling as you speak. “you beg like you worship me.”

“does that make you think you’ve won?” he growls, thrusting harder, making you gasp, your head tipping back against the wall. “you’re way delusional than i thought. you’re just as fucked as i am, princess. look at you—cumming on my cock like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you clench again, a weak, desperate moan slipping free, and he groans, cock twitching inside you. your lips crash into his, messy, obscene, tongues tangling, teeth biting. his blood is in your mouth, sharp and metallic, and yours is on his tongue, a shared wound.

the stairwell reeks of sweat, sex, and something sacred, your ribbon lost somewhere on the floor, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin, wrinkled and damp. your eyes meet—unfocused, wild, wrecked—holding for a moment before you both look away, like the truth is too much.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice raw, lips trembling as he speaks, his eyes flicking to your lips, lingering there. his fingers loosen on your hips, then tighten again, like he can’t decide whether to let go.

“good,” you whisper, lips brushing his, still trembling from the aftershocks, your breath puffing against his mouth. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. maybe in front of a mirror. i want you to see how pathetic you look when you’re begging.” your voice dips, soft but cutting.

he doesn’t reply, but his hips roll into you one last time, slow, deliberate, like punctuation. his mouth catches your gasp, fingers tightening on your skin, and his eyes hold yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he looks away, tongue pressing to his cheek again. you know neither of you will ever forget.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice rough around the edges, lips twitching like he almost regrets saying it. his hands flex on your hips, like he can’t decide whether to let go or keep holding on.

“good,” you murmur, breath brushing his mouth, still winded. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. in front of a mirror this time. i want you to see how desperate you get.” your voice is calm, cruel, intimate. your fingers smooth down his chest—tidying what you ruined.

he doesn’t respond.

instead, he leans in and steals a kiss—quick, hard, teeth clashing. like he can’t help himself. like he needs one last hit before he walks away. it’s messy and angry and not meant to linger, but it does.

his mouth hovers just a second longer than it should. your breath catches.

then he pulls back, silent, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. like he’s already thinking about next time.

#౨ৎ — filed reports #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x fem reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n

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foggysilverfeathers · 1 year ago

Text

Fake HC 10 dashboard mayhaps??

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☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

Reminder to love yourself! Smell the trees! Everything will be okay in the end 😊 ☀️

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

nvm gem ran out of pickles im depressed again

🐟 gemstone Follow

I RESTOCKED THIS MORNING HOW HAVE YOU ALREADY SOLD ME OUT

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

1,930 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 126 without a mending book

27 notes

🚂 scars-axasqottles Follow

uM hey @.hpo-official could i ask why you havent' received my messages?/? Every calsl Ive made just puts me on holdd

⬜️ hpo-official-948204deactivated

Sorry about that, sir. Admin error. I'll speak to my manager.

🚂 scars-axasqottles Follow

...hELLO?

🌸 joel-beans Follow

lmao they deactivated what a loser

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

Remember there's a person behind every poor worker! I see you bullies in the notes

🐟 gemstone Follow

@/mending-book-fanatic is a hermit permit office spy confirmed??

2,441 notes

🌸 joel-beans Follow

Guys everyone agrees that purpur is cheap and beautiful and godlike and everyone should go buy it right now this second *sweats*

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

I feel like I'm missing something...

🌸 joel-beans Follow

SHE HAS EYES EVERYWHERE BDUBS

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

Joel!

🌸 joel-beans Follow

If I don’t respond within the hour assume she got me

133 notes

🎩 symmetrical-minister Follow

anyone know a good shop for ethically-sourced wood?? i normally shop at big wood but ive heard things about a mafia :/

🪓 big-salmon Follow

That is absolutely NOT true!! If anything you should be targeting the crypto scheme at Big Wood,,

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

aaaand this is why you should never trust businessmen in red suits

🪓 big-salmon Follow

says the one compensating with a massive HOURGLASS of all things

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Actually @.big-salmon Xisuma_voyd made a really well-explained video here going into detail about all of the shady elements of Big Wood, it's worth a watch.

🐟 gemstone Follow

To answer the original question OP here are some safer (privately owned!) shops :)

Gem's Moss Shop (azaleas for sale which can be bonemealed)

Bdub's Bamboo Shop (bamboo wood is a good eco-friendly alternative to your typical spruce or oak)

The Purr-purr bus (if you're okay with having slightly more exotic trees, from the End)

Hope this helped! <3

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

Why would you pay diamonds for less when you could just pay a few grains of sand for the best quality wood in the shopping district? You people confuse me

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

actually the Purr-purr bus isn't ethical at all!! ive heard they blackmail people into giving them sails!!!

🐟 gemstone Follow

*sales

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

SHUDDUP

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2,750 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 131 without a mending book

34 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 164 without a mending book

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Grian you know you can get free mending books at the cat cafe right

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

it's not the same

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

I need to be able to smell the breath of the sea between its sodden pages

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

continue along the same path and you'll soon be facing villager unions

2,316 notes

🔥 tongo-tak Follow

Friendly reminder that not everyone wakes up at 2am, so please tag your Pearldle spoilers for at least a few hours!!

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

skill issue tbh

1,102 notes

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

hallo how flirt with pretty girl time sensitive question

🌺 git-gorgeous Follow

sell them something

🔥 tongo-tak Follow

bribe diamonds

🐍 puppet-master Follow

kill them

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

okay will do!!!!

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

wait

2,989 notes

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Happy pride month to lgbtqia+ people of all ages, genders and sexualities, you're all so valid and so loved <3 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ ❤🧡💛💚💙💜

🐟 gemstone Follow

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

I'm making a rainbow beacon for pride, come look for it! i'll be with it by my husband @ renthedog's hole all week

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

*HOLE

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

*HOME

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

WAIT I ACCIDENTALLY TAGGED IT

🐾 renthedog Follow

um.

2,655 notes

🌸 joel-beans Follow

etho is just kakashi on maple syrup send post

🌸 joel-beans Follow

almost forgot to add important additional difference! etho is also obsessed with me

1,113 notes

#ravenrambles #hermitcraft #hermitblr #fake dashboard #tw unreality #unreality #dashboard simulator #fake posts

3K notes · View notes

notsodelirious · 3 months ago

Text

Double Trouble — Roy Harper and Jason Todd

This was actually supposed to a Dick x Kory x Reader fic but one thing lead to another (I got high) and now we have this! Enjoy!

Synopsis: your friends abandon you in a bar, and you end the night by going home with two fine men

Notes: NSFW MDNI, this one was a doozy, I usually try to limit my drabbles to 1.5k but clearly that didn’t happen here — also mild CW for a slightly creepy dude at the beginning

tags: threesome (m x m x f), double penetration, two penises in one hole, vaginal sex, mentions of alcohol (but nobody is drunk), sub space (not named), fem! reader, 3.7k words, no use of y/n

Part 1 (current) | Part 2 | Part 3

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

It was supposed to be a regular night out with friends. A regular bar crawl, getting progressively more and more drunk until you eventually circle home.

After your first beer, you dip to the bathroom, promising your friends that you would be fine alone for the 5 minutes it would take you to relieve yourself. Only when you come back, not a single one of your friends is to be seen. You leave messages, check the smoking area, even call but nothing. Not a single text or call answered and they were nowhere to be seen.

They left you. Stranded you alone in a bar, with no warning or indication of where they had gone to next. Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you tuck yourself into a corner, scrolling on your phone as you try to determine your next move: you could just cut your losses and order a taxi home, but the other half of you was tempted to keep drinking and burn off the anger and hurt of continuously being treated like an afterthought.

You don’t have time to come to a conclusion however before a shadow looms over you, caging you into the corner you had nestled yourself in.

“Hi, sweetheart,” the man smiles as you look up at him. He’s boringly unremarkable, hair a little greasy and skin pale even for the sunless Gotham climate. He leans against the wall, crosses his arms, looks you up and down, “What’s a thing like you doing standing alone?”

