#it's so thin... this would snap in half if he tried to use it on someone in a fight

[forevercloudnine]

I’m not personally reading The Man Who Stopped Laughing, but @badnewbie is keeping me updated on Riddler’s cane situation, which is. Ridiculous. What the hell is this thing, Edward?

[amiableness]

You’re the Closest to Heaven I’ll Ever Be

Pairing: Theo Nott x Sweet!Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is getting hit on and Theo is not a fan.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Jealousy, reader feeling uncomfortable from being hit on, kissing and language.

A/N 💌 I was going to end this in smut, but then I decided I wanted to see how this does since it’s my first Theo fic! So part two with smut is a possibility! Comments and reblogs with feedback are so appreciated! 🫶🏼

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was practically scripted at this point—finding yourself squeezed between Pansy and Theo as the familiar bickering began over who would fetch the drinks. The cozy corner of the pub hummed with chatter, but your group’s voices were the loudest, as they always were. You could feel the warmth of Theo’s arm draped casually behind you on the bench, and Pansy’s sharp elbow nudging your side in a silent complaint as the boys started their usual back-and-forth.

Every time, it played out the same way. And every time, you and Pansy would exchange a knowing, frustrated glance, rolling your eyes at how they managed to dodge the responsibility. The flickering candlelight on the table cast a soft glow over the table, highlighting the smirks on their faces as they each tried to weasel out of the chore.

“Who’s getting the drinks?” Pansy asked, her sharp gaze cutting across the table. Mattheo immediately sucked in a deep breath, turning to Draco as if suddenly interested in striking up a conversation. Pansy’s glare shifted to Blaise and Lorenzo, who both offered her sheepish smiles.

“One of you, go get them.” She demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. Blaise shook his head with a disbelieving snort, while Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, casting an incredulous look at Blaise, as if he couldn’t believe Pansy was serious.

“Why don’t you?” Blaise retorts, a teasing edge in his voice. You can practically hear Pansy’s huff of frustration from beside you.

“Because I’m a lady,” she snaps back, her eyes narrowing. “Act like gentlemen, and one of you go.”

“A lady?” Draco echoes, feigning disbelief as Mattheo bursts into loud laughter. Pansy’s scowl deepens, aimed squarely at the two of them.

You sigh, the familiar routine wearing thin. “I’ll get the drinks,” you say, pushing yourself up from the bench. Theo’s gaze is trained on you as you stand and straighten your skirt.

“Aw, angel! I was just about to do it.” Mattheo says, feigning a look of disappointment. You shoot him an unimpressed look, not buying it for a second.

You know Mattheo’s using the nickname to tease you. You’d earned the name ‘angel’ from your friends not long after you started school—a sweet Slytherin was bound to stand out, and the nickname had stuck ever since.

“No, you definitely weren’t.” You mumble, rolling your eyes as you turn to walk away.

A chorus of “Thank you” and “I love you” follows you as you weave through the busy crowd. 

Your friends settle into easy conversation, relieved to avoid the task of getting drinks this round. Though it’s a minor chore, the trip to Hogsmeade often included the bickering of who should grab the drinks. It’s become a tradition really.

Mattheo leans back with a satisfied grin, happy to recount the fight he got into earlier this week. Pansy sighs, already familiar with the story from hearing it three times before. And Lorenzo and Theo, who were with Mattheo during the incident, drift into their own conversation.

He’s half listening to Lorenzo and half waiting for you to come back. He’d much rather it had been anyone else who went to get the butterbeers.

“Nott,” Draco calls loudly, as he jerks his head in your direction. “You paying attention to your girl?”

Theo sighs inwardly at the label of “his girl.” As much as he enjoys hearing it, you’re not really his. And he knows that’s his own fault. 

Though he understands why his friends call you his. 

His mind drifts to the moments when he let his hand brush against yours as you walked side by side in the hallway, feeling the warmth of your skin and the subtle electricity between you. He remembers the way you nervously bit your lip when you caught his gaze lingering on you in class the other day, and the softness of your eyes when they met his. Though he wouldn’t admit it to your friends, there had been a few stolen kisses in the dim light of the library, where the quiet intimacy of the space made every touch feel charged, and in the secluded corners of the common room, where whispered conversations turned into the softest kisses.

Despite these moments, his reluctance to officially ask you out is deeply rooted. He’s never experienced a healthy relationship firsthand and fears that, without the experience, he might unintentionally hurt the sweetest girl he knows.

He doesn’t want to end up hurting you because, if it didn’t work out, he’s not sure he would be able to get over it.

But he can’t help himself from glancing in your direction. He’s not about to admit how frequently he’s been checking on you, his gaze drifting toward you every few minutes. Each time he looks, he sees you still standing by the bar, patiently waiting.

But this time, you aren’t alone. Standing next to you is a guy Theo doesn’t recognize—a tall figure with an easy smile,dressed in a well-fitted sweater and jeans. 

It’s evident from his body language that he’s attracted to you. He leans casually against the bar, his body angled towards you as he listens intently to your soft-spoken words. His posture is relaxed yet focused, with his eyes lingering on you, darting down to your lips when you turn to glance at him. 

The way his grin widens and the way he maintains that close proximity makes Theo’s stomach tighten with jealousy. He can feel the muscles in his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching as he watches the guy lean in a fraction closer to you. Your eyes widen slightly, and the curve of your smile falters, turning nervous as you shift about.

The smile is nowhere near the nervous smile you send Theo when he flirts with you, but a smile that tells him you’re trulyuncomfortable.

“Oh, fuck,” Lorenzo mutters, clocking the uneasy look on your face. “Go help her out.”