“Oh, I umm…” Your brain freezes as you try to find words, an explanation, an excuse, anything to not make yourself the target of this man’s interest. “I was umm…” You look around the bar, looking. You don’t know what for, until you see a man sitting at the bar, absently nursing a whiskey. His dark hair interrupted by a solid white streak and hunched over frame catches your eye, even if he looks like he’d rather disappear into the decor. It’s a shot in the dark—he could be arguably worse than this creep but you’re desperate.

So you plaster on a fake smile as you try to inch away from the man.

“Texting my boyfriend, but it’s fine, I found him, thanks!” You slip past him, squeezing in the space between him and the wall before you begin trotting off towards the man you had spotted earlier. “Babe!”

Most heads snap up to look towards you as you call out—making everyone witness to you and the man quickly walking behind you. The man at the bar looks up towards you too, frowning slightly when he notices you bee-lining towards you.

“Hi!” you say with a forced smile when you reach him, resting a hand on his forearm, “Please pretend,” you breathe through clenched teeth.

His demeanour flips on a switch—he sits straight as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you as close as is appropriate considering he’s holding a stranger.

“Hi, princess,” he says, giving you a quick smile before he turns to eye the other man, “Who’s that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrug as you nervously inch closer, “I’ve never met him before.”

“I was just trying to have a conversation,” the guy frowns and he steps forward but the stranger tugs you back.

“Hey, man,” he says as he stands, shielding you from sight with his body. He’s so much taller than you expected, and bigger—you could see his impressive physique even when he sat, broad shouldered and muscular arms but stood and looming over that creep, your heart fluttered a little. “Don’t talk to my girl, got it?”

“Fuck, dude, I was just being friendly,” he backpedals quickly, stumbling backwards until he’s supposedly out of the stranger’s reach. “Ain’t do nothing to her.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want your sorry ass snooping around her, got it?”

“Everything okay, here?” Everybody looks back towards the new voice. A small part of you withers in embarrassment when you see a third man, just as tall and buff as the stranger you had run to shelter for, but painfully ginger. You’re the only person you know who can dig yourself into such a situation between three different men.

“This bitch is hitting on our girl,” your fake-boyfriend says. Our? You think, brain already running at 100 miles per hour to try to figure out how you’ll disentangle yourself from this mess.

“I wasn’t doing that shit!”

“Yeah? Cause it sure looked like you were!”

“Listen, dude,” Ginger-stranger says as he rests a hand on the creeps shoulder, “How about you just fuck off before we punch your lights out for messing with our girl, okay?”

“Shit, you fuck the same bitch?” the man sneers at you as he steps away from the two other men, “Have fun with that whore.”

The stranger’s fists clench.

You grab your fake-boyfriend’s arm before he can actually swing—his friend seems to come to the same conclusion, placing a hand on his chest as he shoves the creep back.

“Fuck off.”

The man looks between the three of you, mutters something before he turns tail and flees, leaving the three of you standing, tense and anxious.

“You okay, doll?”

You startle out of your thoughts as you look up at the first stranger who’s now looking down at you, a vaguely worried expression on his face. He steps aside to let you out from behind him, where you wedged between his body and the barstool, and heat flushes through you again when you realise how close you had been standing to his back.

“Oh, yes!” you slip away, nervously tugging on your top’s sleeve. You look up at both men, a shy smile playing on your lips, “All good. Thanks for that. Scaring him off.”

“No worries.”

“Glad we could help,” Ginger-stranger says with a crooked smile, “Can’t say I wasn’t surprised that my boyfriend had suddenly acquired a girlfriend, though.”

“Oh, haha,” the boyfriend in question says mockingly as he rolls his eyes. But your own eyes widen as you look between the two of them.

“Oh shit! Sorry!”

“You’re alright,” he smiles, “I’m Roy, by the way,” he adds before thrusting a thumb towards the other man, “And this is my boyfriend Jason.”

“Hi,” you smile shyly as you wave.

Jason just gives you a non-commital grunt as Roy gently nudges your shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, kid, but how about we walk you back to your friends?”

“They left,” Jason says before you explain the embarrassing truth yourself. Your face warms as Roy looks at his boyfriend.

“Wait, what? Why?”

Jason just shrugs, shuffles back into his chair before picking up his whiskey tumbler, “Dunno. Saw them giggling and shit and looking at the bathroom before they all decided to dash. Didn’t pay the bill, by the way,” he adds, looking at you. The mortification only grows and you can only nod as the lump in your throat returns.

“Oh,” you say, as if you had been expecting anything more from people who ditched you, not even a single beer into the night, “Right, thanks…” You rub your arm, almost as if you could trick yourself into believing somebody else was trying to comfort you. “I’ll just umm… I’ll get that. It was nice meeting you both.”

You step a little to the side, out of their way, as you try to wave down the bartender so you could ask for the bill. You almost miss the concerned glance Roy and Jason exchange, and the silent conversation that seems to be happening.

“So that’s $70 for 6 beers and 10 shots?” the bartender double-checks with you he reads off his screen.

“$70?” You don’t mean to be so loud–you’d already been dreading the price of the six beers alone but the two additional rounds of shots that you didn’t even get to drink made your heart sink into your gut. The bartender just looks at you sheepishly with an awkward smile, as if his training hadn’t accounted for the possible duping of some poor college girl.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have served them if-”

“No, no, you’re all, I umm…” You dig out your wallet as you consider your options–you had $12.53 in cash and about $20.46 in your bank account and even with all the wills of the earth, you couldn’t stretch that remotely far enough to cover half the tab they had left you with.

“I’ve got it.”

Jason slaps two bills on the counter and you turn just in time to see him slip his wallet back into his back pocket.

“What-? No, no, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, but you don’t have the wherewithal to take the cash before the bartender takes it. You hesitate when you see his mildly triumphant smile, probably the most expressive he’s been all evening aside from his righteous anger on your behalf and you find yourself fumbling for words again. Your heart is pattering behind your ribcage as you finally manage to spit out your words, “I get paid in a week, I can pay you back, I promise-”

“Woah, hey, I’m not trying to extort you or anything, it’s fine,” Jason pats you on the shoulder.

“Trust me, he has more money than he knows what to do with,” Roy snorts as he grabs Jason’s drink to down it, which only made his boyfriend scowl at him, “He’s constantly spoiling my daughter–he’s going to make her a menace.”

Your shoulders relax the slightest bit when you recognise the offered out of the current topic of conversation.

“You have a daughter?”

You hadn’t planned on staying to chat with both men for so long but well you got caught up in the good time. The three of you sipped on ice waters as you chatted, about everything and nothing, until they knew way too much about you and you learned select things about them: Roy had a daughter named Lian (no info on the mother though) and she’s currently with her godfather, Jason’s brother; Jason is a Gotham native, Roy isn’t, but after moving around so much, he decided to settle close to his boyfriend so his daughter could have a stable life; they’d been together for a while (but you never learn how long) and they’re both bi (which is important because they find your ass really fucking cute).

Which is essentially how you ended up stumbling into Jason’s apartment at midnight, laughter muffled by lips and hands groping at each other. Despite how sober you were, you felt giddy and a little light-headed, being sandwiched between two blessings from God; strong and kind and sweet and they’d chosen you to bring home, despite the fact that they’d never brought anybody home before as a couple.

“Does that mean I’m the lucky first?”

“The only one, baby,” Roy says as he moves up to bite your ear, enough to make you gasp, but not enough to hurt badly. “We’re keeping you.”

“We’re not kidnapping you,” Jason clarifies as he wraps his hands around your waist, fingers inching beneath your shirt as he strokes the bare skin there, “But we’d like to have you around.”