“I shouldn’t. I should let her handle it herself.” Theo grits his teeth, refusing to take his eyes off you. Lorenzo and Pansy exchange amused glances, knowing that watching another guy flirt with you is getting under his skin.

Blaise grins, “Sure, like you’re really going to sit there and let that happen. You look ready to snap any second.”

“Fuck yo—” Theo’s sentence dies on his lips as he catches the guy stepping closer to you, his hand reaching for your waist with an all-too-familiar confidence. Theo’s vision narrows, his focus locked on the scene unfolding before him. Without a second thought, he’s on his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes it back. His pulse quickens, and his jaw clenches, every muscle in his body tensing as he strides toward you, determined to close the distance before things go any further. The room around him blurs, his attention fixed solely on you and the guy who’s just crossed a line.

“My place isn’t too far from here if you wanted to—” He trails off, his eyebrows knitting together as he sees Theo walking toward you both, a hard, unyielding glare fixed on him.

When you notice Theo approaching, your frown melts into the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. The tension in your shoulders eases as you subtly shift out of the guy’s grip, taking a deliberate step toward Theo. Without a second thought, Theo closes the distance between you, his hand slipping behind your neck, and your hands gripping his biceps. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine as he pulls you closer, his eyes dark and intense. The kiss that follows is searing, claiming, and filled with an emotion that’s been brewing beneath the surface for far too long. The buzz from all around you halts, and all you can feel is the heat between you and Theo.

Your gasp of surprise gives Theo the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his grip on the back of your neck firm but gentle. When he finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, staring up at him with wide, adoring eyes. The room around you feels hazy and all you can focus on is Theo. ​​His thumb gently brushes your cheek, and pathetically, you tilt your chin up, subconsciously asking him to kiss you again. As your mind starts to catch up with what just happened, Theo’s gaze lifts to the guy still standing there, his expression shifting to something much colder. 

The guy, who had been so confident just moments before, now looks like he’s trying to figure out how to make a quick exit, clearly understanding that he’s no longer welcome.

“Fuck off, mate.” Theo snaps, his voice firm and cold. You feel the tension in his grip, and his assertiveness has you instinctively leaning into him. His protective stance leaves no room for doubt about his feelings. The guy holds up his hands and mutters an apology before disappearing into the crowd.

Neither of you say anything as Theo’s gaze shifts to you. You’re still glassy-eyed and stunned from his kiss, but for a moment, Theo worries he’s messed up.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I should’ve let you handle it, dolcezza.” 

You smile at his nickname for you. He never called you “angel” like everyone else did.

“No, I’m happy with how it was handled.” You reply softly, your eyes meeting his with a reassuring warmth. You let your hand slip down to gently grasp his, fingers intertwining.

“Are you sure?” He asks, glancing down at your intertwined fingers.

“Very sure,” you affirm, leaning up to press your lips quickly against Theo’s. His lips are warm and soft, and the brief kiss makes your heart race. “You’re hot when you’re jealous.” 

Theo’s eyes glint with a mixture of amusement and affection as he smirks at you. He responds with a deep, toe-curling kiss that makes your legs turn to jelly. The sudden burst of whistles and hollers from your friends jolts you back to reality, causing you to pull away and bury your flushed face against Theo’s chest.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close and pressing a tender kiss to your head. 

With a playful grin, he flips off your friends.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Virgin! König

Warnings: 18+, Virgin! König, Rough! König, Huge Cock! König, Stomach Bulging, Size Difference, Praise, Unprotected Sex, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

A behemoth pounding a comparatively tiny thing like you was, to the untrained eye, a complete mismatch. Especially when one could so easily spy the bulge in your stomach, the lengths to which your hole was stretched to accommodate his size, and the sheer weight with which his cock pinned you against the mattress. 

But they wouldn’t see the feral gleam in König’s eye, the need to mark you as his plain as day in the pace with which he thrusts, the bulging of his veins along his shaft, and the fervency with which the head of his length sobs, thick globs of pre-cum making his entrance only a scintilla easier as the girth of his cock renders re-entry almost impossible. 

Almost.

You know that telling him to slow down would be pointless now; a plea upon deaf ears. Especially as König all but sees god in his rapidly-approaching orgasm. His pupils are blown wide beneath half-lidded eyes, his lips suffocating as he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to yours. He pants, moaning, groaning, grunting with every exhale. 

He halts, – only for a second – and pulls out before gripping your legs and throwing your knees over his shoulder. He slams back in, hitting a spot deep within you. You can only scream as he resumes his animal pace, slamming into you more times than you can count, reaching a place no other man ever could.

“Doing– s-such a good job, Köni,” you coo between stilted gasps, hands gripping the pillow encasing your head, your crown hitting the headboard. He whimpers at your praise, biting his lip as he looks down at you, gazes upon the battlefield of bruises, bites and welts he’d pressed into your skin. He buries his mouth into the crook of your knee. He bites, suckling, burns the word ‘Mine’ into your skin.

And you can only lay there and take it, every sensibility being thoroughly pounded out of you with each shunt of König’s hips. And to think that this was his first time. Yet, he’s managed to break you down into such a state of fatigued euphoria that you can scarcely believe it. If it hadn’t been for the feverish, feral look in his eye, the sloppy rhythm to which he tries so desperately to abide, and his unwavering need to please you – praising you for taking his cock while almost sobbing amidst the buzz building in his core – you’d have assumed he’d been at this longer far than you have.

It only takes your clenching around him, trying to seize him as his unrelenting pace proves too much for you, that brings this giant to his knees. With your walls bearing down on him, strangling his member between robes of scorching velvet, it takes one final squeeze to wring König for all he’s worth.