You hum as you nod, reaching forward to grab Jason’s t-shirt, tugging him forward so you could kiss him, almost sloppily, pushing your tongue into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you hear Roy mutter, “You two are so fucking hot.” You break away to breathe, smiling, shifting to give space to Roy who appeared behind his boyfriend, lips immediately finding the man’s neck.

“Shit,” Jason groans and all you can think to do is kiss him again, overwhelm him with affection. Hands tug at your shirt, eventually shucking it off your body, which temporarily paused all activity.

“Well, damn,” Roy wolf whistles when he sees you topless. Jason snaps the strap of your bra.

“Wanna take this off for us, doll face?” Your hands tremble as you eagerly reach back to unclasp your bra, letting your tits spill free. Jason’s hands are on you as soon as you drop your underwear, and Roy moves close enough to kiss you.

You can barely keep track of whose hands are whose, as clothing is pulled away from your body and you’re guided to a bedroom. Roy’s the one to drag you down onto the mattress. You giggled softly as you landed on his chest, straddling his thighs as he held your hips. Jason kneels behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You moan softly when his hips grind against your ass, rubbing his clothed bulge into you. The chain reaction leads you to thrusting against Roy and dragging your panty-clad pussy across his growing dick too.

“Fuck, I- please…” you moan as your pussy soaks your panties. It’s a joint effort from both men to pull them off you and then they’re standing to discard their own boxers. They kneel on either side of you, and Roy reaches out to cup your face to kiss you softly.

“Like what you see, baby?” You can only nod dumbly as you look up at them; fat, pretty cocks, hard and throbbing. You reach out to touch both, slowly stroking each cock in hand, feeling soft skin and pre-cum under your fingertips.

“Just like that, baby,” Roy groans as he rolls his hips into your hands all while Jason buries his fingers in your hair. Roy slips out of your grasp when he shifts to press his chest against your back. “Want to bounce on Jason’s big cock for us, sweetheart?” You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. Roy’s hands wrap around your waist as they help you up, and then down onto Jason’s cock, leaving you both moaning softly as he pushes into your cunny, opening you up. You’re so wet he barely meets any resistance even with his thick size and soon you’re begging them for movement. You spear yourself on Jason’s cock happily, your tits bouncing in tandem with your thrusts, fuelling a couple of Roy’s lewd remarks.

“There’s a good girl,” he purrs as he noses the shell of your ear. “Want more?”

“Y-yes please,” you moan out, a punched sound leaving your throat as you drop back down onto Jason’s cock, bruising your cervix. The next time you rose, Jason hooks his hands under your knees, holding you aloft as Roy holds your thighs up too while he slides close behind you.

The tip of Roy’s cock nudges your entrance and you whine softly.

“Relax, doll face,” Jason mumbles as they tease your already stretched opening with Roy’s cock, threatening to properly split you open and ravage you. “You’ll feel so good.”

“A-ah-! Fuck…”

“Do you want to stop?” Roy asks kindly, dick retreating a little, but still rubbing against your pussy, promisingly. “It’s okay if it’ll be too much.”

You barely think about it before you’re shaking your head—you don’t want to stop, you want to take them both. But they’re so big-

“It won’t fit,” you hiccup as both men hold you steady. Only the tip of Jason’s dick is inside your stretched-out pussy but Roy’s nudges in next to Jason, pulling you open that much further. “Roy…”

“Shh… baby,” he hushes softly as he kisses the back of your neck, gently easing his cock past your opening. You keen loudly, the stretch burning through you. Your legs twitch as you fight the other to clench down as the second dick split you open. “Good girl…”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jason grunts. His hands around your thighs tighten as he begins to help you down over their cocks when gravity stops playing its parts. You yelp as you’re pulled down, until you’re all the way down to their hip. You tremble in their arms as your pelvic muscles struggle weakly, trying valiantly to squeeze down around the fat cocks nestled in your stretched out cunt. You moan weakly, head backwards against Roy’s shoulder, desperately trying to regain control of your body.

“Doll face?” You blink away the tears as you sit up ever so slightly to look up at Jason, whose eyes scan your face for any sign of trouble. “Okay?”

“So much,” you mumble out, the arm that wasn’t clutching onto one of them desperately, dropping to your lower stomach where you can feel their cocks inside you.

“That right, baby?” Roy says, his voice almost teasing as it strains while he desperately tries to not fuck into you right then and there.

“Uh huh,” you mumble as you nod weakly. “M-more…” Jason absolutely doesn’t hesitate, rolling his hips, just enough to grind his cock against Roy’s inside you. They both groan softly before beginning at a gentle pace, fucking into you one after the other, making you moan soundlessly. Your pussy grows impossibly wetter as your body finally accommodates the stretch.

“F-fuck doll face, so fucking good for us,” Jason whispers into your neck as he bites and sucks your skin, staining it a soft purple. Somebody’s hands find your chest, playing and tugging at your nipples, pinching and pulling harder the louder you whine. Jason’s mouth ventures down, until his lips find your tits and begin to lavish them. The fingers disappear in favour of Jason’s mouth—you arch your back into his touch, fingers running through his hair, tugging at it. Whoever hands were just on your tits are now playing with your pussy, rubbing your clit and teasing it softly, pulling the rubber band in your belly tighter and tighter until it finally snaps.

You pretty much come then and there, body going tense as you cry out, clear cum squirting out of you onto the boys and the sheets.

“Fuck, look at you, baby,” Roy grunts as he and Jason simultaneously increased their pace, thrust meaner than before, your cunt struggling to keep up. You whimper weakly, trying to clench down, relieve some of the overstimulation but you’re spent, body limp as they continue to fuck you like a doll. You only grow damper at the thought, leaving your body in their hands as you feel the coil in your belly tighten in preparation for a new orgasm.

“Ngh~ fuck,” you moan when whoever was playing with your pussy pressed down on your lower belly with the heel of their palm. “Too much. Ah, I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can,” Roy whispers into your ear. Their hips are punishing, fucking into your puffy pussy, widening you open further than you’d ever been. No man or dildo would be able to fill you the same way after tonight, every other man spoiled for you. You don’t know when your mind goes blank, barely able to make more than punched out moans, a soft rhythmic “ah, ah, ah,” as they both fuck you with reckless abandon. “Cum again for us, baby girl. That’s it.”

You’re sure they’ll receive a noise complaint after how loud you cry when you come again, soon followed by the boys who flooded your cunt with cum. It bubbles around the base of their cocks, as they give a couple more thrust to fuck their cum deeper into you before finally pulling, leaving you gaping and leaking.

Your vision blacks for a short second before you’re being transferred to a single set of arms and rested against somebody’s chest.

“Easy, doll face,” Jason’s voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks, heaving chest mirroring your own as you both try to catch your breath. Roy ducks down to kiss your cheek, gently cupping your other before he pulls away to look you over.

“With us, baby?”

You mumble something incompressible to his question: you understand the general sentiment he’s trying to convey but your head is still too foggy. You’re also vaguely aware of the conversation happening over your head as you half-sleep against Jason’s chest.

“Stay with her. I’ll be right back, gonna go grab some stuff.”

Jason hums as he meets Roy with a chaste kiss. “Mmh, okay.”

You feel Roy leave and the mattress shifts to fill his absence. Your breathing eventually eases, and you almost fall asleep against Jason’s chest as he rocks you pack and forth, whispering soft words of praise and kindness.

Only to jolt at the rough feeling of a warm, damp towel against your pussy. You whined uncomfortably as Roy began to wipe off your gaping cunt, still too weak to fully squeeze closed, raw and fluttering weakly instead, loose from having taken two fat cocks. It would probably ache for the next few days but you didn’t doubt that the boys would take care of you during then. Almost cheekily, he brushes his fingertips against your swollen and exposed inner walls, only to make you whine louder and complain. He chuckles softly, mumbling an apology before he moves on to the rest of his tasks.