He lets go a high-pitched, strangled moan as the knot in his abdomen snaps, a preliminary twitch of his most prominent vein your only warning before he’s flooding you with his semen. He throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as an electric storm sets his very being alight. You can feel his load pumping into you, filling you past full. Some trickles out, viscous and plentiful, in the little space where you and König are joined.

He can’t stop himself from collapsing on top of you as your knees fall from his shoulders. König uses what little remains of his strength to stop himself from crushing you with his gargantuan frame. His head hangs just above your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. You swear you feel his drool dripping onto the pillow, just catching the edge of your marked, burning flesh. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“Scheiße, (Y/N),” he whispers, his voice thin, his breathing deep.

Whatever reservations he’d had about the temptations of the flesh had been thoroughly eradicated thanks to you. But now, he faced another issue; trying to get a handle on his newfound libido – all without destroying you in the process.

This is going to be a long night.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[min-imum]

corruption kink mingyuuuu 😩

nsfw, mdni

content warnings: afab!reader, food play a little bit, corruption kink duh, innocent!reader

you’re so real for this anon. i can just imagine going out on a picnic date with him — you’ve been rambling excitedly about the picnic for fifteen minutes and all he can think about is how good your little sundress looks on you.

“uh-huh, yeah,” he responds to something you say. he’s not quite sure, but he thinks he heard you say something about wine and sandwiches and um. um…

he tries his hardest to snap out of it, but every time he looks in your direction he just wants to ruin you. his pretty little girlfriend, absolutely adorable, all dolled up for him in the cutest yellow sundress. the sweetheart neckline had him half-hard the second he saw you, and the more your eyes light up with childlike, innocent excitement, the more he wants to make you cry on his tongue, his fingers, his cock—

“gyu!” you call, oblivious. “i found a spot, we could sit over here!”

“okay,” he answers, holding the picnic basket in front of his crotch in a way he hopes isn’t obvious. he might be horny but he’s still your gentleman boyfriend. “i’ll set up the mat. don’t you lift a finger, sweetheart.”

you giggle, successfully wooed over, and he flushes down the back of his neck.

—

he’s not sure if he wants to run away or stay here forever.

after finishing your picnic lunch, you’d cuddled up to him and used him as support to lean on. it had been fine until you turned to face him to talk to him, and then started leaning on him. he wonders if you even realise that your tits are pressed against his arm right now.

his cock strains against his pants, bulging painfully against the seam of his jeans. but he doesn’t ask you to move away. he would never! he loves having you close, but you’re just so cute, so innocent that he can’t help but want to absolutely wreck you.

you dip a strawberry into chocolate and offer it to him. “aaah~” you say, prompting him to open his mouth so you can feed him. he obliges, smiling as he bites into the strawberry.

“is it good?” you ask, eyes wide.

“mhm,” he says, chewing. “the strawberry is really sweet.”

“ooh, i wanna try too!”

he watches as you dip the other half of the strawberry into the chocolate, and as you’re bringing it to your mouth, the chocolate drips onto your chest.

before he can think, he moves, head going down to your chest, and he licks up the drop of chocolate and the thin trail it left. then it clicks, and he panics, jolting away.

“shit, fuck,” he mutters to himself. “i’m sorry, baby, i didn’t mean to.”

he watches as you shift nervously, and guilt builds in his chest. it’s all his fault for not being able to control himself. god. what was he thinking?

“w-well,” you clear your throat. “couples usually… couples usually do that sort of thing, right?”

“yes,” mingyu says, cautiously. “but we haven’t discussed doing anything like that, and you never gave me your permission to do that. so i’m sorry, sweetheart. i should have controlled myself better.”

“controlled?”

he wants to scream. do you not know how pretty you look? do you not know how much he wants to hold you down and have his way with you and mark you up and teach you all the dirty things he loves?

“well, baby, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re looking extra pretty today,” mingyu smiles, ignoring his raging boner. “and… it makes me want to kiss you all over and make sure everyone knows you’re mine. you know? i just want to keep you for myself.”

“oh,” you nod. “well, i heard about, um, doing… things… from my friends, and… i think i would like to try doing those things with you, gyu.” you’re blushing hard as you speak, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “but you have to teach me. i… i’ve never done anything before, so i…”

it’s like a flip switches.

he tilts your face up to look at him with a hand on your cheek. “you want me to teach you, baby?”

your eyes go glassy. “yes, please,” you whisper, and he’s a goner.

he crashes his lips onto yours, and a surprised moan escapes you. you’ve kissed before, but never like this, and you realise you really like this. when he pulls away, eyes half lidded, you whimper a quiet little “more” and he’s descending on you again, kissing the air out of your lungs.

finally, he pulls away, panting. his lips are swollen. his eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you have no doubt you look the same.

“let’s go home, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“don’t want anyone to watch while i’m pleasuring my sweet girl.”