He wipes down your thighs and tits too before helping Jason wipe off. The opening of a bottle presses against your lips and you drink slowly, but eagerly, trying not to choke while the cold water soothes your throat, clear your mind a little more. After the bottle is pulled away from you, Roy kindly coaxes you to eat, placing a bowl of apple slices in your lap. They both chat quietly above you, checking with each other and talking about other random stuff as you all eat and recuperate.

“Feel better, baby?” Roy asks softly after you’ve finished the bowl. You nod sleepily, nuzzling against Jason’s neck even as you try valiantly to keep your eyes open. “Pick her up for a sec?” Roy asked Jason, “Lemme change the sheets.”

Jason complies and you’re hoisted up into his arms before he moves to stand, effortlessly cradling you in his arms while Roy quickly moves to change the sheets.

You don’t realise you had began to doze until you’re laid down onto fresh sheets and two warm bodies slide in on either side of you and you’re properly tucked in.

“Good night, sweet thing.”

A sense of peace washes over you, as you lie sandwiched between two men you hadn’t met until a couple of hours ago but trusted more than anybody. A small, terrified but excited part of yourself, your heart, realises that you’ve never felt more content than right here and now. But that isn’t a realisation for your fucked out brain to process. You curl up against them before properly allowing yourself to fall asleep, satiated and exhausted.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

a/n: yeah, I have nothing to say for myself, I just want them both — don’t hesitate to leave an ask or a request if you have one <3

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navydoves · 3 months ago

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Cat!Zayne and his strange affectionate habits

you love your kitty boyfriend, but he does some strange things!

✎ᝰ a/n: highly requested kitty zayne is now part 4 of this series. im gonna do a "habits while in heat" sister series so if you wanna be tagged just tell me. caleb is gonna be the last one to complete the 5.

bunny xavier mermaid rafayel dragon sylus

⭐︎

❥ he’s likes waiting. kitty zayne is very patient. he’ll never whine or complain (too much) about how long you’ve been gone or how far away mealtime is. he’ll definitely miss you, yes, but he likes focusing on the fact that you’re with him now.

he’ll sit by you on the bed and wait for you to wake up, but he’ll do this for hours if he needs to. if he wants to play or spend time with you but you’re busy, he’s perched right beside you quietly just very patiently waiting. you feel a little bad sometimes, but zayne reassures you by telling you that he doesn’t mind waiting. that all he cares about is getting you as his reward.

❥ he holds you with his tail. zaynes favorite form of physical affection is gripping onto you for dear life with his tail. it’s very casual too. when you’re doing dishes he’ll come up behind you and peck your scalp while his tail wraps around your waist. he’ll wrap his tail around your wrist in public to guide you and show affection.

he especially loves wrapping his tail around you when you’re asleep with him. with his strong arms under your armpits and around your chest and his tail either wrapped on your thigh or midsection, zayne refuses to go to sleep any other way. it’s a bit suffocating but zayne is naturally cool-skinned so it doesn’t make you overheat.

❥ he has sensory issues. because of this zayne is very particular about what he sleeps on, the texture of his food, how his ears/tail/nails are trimmed, etc. you’ll see him on the bathroom very meticulously snipping away at his hair to ensure it’s always clean and neat because it’ll bother him if it’s any other way. it’s also a plus to know he’s very clean.

he’s usually adverse to getting too close to someone because he also very easily overheats. which is why when he cuddles you, you’ll see him use his evol on his skin. similarly he prefers wearing very light clothing or being just straight up naked in bed because it helps him with temperature and also, he likes you feeling his bare body <3.

❥ he’s subtly territorial. he likes to remind you and everyone else around you that you’re his and vice versa. he’s not the type to whine or pout about it, but he’ll do things like stare people down or wrap his tail around your ankle if they’re being too friendly with you.

he also likes scenting you in every way possible. you think his head nudges and rubs are purely affectionate, but he also does them to get his natural kitty scent on you. its not a once or twice thing, its constantly throughout the day. especially when your scent is gone after a shower he’ll take like 10 minutes just to cover you in his smell again.

❥ he massages (kneads) you a lot! it’s well known that cats like kneading when they’re happy, but zayne likes to call it “massages”. this is because he only ever kneads you. his favourite places are your tummy and your thighs, but he’ll take anywhere.

very firmly but still gentle, he cups your soft flesh and squeezes or rubs with his large palms. even kitty zayne knows anatomy pretty well, so he’ll target the areas where the biggest muscle groups are or where you complain about being achy. it’s very soothing and somewhat erotic at times because his attention is fully on you. likes it’s a job to him play with your chub and skin.

❥ he’s at your beck and call. if zayne is gonna do something its gonna be listen to you. zayne is not submissive by nature, but he enjoys taking care of you so much that he’ll let you boss him around. he’s not a dog, but he’ll fetch if you ask.

if you ask him to cook he’ll cook for the next few days and always serve you first. if you ask him to use his car he’ll drive you himself and give extra money. if you ask him to jump he might just ask how high. it’s not overbearing by any means, it’s actually rather domestic and husband-like. he does things for you silently but his tail wags always indicate how happy he is doing it. ⭐︎ hey frens tags : @otomegamesforlife , @chersyluvs

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urdreamgirlangel · 1 month ago

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Romanticizing Productivity (Minus the Burnout) ｡𖦹°‧

@f1rst-l0vel4t3-spr1ng asked: hi angel!! how do you stay productive and out of procrastination cycles?

this is for the girls who feel like they’re falling behind but keep showing up anyway. ♡

✶ you are not lazy.

✶ you are not behind.

✶ you are a real person with a real nervous system, trying to do her best in a world that rewards burnout.

✶ give yourself grace. then give yourself a nap.

Plan your days ˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ

When you know what you're doing, when, and how, life feels less overwhelming.

Use a planner

make a cute to-do list with time stamps & decorate it to encourage yourself to look at it

Personally, planning makes my day way easier, but sometimes even this isn't enough. You could literally just stare at your planner blankly and ignore it for the whole day.

The 4 Quarter Method

Quarter 1 (Morning): 6am-10am

Quarter 2 (Midday): 10am-2pm

Quarter 3 (Afternoon): 2pm-6pm

Quarter 4 (Evening): 6pm-9/10pm

Decide what you want to do in those spaces. And note that even if you need to start over, you don’t have to wait until tomorrow, literally just do it next quarter.

The 12-Week Year

Instead of viewing a year as a long 12-month stretch, you break it into shorter 12-week periods, treating each as a 'year'. This encourages you to focus and take action on your goals sooner, turning your long-term goals into short-term ones.

૮ ․ ․ ྀིა keeps motivation high and priorities clear

૮ ․ ․ ྀིა track progress and adjust as needed

૮ ․ ․ ྀིა keep your goals specific and measurable, breaking them down into weekly targets.

Be realistic ⭑.ᐟ

Don't overestimate your energy levels, and do not try to lie to yourself. Leave space for unpredictability.

Discipline over Motivation ˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ

If you wait until you feel motivated to get things done, it’s unlikely that you actually will. So this is where discipline comes in because it provides more control and consistency. In other words, train yourself through building habits and routine to do what needs to be done, even if you don’t feel like doing it.

Choosing to do things you don’t like/want to right now for future you.

You literally have to choose the version of yourself you’d rather be over the version of you that you want to leave behind. Think about the future and think about whatever you wanna do. Imagine that person. Girl, that’s you and always will be as long as you take yourself seriously, as long as you are truthful to yourself, as long as you continuously choose to do whatever it takes not to be the opposite.

The Execution ˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ

What about the things that lead to your goals? I like to create routines, habits and rituals because they make the tasks doable.

Build daily and weekly systems that you will automatically fall into (over time of course) for even when you don’t feel like it but you know you need to. These systems create habits.

｡𖦹°‧ Morning/Night rituals/routines - structure the start and end of your day

｡𖦹°‧ Study Rituals - your methods & what you do before, during and after matter

｡𖦹°‧ Habit stacking - build new habits by attaching them to established routine.

｡𖦹°‧ Reuse the 4 quarter method by planning each day's workload

The 2-Minute Method

If a habit feels too overwhelming, start with just two minutes - James Clear. The idea is to start small and build momentum over time.

‹𝟹 Wanna read more? Start with reading for two minutes.

‹𝟹 Wanna journal? Write a single sentence.

‹𝟹 Wanna study? Read the first paragraph/page.

Procrastination ˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ

We all have procrastinated from time to time. It’s normal. It’s human. However, understanding why we do it can help us break out of it.

The leading causes of procrastination:

⤷ overestimating how much time we have

⤷ overestimating the motivation we’ll have in the future

⤷ underestimating how long tasks will take

⤷ thinking we need the right mindset to study

⤷ lack of energy

⤷ mental health challenges

How to fight it

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ Create a distraction-free environment

₊ ⊹ Clear your desk, close unused tabs, put your phone out of reach.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ Use a to-do list (that’s realistic)

₊ ⊹ Break tasks into micro-steps.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ Reward yourself after completing an item on your list

₊ ⊹ Boosts mood and self-esteem, leading to the realization that your efforts result in a positive reward.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ Pay attention to thoughts of procrastination and resist the urge.

₊ ⊹ Gently challenge them

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ Ask for help

₊ ⊹ Putting things off is normal for all of us, but it’s important to notice when something has gone/is going too far. Maybe you’re struggling to understand a concept, and that’s why, but that’s when you have to take the time to put yourself first and ask for help.

All you have to do is start. The first step is usually the hardest, and also the only one that matters the most.

Think you wasted the day away already? It’s the little things that count.

Do something right now.

Stretch, shower, brush your teeth, eat a meal, change your clothes, get some sun, read a page of a book. Starting something often leads me to wanting to continue. Instead of one page, I’ll read a chapter even though I said I’d only read a page, simply because the page turned out to be so interesting- then I think, ‘oh yeah, that's why I bought this book’.

Academic Burnout & Toxic productivity ˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ

Just because you’re functioning doesn’t mean you’re okay.

I feel like this is way more common than acknowledged, and as a former academic girlie (until I hit a breaking point), I know it all too well. I didn’t even realize I was burnt out until it’d already messed me up. So… don’t be like me. But also, it’s okay if you are already because you can always redeem yourself even if it’s not through academics.

Signs of Burnout <3 !

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Constant exhaustion — physically and mentally

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Feeling sick, overwhelmed, or emotionally drained

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Loss of confidence in your ability

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Missing deadlines or avoiding work altogether

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Feeling like you can’t absorb any information

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Zoning out way more often than usual

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Getting easily irritated or emotional

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Feeling detached or negative about learning

how to avoid and recover from burnout <3 !

Rest is rest - when resting, don't do something draining like scrolling through your phone. Do something that’s meaningful to rest, a nap, eating, drinking water, meditating, just to rest your brain

Pay attention to how you feel and react to certain things to recognize the symptoms, do not ignore yourself.

Make time for fun and social activities - gives your brain a break, boosts energy, and can feel refreshing while also boosting creativity

Practice mindfulness - being present in the moment by going outside or meditating reduces stress and boosts emotional regulation

Get a lot of exercise, stay hydrated, and eat good quality food - improves sleep and increases energy levels

Set reasonable goals - don’t try to do everything at the same time or in one time frame, and know your limits

Keep your environment organized to feel organized and more at peace

Develop good relationships with your classmates and professors/teachers, so going to class doesn’t feel like a chore

Positive self-talk - encouraging yourself every day and reminding yourself you can do anything you put your mind to, because you can !

Stick to deadlines and avoid procrastination (more on the how-to-avoid side)

Changing the scenery helps more than you think

Have no more than 2 intense quarters per day.

Remember why you are doing this in the first place and if you can’t find a reason then you definitely have to think about if this is what you want to do and if you don’t, that may be the main cause of your burnout

Seek help through your support system (friends, family, therapist) or even me because i’m always here if you need to talk

Reality Check 𓂂 𓇼˚｡ •

it’s literally not necessary to be working excessively hard, trying to find ways to sleep less to study/work more because it will cost you your mental, emotional and physical health.. and if you don’t have those.. there’s literally no point of doing anything. social media has glamorized toxic productivity so much that it’s an aesthetic. to be raw, slowly killing yourself isn’t cute. you’re a real person with real feelings and limits. you are not a brand packaging an ideal that is in no way real. and at the end of the day, grades don’t matter as much as you may currently believe they do. you have to choose to take care of yourself because no one else is going to do it for you.

Be efficient — study smarter, not harder ˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ

Before you even touch a book:

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡ Stretch your body — it actually helps your brain engage

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡ Stay hydrated, eat quality foods, take your vitamins - fuel matters

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡ Plan your days - list assignments by date the moment you get your syllabus, then just check things off

Study Methods That actually Work:

˙ ✩°˖🥐 Flashcards - active recall is better than passive reading

˙ ✩°˖🍼 Try the Pomodoro Method - 25 mins work, 5 mins break

˙ ˙ ✩°˖🥐 Go on walks - movement helps with processing, memory & focus

˙ ✩°˖🍼 Reteach what you learned - out loud or to someone else (personally my plushies are my fav audience)

˙ ✩°˖🥐 Blurting method – write down everything you know from memory, then compare to your notes and fill in the gaps

˙ ✩°˖🍼 Sticky notes - great for reminders (esp in language learning - stick one onto a piece of furniture, with the translation on it)

˙ ✩°˖🥐 Mind map sheets – use a blank page and colored pens to create idea webs

˙ ✩°˖🍼 Annotate your notes - highlight, underline, scribble little thoughts in the margins, make it yours

✩°˖🥐 Practice - practice tests and past papers help you get used to the style of questions so you can be better prepared and confident in tests. They also help you identify any weaknesses in the topic so you can know what they are and work on them.

˙ ✩°˖🍼 Channel your inner study icon (Elle Woods) - cute outfit/pjs, brain on and ready

Just start. The momentum will come

Resources:

Apps^ྀི

Planners: Notion templates, Google Calendar, todo mate

Habit trackers & Focus: focus plant (fav), study bunny, habit, finch (fav)

Playlists^ྀི

Lo-fi, brown/white noise, focus music - like sunnii mmelt elisio hny

Study with Me's can be found in my youtubers for the girlies post parts 1 & 2

Break ideas ྀི

Go for a short walk

Journal for 5 minutes

Simple stretches or practice deep breathing

Eat something nourishing

Yoga

Light a candle and literally sit in silence for a bit

Watch the sky for 2 minutes

Take a nap

All you need to do is start. Missing something isn’t the end of the world. Take your time, have some rest, reward yourself, and remember, you can always start again.