[feinv]

john wick is soo tired and youre just filled with energy for the most part, all virile and easily excitable like a puppy, leaving only the option of using john like a toy when he is laid out all exhausted and ready for bed, trying to help n wear you out for bedtime

lost in the fire. sub!john wick x femdom!reader. smut. unprotected sex. pure filth. legal age gap (40s and 20s). cowgirl position. edging. overstimulation. reader is deranged (reader is me). 1k words.

summery. john can be useful in more than one way ;)

a/n. itching not put a p!link at the end oh no wait what is that at the end is that a twitter link oh no how did it get there.

generally, the age gap didn’t play any role in your relationship since you two enjoyed the same things and had a lot in common. it was mostly evident when john was already exhausted enough to fall into everlasting sleep, and you were just starting your day.

he was under the covers, having stripped himself down to only his boxers, back resting on the pile of pillows propped up against the headboard, gaze buried in the book.

you were still feeling sooo energetic, knowing for a fact that you would be tossing and turning for another two hours if you laid down. and besides, the neediness in between your legs was not helping the situation.

your pajamas consisted of your lace panties with one of john’s cotton shirts pooling around your body, stopping just below your bottoms.

an idea popped in your head as you entered the dimly lit bedroom, smirking to yourself as you got on the bed before you accidentally ended up on his lap.

he looked up at you with no emotion in particular, just acknowledging your presence.

“what are you reading?” you asked, not actually interested in his answer, your fingertips lightly caressing his biceps.

“lovecraft. you would love this,” shooting you a tired smile before his eyes went back to the page.

you didn’t mind. you knew his attention would soon be on you again anyway. “mhmm, tell me about it later.”

you got rid of your his shirt, chilly air hitting your nude breasts, making your nipples harden before his eyes widened slightly. “what are you-”

“just do your thing. i won’t bother you,” you cut him off with nonchalant smile. bother him you absolutely would.

he cleared his throat as he shifted his focus back to the book, trying to ignore your bare form in the background. and he almost succeeded. almost.

you hand sloowlyy traced the outline of his cock, fingers sliding over the fabric so gently as if you were doing it on accident, but not before you squeezed your hand around it, making him grunt at your actions, hips jerking involuntarily as his head snapped to yours. “keep reading,” you half-demanded.

he tried. he reread the same sentence for about ten times already, physically unable to take in the words as your hands were massaging him more.

and it was under a horned waning moon that i saw the city for the first time.

and it was under a horned moon that i saw the-

and more.

and it was under a horned moon that i-

and more.

he knew he would be defeated no matter what he tried to do, so he threw his head back into pillows, closing the book and tossing it somewhere before he felt your fingers under his waistband. you shifted around as you got rid of his boxers, leaving him completely naked for you.

he was half-hard when you straddled him again, moving your clothed pussy forward and back, rubbing your inner lips against him and dampening the fabric further as he voiced out soft groans.

you continued your movements until you were literally soaked, taking his both hands and putting them on either sides of your hips where the thin fabric was. “will you help me, john?” you breathed so innocently as he craned his neck upwards, meeting the mischievous glint in your eyes.

tearing the lacy material was a no task at all for his strong hands, the reminiscence of it ending up on the floor.

you repeated your actions from earlier, whining at the better contact as you rubbed yourself more on him, your arousal making a complete mess out of you two. you stood up on your knees, shifting your entrance right above his hardened length as you sat back down. you were so wet you didn’t even need time to adjust, his mushroom tip smoothly gliding through your walls, both of you moaning as you took him to the brim.

your pelvis matched the chaotic thoughts in your head, moving back and forth, then in circles, then jumping up and down on him, sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room, his swollen end kissing your cervix at specific angles.

he was a grunting, whining mess under you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist at the intensity when you pulled out of him almost completely, just to slide back down, so tight you could feel each popped up vein of his.

you hands wondered around his bare torso, scratching him here and there while you leaned down to place open mouthed kisses on his chest, before they turned into desperate flash sucking, his smooth skin now littered with red and purple marks.

“you’re insane,” you heard his raspy voice, your breasts bouncing up and down as you fucked him senseless. “you seem to enjoy it,” you panted, purposely squeezing around him, the sound coming from his throat proving your point.

you mewled when you connected your fingers to your sensitive spot, playing with the bundle of nerves, your high building and building and building, reaching it’s peak, about to burst, before you retracted your hand and slowed down your movement. you edged yourself hours on end, knowing that the reward would be completely euphoric.

but meanwhile you were having fun, john was about to cry out in pain, or perhaps pleasure. you made him confuse those two. “darling. i- ” gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, unable to finish his own words.

“you feel so good, john.” you whined in your sweet voice, stretching your hands back to lay them flat on his thighs for additional balance, speeding your thrusts when you felt his seed shoot inside you, his deep, choked groans reaching your ears as you moaned at the feeling of being so full.

“s-stop. fuck-” he stuttered when your hips kept their rhytm, overstimulating his every sense as he helplessly buried his head back into pillows, eyes squeezing shut.

with your one hand back on your clit and your unrelenting thrusts, you felt butterflies dancing in your lower belly, this time not doing anything to prevent them.

with your final movements, your free hand wrapped around john’s back, right where his tattoos were, bringing him closer to you in a hug as your high came down crushing on you. your walls clenched impossibly tight around him, and you heard his high pitched hiss in your ear.

you bit down on his shoulder hard, leaving crescent teeth marks at the feeling of shockwaves of pure ecstasy pump in your veins, your legs shaking uncontrollably underneath.

your sticky bodies were limp against one another, sharing a comfortable silence as your breathings finally went back to normal.

you kissed along his neck gently, leaning back to stare into his hooded eyes before whispering “round two?”

p!link. :3 something similar to that!!

[kachowden]

Android Boss x human! Worker

Prompt: Technology has taken over. Humans are now nearly obsolete. Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, the world has become a much safer, healthier place. Most of the worlds main issues have been solved with robots now in control.

Androids are the highest tier of robots, they manage the big jobs. Corporate managers, bosses, governors and lawyers etc. humans are not required to work but are given jobs if they so desire.

Overall most people are happy. Except you of course, because no one said a clingy android was part of your job description.