✿ if this helped you or made you feel understood, reblog so other girls like us can find it too

follow @urdreamgirlangel 444 more <33

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hellowoolf · 16 days ago

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something, somehow, someday

chapter 1: your takara | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort (but like…no comfort yet), gojo terrorizing megumi, very very vague descriptions of giving birth (SO abstracted)

a/n: i cannot thank you enough for your love on the prologue i am simply jumping with joy. BOUNCING. thank you <3

ok another authors note?? i meant to schedule this for tomorrow but for some reason tumblr posted it now. i don’t care enough to fix it…so…enjoy :P

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

2006

the funny thing about pregnancy, YOU think, is that despite how axis-tilting the fact of it may feel, you have ample time to become accustomed. after the initial devastation—and it was nearly fatal to you—of leaving satoru and the rest behind, the shock of composing this godly thing in your body ebbs. you’d come to the conclusion that it would grow nonetheless, the wingspan of the color and the power and the life of them is ceaseless. this child would be born, you would be their mother. there isn’t much point in surprise, you determine, and so you let that sharp and startled feeling go. it leaves easily.

in the first few months, you begin to wonder whether you were fated for this. your technique being what it is—an ingestion of the earth’s natural cursed energy, a trail of trees and grasses under your feet and hands—has allowed you some familiarity with the act of being a creator. being cast out from your family in pursuit of your cursed technique, too, means you know how to survive somewhat on your own. the tangible particulars of what your life has become are not altogether new. you find a job at a cafe and an apartment close by, work yourself overtime while you only have to care for one body.

there are moments when the tragedy of being 18 and pregnant and alone dawn on you, but when have you ever fret over the inevitable? and it is so hard, you find, to stay hateful when what you imagine is only a few clumps of cells exudes energy that looks so much like their father’s.

of course, you miss satoru in a terminal way. that isn’t much of a surprise, either, and you cannot escape him. in the smell of sugar at the cafe, in the plants you grow in your apartment window sills, he is all over them, so potently in your life despite being so factually absent. but you know, too, that his traces remain on you for all the reasons you fell in love with him. he’s like ocean on your hands; dry and invisible but you can still smell the salt. and so much like everything else, you make peace with the constant reminders of the man you love, the father of your child, who is so far away by your own design. the first trimester passes that way, almost mindless, living in the decision you could not help but make, growing used to the growing.

only at your most weak, in the dead of night, do you allow yourself any thought of why this is necessary. an indulgent masochism you did not use to be prone to, you think of how much a target this child would be if the world knew whose it was. techniqueless, your baby would be essentially gone the moment they left you. insurmountably more petrifying, though, was knowing that this baby did have sorcery in them.

you think of this now, watching your ceiling fan spin and spreading your fingers across your stomach. this child, your child, would be tethered to jujutsu. there could be no running, not from this.

your doctor told you today that your baby is a boy. you sat with your knees tipped inward on the floor, holding the phone to your face, and you’d laughed something waterlogged and conflicted when she said it. there was something terrible about knowing he would look like his father, but there was comfort, too. your love for satoru is unselfish and indiscriminate, even now; you cannot help some unbridled joy that this life you’ve made together will have echoes, like everything else in the scenery of your day-to-day, of him.

when you first ran away to learn jujutsu from your grandmother, she told you stories of her father, who mastered the technique before her. takara: a gift from god. laying in your bed now, thinking still of what your son is doomed to be, you hold your middle tighter, which steadily grows now into the unmissable signs of life. you smile, something soft and small, thinking that this baby is your gift from god, from your satoru. takara. yes, you think. your takara.

~~~~~~~

2007

SATORU has, at 19, felt a great deal. power and fear and hubris and devastation: he has been lost, he has been dead, he has been in love. he takes some level of pride in this disproportionality. it’s what makes him a good guardian to megumi and tsumiki, he thinks, despite how incompetent shoko and yaga seem to believe him to be.

but nothing has ever felt like this. on the last day of january, stretched in front of a space heater with megumi as snow collects outside the window, satoru’s body straightens, folds, something inside him yawns open. he sits up.

megumi levels him with a stare. “what?”

satoru rubs a hand over his face. it feels like his heart is turning inside of him, like his soul is moving. something deep and fundamental is happening. he’s terrified, for a moment. his silence, unnatural as it is, draws megumi’s attention. he asks again, a little kinder, “what?”

satoru shakes his head. “i don’t know.” he looks at megumi’s little furrowed brow and schools his expression. “i’m fine, sorry. all good.” and for the sake of convincing, though it sounds even more desperate, he says again: “i’m fine.”

megumi only scoffs and turns back to watching the mounting blanket of ice outside, but satoru remains unwell. what the fuck is happening to me? he can only barely stop himself from clutching his chest, from clawing his hands into his body and pulling something out.

he looks around; there are no discernible perturbations in the energy on campus, no physical ailments on or in him. the space heater hums, but the warmth is almost stifling now.

with a great deal of effort, he lays flat again and tries to calm his breathing. eyes closed, satoru thinks. the sensation beats behind his ribs, kicks from the inside. and as suddenly as it onset, satoru knows: it is familiar. or maybe familial. it feels, almost, like someone from his clan appeared in the area. this is impossible, he knows, but it’s almost unmistakable. he shoots to a standing position and pushes out of the room, disregards megumi’s discontented little “hey!” as he trudges towards shoko’s office.

the door flings open as shoko blows a puff of smoke from her lips. yaga allotted her an office space as soon as they graduated so she could begin healing sorcerers when they returned from missions; she leans both elbows on her desk, exasperated with him already.

“do you know how to knock?”

satoru can’t even rise to that quip, still heaving. “do i have any relatives coming to tokyo?” he asks.

shoko lifts a brow. “satoru why on earth would i know that?”

his eyes are wild as he asks again, breathless: “do i?”

shoko’s exhaustion begins to morph into something different, something like concern, and she puts her cigarette out in the ashtray by her hand. “no, i…no. i mean, i wouldn’t know,” she admits. satoru nods, trying to self soothe, but shoko presses on. “why?”

satoru shakes his head again like he’s trying to free something between his ears. “i don’t know, i’m so fucking freaked out, i was just with megumi and—and all of a sudden i felt….god, i don’t even know.” he looks shoko in the eye now, something fatally serious in his face, “someone related to me is in tokyo. i can feel it, i—i don’t know.”

shoko tilts her head a little to urge him on.

“if a gojo is here, one that i don’t know about, wouldn’t that be…like…bad? terrible?”

at last shoko laughs a little, comforted by the sense that satoru is returning to himself. “i guess. does it matter?”

“yes!” satoru throws his hands up.

“well what do you want from me? you want me to go and scalpel them? be serious.”

satoru scoffs, “no! jesus, i just need help figuring this out.” he’s quiet a moment. “please? help me find out who it is, if it’s anyone?”

shoko tips her head back in her chair and exhales slowly like there’s smoke to release, but her breath comes out clean. satoru is still buzzing, hands trembling at his sides, but the world is clarifying around him, slowly. shoko straightens herself. “if i say yes will you leave my office?”

“will you actually help me if you say yes?”

“yes.”

there’s a sigh shared between them. satoru’s shoulders slump, partially with the weight of this feeling and partially with relief. “okay…okay. thank you.”

he makes his way slowly to where he’d left megumi, dragging his feet a little. this is so uncomfortable. megumi is furious in that tiny way only he is capable of when satoru reenters the room.

“what was that?!”

satoru shrugs. “i don’t know, honestly.” megumi isn’t convinced, and satoru sighs for the thousandth time. “it’s adult stuff.”

megumi doesn’t miss a beat. “you are not an adult.”

“i am too!”

“nuh uh.”

“uh huh!”

megumi imitates him in a voice even squeakier than his real one: “uh huh!”

satoru almost gags on his gasp before smiling a little, despite himself. “you think you can take it, little man?” he asks, only joking halfway. megumi nods. “i thought i felt…i guess…almost like someone i’m related to is closeby. all of a sudden.” megumi remains stone faced. “and i don’t—well, if someone from my clan appeared without me knowing that would be bad, i guess. i think.”

megumi nods and crosses his arms. satoru wonders whether he’s trying to look adult, or if he just is. “aren’t you supposed to be the strongest?”

satoru can’t help but smile and tilt his head. “yes.”

“then what’s the problem? worst case, you fight with them. but you’d win.” satoru nods, pleased even now to be implicitly praised by his greatest critic. “best case, you have a brother. or a sister. or an uncle. i dunno. i like having a sister. why would it be bad?”

satoru can’t answer that. not immediately, anyway. maybe not ever. he decides to grin instead, wry and teasing. “aren’t you, like, three years old? do you even understand what you’re saying?”

megumi clearly doesn’t think very hard before picking up the closest pillow and throwing it at satoru’s head. he cackles, loud and delighted, as he lets it hit him.

in the end, though, the truth remains; satoru does not know how to let go. not when you left, not when suguru defected, and not now. he is hopeless in the face of his remembering, and there is so much memory in him. mostly he has been as noble as his predispositions allow; he, at your request, has not looked for you, and he has extended the same courtesy to suguru. but this? something wiry and taut has coiled his arteries and snagged his breath, and with no one left to bar him, satoru resolves—engaged in fierce battle with his five-year-old charge—to find whoever tugs at the other end of the line.