——————-

“Worker B75C3 please report to the main office. I respeat, Worker B75C3 please report to the main office thank you.”

.

.

.

.

.

Ughhhhhhh

“What is it now Supervisor Bot?”

“B75! I told you to call me by my issued name!”

With a resigned sigh you cleared your throat.

“Right. What is it now Jessie?”

The Android, your boss, Jessie, beamed with his artificial teeth. It was almost obnoxious how happy he seemed just hearing you say his name.

To be fair you didn’t dislike the droid necessarily. Even though you did. He just made your job 10x harder than it should’ve been.

Calling you up nearly everyday for “a performance evaluation”, despite you being one of the best workers the company had to offer. That was human at least.

Purposefully bumping into you in the conference room, spilling coffee on your clothes so you had to get a new pair, never to see the old ones again.

Not to mention he was just so…realistic. And clingy. It unnerved you.

To be honest you were pretty sure it was his eyes that unnerved you the most though. Green, almost hazel eyes, that blinked regularly, naturally, darted around nervously under your gaze, and even dilated in the sun. They were too real.

It was gross.

Now, you wouldnt say you were a Android hater. (Except you were). You just found that making the bots look almost identical to humans was insane. The only way you can even tell that they weren’t human was their finger tips and tongues. Both of which had thin circular glowing plates, that served to simulate taste and sensations.

The tongue one was a newer upgrade. You weren’t sure why your boss had it.

An almost-human cough disrupted your staring, (glaring), and your eyes snapped to focus on Jessie, who’s own fake eyes lidded slightly at you, a wobbly, embarrassed grin strapped on his face. You couldnt help but notice he didn’t have his usual tie on.

He looked weirdly disheveled. His skin was just a bit too shiny, almost like sweat.

“The fucks wrong with you?”

“Language B75…”

You rolled your eyes and plopped down into, your seat, opposite of the androids desk.

“Cut the crap dude whyd you call me up here?”

Normally you wouldn’t be able to talk to a superior like this, but your “relationship” with Jessie was a special case.

He let you get away with pretty much anything at this point. Not that you used that power for more than a couple naps.

The bot looked like he was overheating with the way he was fidgeting about though. Avoiding eye contact half the time and staring right at you the rest.

“I was hoping you could humor me…on something..”

Not again.

“As you can see I recently got the new upgrade,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis, showing off the currently dull finger sensors he now had. “And I was hoping you would let me…Test them out. On you..”

Realistically you should’ve been more put off by his request. But you’d unfortunately gotten used to the bots curiosities. He was a bit of a human fanatic. Always wanting to try these expiraments with you. Only you.

And realistically you should’ve declined too. Had he not also offered you a bonus.

“Fine whatever, get up. I wanna get this over with asap.”

“Really? I mean, of course! Right away!”

Jessie was terrible at hiding how eager he sounded. Not that he probably tried to hide it really.

With a peppy smile he shot out from his chair, and speedily skipped over to you. He stood infornt of you, hoisting you up from your seat, much to your own chagrin, and hovered anxiously for a moment or two.

His eyes darted all over your face. Maybe checking for any possible doubt or hesitance. Not that you cared though.

Getting very fed up with his stalling you thrusted your hands out and grabbed onto his own, forcing his hands to clasp firmly on.

“Hurry the fuck up.”

He didn’t bother scolding you this time.

You could see why. In your own mild disgust you watched as his receptors flowered a pretty blue, as his fingers tips rubbed over your knuckles and palm, crawling slowly up your wrist. He traced the lines of your palms, mapping them out like a fortune teller would in a shady carnival booth.

His hands circled and slid up your arms slowly, as if mapping out each new texture or scar. He paused at the underside of your wrist, pressing down slightly on the joint and eliciting a brief exhale as he felt your pulse drum lightly beneath his sensors.

Jessie shuddered for a moment at the sensation before moving on.

He took his time. Too much time in your opinion as you felt your back begin to hurt from standing for so long.

“Are you done yet? My backs killing me.”

His green eyes snapped to you so fast you almost got vertigo.

“Why does your back hurt?” His voice was breathy and low, and his eyes lacked their usual warmth for a second. Though you chose to believe you were imaging that.

“Gee it’s not like I sit at a desk all day with no proper back support.” Irritation dripped from your tongue like poison into Jessie’s ears, his fingers locking slightly before he relaxed with a sweet, nervous smile.

“…I’m a trained masseuse you know…if you want I could..try and relieve some of the pain? Free of charge obviously..haha.” His awkward, antsy tone left the joke to fall flat though you didn’t mind much, too excited about the prospect of getting some pain relief, even if it was from a creep like Jessie.

“Say less.” You meant that literally. Yanking your arms from his stunned metal ones you plopped down back into your chair, sat reverse and leaned your front into the cushiony back.

You missed the blue that soaked his eyes for a moment, a warning that went ignored by your mechanical boss.

With a excited exhale, Jessie rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward. His hands hovered hesitantly above your shoulders for a very brief moment, before finally descending with a firm pressure deliciously against your spine.

You groaned pleasantly, eyes screwing up slightly at the relief on your poor back, ignorant to the borderline short circuiting bot who twitched and panted at the indirect-direct contact.

His skilled fingers worked slowly at first. Sticking to a specific part of your back before venturing else where. He relished in your groans, and the fact that it was him making you feel good. Him. Not your stupid coworker. Or the assistant bot. Or that delivery boy who he sees you sometimes talking to and wishes he could just-

“Ah! Dude not so hard?!” Your barking paused his frenzied “massage”, if it could even be called that.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry B75, I just…”

The wobbly grin that appeared on his soft features was definitely cause for concern.

“I can’t really hit the right pressure points, through your clothes…is it okay if you..lower your shirt..slightly?”

“What? Yeah fine whatever just don’t pull that shit again.”

Holyshit you actually agreed

Jessies “breathing” quickly became erratic at the sight of your bare shoulders and back, face burning in a blue hue, and his pupils dilating violently before he twitched and fell to the floor.

You jumped at the loud crashing sound, bolting up with a readjustment of your shirt before staring down at the spasming bot in disbelief

You nudged his leg with your foot before sighing exasperatedly and walking over to the intercom.

“Maintenance in the Main office , building code 772E. Code 772E, Maintenance in the Main office. Thank you.”

The speaker buzzed, confirming they were sending someone up, and you took an extra moment to gaze at the android slapped over the floor.

You scoffed.

“Damn bag of bolts.”

——————————

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miscellaneous fellow honest headcanons

These aren't following any prompt in particular, these are just thoughts I had when I saw the guy hammin' it up and then turning on us.

Some of these headcanons are informed by fan art I've seen and discussions I've had with friends, while others are purely me.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

He calls people “little lads” and “little ladies”.

Fellow has a very noticeable laugh. Like, he grunts and snorts and has tears rolling down his cheeks. (He tends to laugh at others’ misery, thinking of it as “retribution” or “payback” for the injustices he has suffered himself.)

Bro shaves using a knife (yes, he shaves because he is a grown ass man) because razors are hella expensive.

He uses that cheap cologne and cakes it on THICK. This, in his mind, gives off the impression that he’s a well-off and put-together individual you should tooootally trust.

Also the type of person that lays it on thick with his words. If he’s trying to impress a date or something, he’ll shower them with so many compliments it almost seems fake. But no, he’s just the type to simp hard when he happens to be genuine 💀 most of the time he’s faking it though—

He’s very street smart, but in a way where he confuses hostile people by talking over them and acting overly friendly. They usually stuns them long enough for him and Gidel to skedaddle.

If he gets dumped, he'd be the pathetic whimpering boyfriend that begs for his ex to take him back. When they inevitably don't, he mopes all day about it.

He chain smokes and aggressively drinks as a coping mechanism on his bad days 😔 and sometimes he gambles (like, on those scratch-off cards) hoping that he'll strike it rich and buy him and Gidel a better life...

Basically, he generally does not have his shit together but tries his best to pass like someone who does (and usually succeeds at it).

Fellow appears in public wearing his full suit, but at home (ie whatever ratty temporary housing their boss found for them before they move on to the next place) he just wears a T-shirt and lounges around in boxers (and sometimes socks with holes in them).

He uses those disposable eyeshadow wands that snap in half at the slightest bit of too much pressure. Fellow acts like the Claire’s kid makeup he uses is the luxury stuff, but Vil can tell the pigmentation isn’t all there and there’s MAD fallout.

He may be broke AF and have his moments of emotional spiraling, but he has pretty decent budgeting skills. Fellow lives for sales and does extreme couponing to stretch their money as far as it will go.

He invests in other cost-saving methods like wearing shoes until the sole is literally flopping off and just adding water to residual soap in a pump bottle to make the soap "last longer".

Fellow is really good at cutting food (bread, beans) thin to conserve it. Yes, this is a reference to an old Mickey Mouse cartoon—

When he was younger, he had dreams of being an actor (and, more specifically, starring in musicals). That's why he's often humming, swinging around his cane, and/or whistling as he's on the prowl for idiots to sucker—they're remainders of his thespian days before his dreams were crushed into itty bitty pieces.

Man looks like he'd be great at tap dancing.

Before his current gig, he tried a bunch of other scams including a MLM at one point to get by. His signature spell came in pretty clutch in those days too.

Fellow’s not that good at reading or spelling—in fact, he was never a particularly strong student. (“I didn’t fail school!! The schools failed ME!!”) He’s easily frustrated by academics and thinks there should be more hands-on and practical skills taught in learning institutions.

I think it's a given that he and Ruggie would be besties since they both want to eat the rich but I also think Fellow would kiss ass to Azul and then rage about how shitty + entitled Azul is (Azul reminds Fellow of his boss)💀 Scammers hate other scammers because they're both competing to scam the same people--

Even though Fellow is an asshole to most others (well, when he’s not flattering them to lure them into a trap), he’s always nice to Gidel and puts him first. If there’s ever a situation where they’re short on something (clothes, food, etc), Gidel gets priority. This is why Gidel has a full outfit (even if parts are patches or mismatched) whereas Fellow himself has a glove that is so worn out there’s a hole in one of the pinkie fingers.

Fellow may not be blessed with a bounty of magic, but he’s quick on his feet and good with words. Because of these skills, he’s talented at spinning bedtime stories, which he often tells to Gidel to help him fall asleep on nights that are particularly cold and nasty.

Gidel still believes in Santy Claws and wishing upon stars, and Fellow doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out on his own one day, Fellow thinks. He just doesn’t want to be the one to ruin those childhood joys for him.

Playing pretend is another shared past time of theirs. It helps Fellow get into character before he goes off to swindle people, and it gives Gidel a way to express himself in spite of being mute. They have a routine they do together where Fellow pretends to be a doctor diagnosing a patient and Gidel takes down notes for him as his medical scribe. Yes, this is a Pinocchio reference—

They actually have many more games they play (mainly because they cannot afford other forms of entertainment). Some of the games are clever ruses conjured by Fellow to teach Gidel survival tips and tricks: the who-can-make-their-piece-of-bread-last-longer game, hide-and-seek (from the authorities), etc.