~~~~~~~

YOU cannot remember much from takara’s birth. you remember your own wailing, the sound of it more than the sensation, and you remember realizing you’ve been torn down the middle. you suspect it was the greatest pain you had ever been in, but the memory frays, fuzzy.

you remember taking him in your arms, though. seeing his eyes squeeze as he screeched just as you had, seeing them open only to heave in air and sob harder, he looked so furious. you wept and laughed at him, the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, a tiny thing even though he came a week late.

it was almost too obvious to think of it consciously: how much he looked like satoru, even from the first moment. the beginnings of his silver hair, the blue of his eyes, it was all there, your satoru, your takara, bellowing at you. your earlier sense of satoru’s memory as a salt on your hands expounded, made enormous by the life in your grasp, made new. undeniably yours, undeniably his, less like an ocean and more like the sun, even his anger at taking his first breaths gleamed, some invisible illumination.

he was born january 31, snow pitching outside. all at once you are terrified, overjoyed, a mother, all of a sudden.

~~~~~~~

a/n: ok i know i said i would wait a week before posting the next part but i was excited :) i hope you enjoyed, and let me know if you want to be added to taglist <3<3

taglist: @emochosoluvr @por0u @vraiao

#hello woolf #something somehow someday #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jjk smut #gojo smut #satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you

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captain-huggy-bear · 6 months ago

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Guard Dog

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the Washington Capitals game (Jan 2025), anger/conflict, derogatory commentary towards Reader

Summary: You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

Notes: I was ready to throw hands at Dubois for purposefully seeking out and trying to hurt Quinn so...

Apologies to Dubois but he's now my arch nemesis and if I was actually dating Quinn I know I'd hold a grudge, sorry, I'm sure you're a great guy but...not today. Reminder that I am writing a fictional version of these people and what I do write is not representative of them in real life. Don't sue me, Dubois, this is fictional you, not real you. 👀

Also I don't think Quinn is generally violent or aggressive but I do think that if he felt someone he loved was being treated in a way that was disrespectful/aggressive, that he wouldn't avoid conflict. Protective boy in my eyes.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You wanted to say that you were used to watching how violent hockey could get, especially when that violence was directed at Quinn, but that would be a lie.

Watching as Quinn was practically attacked by Dubois, watching him be targeted had you gasping and jumping to your feet in an instant. The way he knocked Quinn to the ground had your heart thudding in your chest and you'd gotten to your feet instinctively like you could physically go out and defend him, like you had any ability to do something when in reality you were completely helpless, stuck behind glass.

That intense feeling of protectiveness had only increased as Quinn was pulled from the scrum by Dubois again like he was being hunted down, targeted. It grew almost unbearable, a protectiveness mixed with anger, as you watched Quinn try to keep his distance, shoving away from Dubois even as he tried to hold him close, as Quinn tried to protect himself while avoiding roughing himself, only to receive a penalty anyway. That anger grew watching the way Quinn was stuck in the penalty box, the way he was desperate, standing, wanting to get out after his 2 minutes, only to be stuck because play was ongoing for another 3 minutes.

You had never hated a player before. Players had upset you in the past, annoyance at the way they'd dealt with something or how they'd behaved towards Quinn, but you'd never seen someone so determined to hurt your boyfriend. It was that sheer targeting, the way Dubois followed Quinn, gunned for him for no reason, especially given he was still sporting a hand injury, that had you hating him immediately. It had you itching to say something, do something for the entirety of the game. You could barely concentrate on the actual game, too amped.

You couldn't help the way your leg bounced angrily the entire game, the way you bit your lip, the way your mind ran through all the things you'd like to say to Dubois about his behaviour. That feeling didn't disappear as the game ended and you waited outside the locker room for Quinn, if anything it grew from how hard you tried to suppress it. You felt a little like a ticking time bomb.

That anger boiled over the moment you saw Dubois coming down the corridor towards you after the game. Dubois was freshly washed and changed, laughing with his teammate, Roy, like he hadn't been trying to hurt your boyfriend for half the game. You tried to keep your comments to yourself, but couldn't keep the angry glare, the deep scowl, from your features as you leant against the wall, arms crossed. You knew you were giving him the evils, that if looks could kill he'd have died five times over, but you couldn't force your face into neutrality, not when you felt that buzz of anger in your chest. It was dangerous for him to target Quinn like that, it was unfair, it made you wish you were 6ft 8 and built like a brick shit house so at least you could throw a punch in Quinn's honour. Instead you had been absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

You heard it muttered, whispered, an exchange of 'what's her problem?' and 'that's Hughes' girl...', that had you almost vibrating with anger. Dubois should have left you well enough alone, should have read the room and let you cool down. He shouldn't have assumed he could mess with you in that moment. But, since when have hockey players ever missed a chance to chirp?

You watch him stride up to you, a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble and only served to push more adrenaline through your body.

"You got a problem with me?"

"Walk away." Your voice is clipped, short, an attempt to maintain a sense of decorum, to control your anger because the last thing you want is to embarrass Quinn by getting into a fight with a rival hockey player on the same night his team lost a game. The last thing you want to do is make matters worse and in the words of Marie from Aristocats 'ladies don't start fights'.

"Or what? You going to cry cause I grabbed your little boyfriend?" His sneer reminds you of every bully you've ever known your entire life. Brutish, stupid, and with a deep desire for power and control, the sort of desire that causes them to be nasty, be mean, to try to hurt people because it shows that they can. It only makes it harder for you to control your feelings, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you clench your fists tight, like that will help keep you back.

"I'm telling you to walk away because I will not be responsible for what I say or do if you don't. Walk away." It was probably comical to him, the way you stepped forward and squared off with him, a man well over 6ft tall. You were relatively small in comparison. It didn't matter to you though, all that mattered was the fact he'd gunned for Quinn, for your lovely, kind boyfriend who avoided fights at all costs and tried to always be a reasonable, decent player. Your boyfriend who tried to play clean. Your boyfriend who was still injured. Your boyfriend who was under an insane amount of pressure right now. Your boyfriend who had only just come back off of rest for his injury.

"You've got some balls on you, lady, more than Hughes does at any rate."

You're certain your eye twitches, certain you're one bite away from causes your bottom lip to bleed. Certain that you've dug half moon circles into your palms. Certain that murder doesn't seem quite that bad of a crime right now and that you could survive prison.

"Walk. Away. Now."

"So you're the man in your relationship, huh? Is Hughes your pretty princess?" It's the hateful, misogynistic attempt to demean Quinn that causes you to snap. It's his refusal to just walk away, the goading, the pushing, the way he steps closer into your personal space, leers over you in an attempt to intimidate you with his size that finally does it. But, he doesn't seem to realise that you're too angry to be intimidated, you're not really thinking about yourself, about the situation, about the fact he's twice your size. So it doesn't matter that he could break you if he wanted to. It doesn't matter that he should be scary. He's not in that moment, because you're simply too angry, vibrating with rage.

"You're a vile, disgusting human being,y'know that? He's still injured, you fucking knew that and fucking went for him? What the fuck did he do to you? You trip him, you gun for him, you then try to pull him from the scrum?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You could each infraction off on your fingers as you move into his space and push the two of you further into the centre of the corridor.

Maybe it's how loud you are or maybe it was just good timing, but Quinn and Boeser step out of the locker room just in time to see you yelling in Dubois' face, to see the grin on his lips like he's enjoying it. It's honest to god fear, mixed with a protectiveness that he always feels for you, that has Quinn practically sprinting the short distance to you.