For special occasions, Fellow saves up some money on the side to grant Gidel little luxuries, like a box of crayons to doodle with.

Gidel hugs Fellow’s leg or waist to cheer him up when he’s upset. He also hides behind Fellow when he’s scared or feeling shy.

He’s just really attached to Gidel cuz they have no one else in this cruel world, just them against the world 😔 He sees a lot of his younger self in the little boy… the opportunities lost because of their circumstances… “It’s alright, Gidel. Leave it to Fellow-sama.”

[pit-and-the-pen]

But I Have You...

Just a treat for all the angst I've been posting lately! Thank you @daycourtofficial for such a cute idea!

Summary: Date night with Azriel. What could go wrong? Apparently everything...

Warnings: Making out, mentions of food/cooking, allusions to smut, modern-ish AU

Wc: 3.3k

Date night with Azriel was one of your favorite days of the entire week. Calling it date “night” was an understatement. You and Azriel were normally both so busy with your duties that you tried to make a whole day out of it, or as close as it could be. 

“Go bathe.” You pointed towards the door of the bathroom, brush still in your outstretched hand. 

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?” He quirked an eyebrow at you, stalking closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest. 

“Yes. Now go. We’re going to be late for dinner.” You squeal when he begins to tickle your side, holding you against him as you try to squirm out of his hold.

“I yield. Please…Az” You manage to get out between your fit of laughter. He plants a wet kiss on your cheek before turning around and dramatically stomps to the bathroom, making a show of the small action. You laugh as he rolls his eyes as he closes the door, a large smile plastered to his face letting you know he wasn’t really mad or annoyed with you. 

Taking the opportunity to finally get dressed, you all but run to the closet. Edgar to pull out the new dress that you had picked out with MOr last week. It was the exact color of his siphons. You greedily ran your hand over the velvet fabric, already loving the way it felt under your hands. The fabric being one of the very few that didn’t irritate Azriel’s hands over a prolonged time. 

You quickly pull your lounge clothes over your head, kicking them off into some random corner of the room to deal with later. The bag holding the dress is discarded in a similar fashion after being torn open. It was just as beautiful as you remember it being and you can’t wait to get it on your body. Even more excited to see Azriel’s reaction. 

.You are practically skipping over to your underwear drawer, picking out a small lacy set that you bought to go with the dress. It slides over your skin like butter, clinging to your body like a second skin. It stops about mid-thigh. Just short enough to be sexy but not too short that you were scared to bend over, which you would definitely be doing if for nothing more than giving the shadowsinger a peak of what exactly was waiting for him underneath the dress.

Pulling the straps over your shoulders, you only need to zip the dress up. YOu managed to tug it up halfway before the zipper got stuck on the seam at your waist. A couple more tugs and the stupid thing still won’t budge. You know you could just ask Azriel. He would never object to zipping you up but you knew there would be no way you would make it to your reservation if you did so. So you tugged once more, twice more, and then. Riiiipppp. Your jaw goes slack as the zipper finally tugs the rest of the way up, taking the other half of the zipper with it. The thin fabric stuck under the teeth and tore a large hole in the brand-new dress. 

“Fuck!” You shout out once you survey the damage in the mirror. You would not have time to fix this before your reservations. 

“Darling, what’s-” You hear your mate's voice filter into the room before he cuts himself off. You turn to face him and he’s gawking at you, towel slung low around his hips. 

“It ripped. I just got this dress.” You whine. A chuckle leaves him and the sound has you pouting. “I just got this. It was going to be perfect for tonight.”

“You know that you could always…not wear anything.” His eyes are still trailing up and down your figure. 

“Az! I’m serious.” You softly shout at him

“So am I.” He doesn’t hesitate to respond. You blush at his words. “Can we just skip dinner?” 

“No sir. It took us months to get this reservation.”

“Rhys could get us in with a snap of his fingers.”

“But I want to go tonight. I already looked at the menu and picked out what I wanted.”

“Of course you did, lovely.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making him throw his head back in laughter. “Just go pick any of the other hundred dresses you have.” He teases and it’s your turn to stomp out of the room. Rolling your eyes at him, a smile so wide it makes your cheeks hurt. Your finger runs over dress after dress and none of them seem to be right. Already having your mind set on the perfect dress, it’s hard to find one to replace it. Your hands finally brush over one that you had forgotten about. A lighter shade than your previous dress, but it would do.

You pull it off the hanger with more force than necessary and peel the other one off, throwing it across the room with a huff. You pad over to Azriel when you have it pulled onto your shoulders, not willing to risk another zipper fiasco. You don’t even have to ask him before he takes the delicate zipper in his hands and pulls it up smoothly in one motion. He presses a kiss to the dip between your shoulder blades as he slides the zipper up into place. You notice his eyes dipping down in the mirror. You’re about to tease him for his wandering gaze when he clears his throat. 

“I think there might be…I don’t even know what that is. Wine?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” YOu shout, turning around trying to see your backside in the mirror and sure enough. There is a random stain right at the small of your back. And then you remember. You wore this dress the last time you went to Rita’s with Mor and you had bumped into someone, someone that was holding a nearly full drink that splashed onto your back. 

“Whatever. What-fucking-ever. We’re going to be late and this was the only dress I liked.” YOu take a deep breath through your nose. “Just stand behind me so no one sees it.” He nods before his eyes drift lower once again, this time pausing when you know he isn’t looking at the stain anymore. 

“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” He grumbled to himself which has you spinning around to wrap your arms around his waist.

“What would I ever do without you, Azzy.”

“Walk around with a stain on your butt.”