He's pretty sure you don't realise you're shaking with anger or how close you've gotten to Dubois, practically nose to nose, leaning up while he leans down, until his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back against his chest. Even in his arms you're shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixated on Dubois like a look is enough to put him in the ground.

Dubois' eyes shift to him, and Quinn can't help the set of his own features, the stern glare that he directs to the other man even as he's smirking back at him. If anything the way he seems to be enjoying this makes Quinn's expression sterner.

"Keep your little plaything on a fucking leash, Hughes." The grin Dubois sends his way is toothy, predatory, the sort of grin that tells Quinn he knows what he's saying and he knows what reaction it'll get. It doesn't stop Quinn's shoulders from tensing, it doesn't stop the tightness in his chest and it certainly doesn't make it easier for him to keep his usually cool head.

"What did you just say?" It's almost whispered, low, quiet, and it makes you stop shaking in Quinn's arms because there's something deadly about it, something that tells you not to push him right now even when you're not the one it's directed at. Something that makes you still in surprise.

"I said keep your little plaything on a fucking leash."

There's a prolonged pause, one in which Quinn looks back behind him, eyes finding Boeser, a silent sort of conversation happening between them, an agreement reached.

"Brock?"

"I got her." The blonde man steps forward as Quinn turns you in his arms and pushes you gently to Brock, Boeser pulling you into his own arms and away from the other two men.

"Quinn?" You're not sure what's happening other than the fact that the fear is starting to set in. All that anger, the adrenaline that had kept you so focused on Dubois, had started to fade. It left behind a shaky sort of anxiety, as reality hit you, that this was not just a simple argument anymore.

You gasp and move back into Boeser as you watch Quinn turn back to Dubois and just as suddenly grab him by the collar of his suit jacket, slamming him back against the wall. While Quinn is shorter, he's certainly not small or weak by any stretch of the imagination and Dubois doesn't expect it as he's shoved full body into the wall behind him, his feet struggling to keep up with the harsh movement backwards.

Quinn is nose to nose with him, glaring up at him with a look you can only describe as murderous, "You ever talk about her like that again and I will break your fucking nose. You don't ever talk to her or about her like that. Do you hear me?" The interesting thing about it, is how Quinn doesn't have to yell. In fact, his voice low, but it's the edge to it, the way it feels sharp enough to cut that makes his feelings clear.

"Oh? Now you think you're a big man, what you gonna do with that hand of yours?" Dubois' eyes shift to the brace on Quinn's left hand, the one that you can see trembling under it's own grip. It upsets you, that he's hurting himself for you, that you started this, as much as part of you preens under his protection.

"My right hand is just fine, Dubois. Yours won't be if you don't back the fuck down." Maybe it's the way Quinn's eyes narrow. Maybe it's the way his teeth grind together. Maybe it's the way he shoves Dubois even harder into the wall or maybe it's something else entirely, but something seems to make Dubois realise that Quinn is serious. That Quinn has every intention of fighting for you if he has to, if the disrespect is not corrected, if Dubois doesn't back down.

Maybe Dubois simply doesn't care enough or maybe he's intimidated by Quinn because he mutters, "Whatever...", hands shoving Quinn's away from his collar, one last glare exchanged before he and Roy walk away, whispering the entire time.

You're practically shaking in Brock's arms, Brock who releases you gently once Dubois and Roy walk away, Brock who backs away to the locker room with one last look to Quinn, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

Quinn's shoulders drop, relax as he watches the two men turn the corner and disappear out of sight, before green eyes shift to you, features softening into something affectionate and gentle. A stark contrast with his expression mere moments before.

He's the one who reaches for you, stepping until he's in your personal space, hands resting on the sides of your face like he thinks you might physically be hurt.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his thumbs brush your cheeks, green eyes darting over your features, trying to assess how you are and if he needs to chase after Dubois and teach him a lesson or two.

Quinn will openly admit he's not a fighter nor does he want to be, but the strong surge of protectiveness in him overrides his usual aversion to violence. He'd fight anyone for you, if it meant you were respected, protected, safe. He doesn't care that Dubois gunned for him out on the ice, all he cares about is the way he got into your face out in the corridor.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? He almost took you out on the ice!" Even as you say it your voice is shaky. Quinn knows you better than he knows most people, he can hear that shake a mile off, knows that that shake is a sign you're not okay, that that shake usually comes before a break.

It's why he doesn't answer you, it's why he pulls you fully into his arms, wrapping them around you until you're chest to chest.

So he asks again, "Baby, are you okay?" Only to feel the way your body starts to shake aggressively in his arms, like your body has just caught up to the situation, like the adrenaline has fully left your system, leaving only the after effects.

His voice is soft as he mutters to you, "Oh, you really worked off instinct, huh? Just now realising you nearly fought a 6ft 2 hockey player for me?" Quinn's quick to pull you tighter against him, a full body crush, rocking you side to side as his cheek presses into your hair. His hands rub up and down your back, attempting to sooth you as the reality of it all fully kicks. As you realise how stupid it was of you to do that, how scary the situation actually was, how you should have just walked away.

"Fuck...did I just really do that?" Your voice is shaky, almost wet, like you might start crying.

"Uh huh...yeah, you did, baby." His voice is almost amused, sympathetic, now the worst of it is over Quinn can't help but find your actions endearing. The way that you, of all people, decided you'd go toe to toe with a massive hockey player on his behalf.

"Fuck." You press your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he rocks you from side to side. You don't regret it, not really. You'd defend Quinn to the death, you love him and that meant protecting him, just like he'd protect you. But, you have to admit, it wasn't perhaps your smartest idea or your finest moment.

"It was kind of hot, baby, but please don't do that again. I nearly had a heart attack seeing you nose to nose with him." Quinn's actually certain his heart stopped when he walked out of the locker room. You'd seemed so...fragile in comparison to Dubois and while he knew you, knew you weren't weak, it had scared him. The idea of you getting hurt was one of his nightmares, even more so you getting hurt because of him.

You pull back as far as he'll let you which really isn't very far, tilting your head back to look at him, "You nearly fought him for me..." your voice is almost disbelieving like you can't understand why he'd step in like that for you, his girlfriend.

"Yeah, I did.." Quinn's smile is soft, loving, eyes crinkling at the corners as you practically gape at him.

"But you don't fight." You look so confused that it almost breaks his heart because who taught you that you were unworthy of protection, who taught you that the people who love you wouldn't step in when needed?

"I'd fight for you. Any day. Any week. Any time. I'll always fight for you, baby. You're my girl." He says it like it's just a fact of life. Like 2 +2 = 4 or that water is wet. He says it like it is the most natural thing to exist.

"But...you don't like to fight." He hates fighting, you know because whenever he gets in one on the ice or has to break one up, he complains when he gets home. You know because everything about Quinn is gentle and soft, always slow to anger and quick to find a diplomatic solution.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn smiles at you amused, "But I love you and if the choice is between protecting you or not fighting, I'm always going to pick you. That's what you do when you love someone. You'd protect me, right?"

"Of course." You don't even hesitate because it's like breathing, that instinct to look after him because you love him because he's your person.

"Then there's your answer, sweet girl" He watches the way you nod like it is starting click, like it makes sense. His hands brush cross your shoulders, tugging you into his side, twisting so his arm is slung over your shoulders. Your shaking has long since stopped and whatever anger both of you felt has since faded under the sweetness of realising you're both loved, both protected.

"You wanna go back to the hotel? Enough excitement for one night, huh?"

"Mmm, yeah...You're okay though, right? Your hand?" You shift under his arm, eyes looking to his left hand and the brace there, watch the way he flexes his fingers as if to remind himself he can.

"I'm okay, baby, especially knowing I have you to fight my battles for me." Quinn kisses the crown of your head, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he pulls you tighter to his side.

In that moment the hotel room sounds great, home would sound even better, but you think home might actually just be Quinn and wherever he is.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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