“Prick. I was trying to be cute.” You feign insult. He only leans down and gives you a small peck on the lips. 

“Let's go then.” He gives your ass a soft slap for emphasis. You scramble to grab your purse from the edge of the bed and catch up with him. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk to the restaurant wasn’t bad at all. It was only a few blocks away from the apartment the two of you shared. A pleasant walk with even sidewalks that made it easy for your heeled feet to walk. 

The dull noise of the restaurant filled your ears the moment the door closed behind you. The decoration was very modern but still seemed very homey. Like it had been pulled directly from a cooking show set. Blue and white gingham tablecloths mixed with gold brushed metals. It was one of the newest, and if the wait you had for the reservation was any sign, most popular restaurants in the area. The hostess asks for your name and you give it to her. She scrolls through the tablet in front of her, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She turns to a large book by her side and flips to a page, finger scanning down the lines of names. 

“Would it be under a different name?” She looks up and asks you. 

“It could be under Azriel.” You were one hundred percent you had made the reservation under your name but found yourself giving his name either way. The line in her eyebrow deepens and your heart sinks as she turns back to you.

“It looks like we don;t have anything under that name. And we’re fully booked tonight so we aren’t talking walk-ins.”

“No, I called last month. I know I made a reservation. It wouldn’t be anywhere else?” You keep your voice low, not wanting to let your disappointment make you yell at the poor girl at the host stand. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not in our system and like I said, we’re completely full tonight. Do you want me to make you a reservation for another night?” You shook your head. Too distraught to think about another night. 

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Azriel said, noticing the way tears were starting to swim in your eyes. He took your hand lightly and pulled you out of the restaurant. He wrapped his arms around you and you buried your head into his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s silly to be getting upset over this but I’m just really…I don’t even know.”

“You’re allowed to be disappointed baby. You’ve been talking all week about this.” He pulled your face up with one of his fingers. “How about we go to that pizza place you really like?” You perked up a little at the thought making Azriel smile at your mood change. “There she is.” He kissed your cheek. “Lets go.” He started walking you in the direction of the small pizza shop. As upset as you might be, you did love this spot. One of the few places that didn’t make their sauce too acidic or too sweet. Perfect crust to pizza ratio. It was always your fall back place and it was a great suggestion from your boyfriend. 

You walked the few blocks to the shop and stood outside the door. One look at the sign made your heart sink all over again. Closed for repairs. Azriel gave your hand a squeeze. 

“Azzzzzz.” You whined, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a toddler. 

“It’s okay baby. We can do something else.” He pulled you into his arms again, once again calming you down. 

“Can we make pizza at home?”

“Of  course we can.” He smiled down at you. Then you remembered. 

“Shit. Elain used the rest of our flour for some cookies last week.” 

“Then we’ll go to the store.”

“Az we can’t go to the store dressed like this.” You gestured to your dress and his crisp black dress shirt and matching pants. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’ll look crazy.”

“Do you want pizza?”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to go to the store. Come on.” He started pulling you in the direction of a small corner store at the other end of the square. 

You felt so silly, small shopping basket in hand, you in your tight dress and heels and Azriel in his dress clothes. But luckily, no one paid you any attention. Too focused on their own shopping to even notice you. Picking up the bag of flour, you also grabbed some cheese, and some fresh basil to put on top. Azriel led you over to the check out but not before grabbing a bottle of wine as you passed by the section. The cashier rang you out quickly and smiled at the two of you as you walked out of the store. Not once commenting or even raising an eyebrow at your attire, much to your pleasure. 

Your feet were screaming at you by the time you got to the door of your apartment.  Not expecting to walk as much as you did. Azriel, seeing the discomfort in your face, leaned down to undo the straps off your heels. He gave a small tap to your ankle to let you know that you could step out of them before he repeated the motion to your other foot. A sigh left your lips as your feet touched the ground, screaming in relief. Azriel gave you a small kiss on your knee before standing back up. 

“Thank you.” You told him as he grabbed the bag from your arms and walked into the kitchen.

“I should change if we’re going to be making dough.” You said as you followed him into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Or you could keep it on and let me peel you out of it later?” He suggested, furthering his words by kissing along your jaw. You fought the urge to melt against his hold. 

“You’ve convinced me. I’ll keep it on.”

“Good girl.” He spoke before giving your ass a light slap as he released you. You heated up from head to toe at his words. You shook your head as he started to unpack the groceries, trying to clear your head of the less than innocent thoughts rushing through you. So you started to pull out the other necessary ingredients and placed them on the counter next to Azriel. He opened the flour and started to pour it into the bowl you pulled out from the cabinet. He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead as he takes the olive oil from your hands and starts working on the dough. It was soe recipe he knew that made quick, non-proofing, dough. Something he learned from Rhys’ mother he had told you one time. In no time the dough was made and he started rolling it out. You peeked over his shoulder and had to bite back a laugh when you saw the speckling of flour on his cheek. He looked over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve got something…” You reached out your hand to swipe the streak away. “Right there.” You giggled at his annoyed expression.

“You mean right,” He dipped his hand into some of the flour that had spilled onto the counter and flicked it towards your hair. “There?” You squealed as you realized what he was doing, moving just too late to avoid the flour from getting into your hair. 

“Az!” You said in between your laughing. “You got my hair dirty.” You gave him a dramatic pout, looking up at him which in turn made him start laughing. 

“Oh no, guess I’ll just have to wash it out later.” He nudged you with his shoulder which only made you roll your eyes, a smile plastered onto your face. 

“I guess….” 

“What do you want on your pizza?” He quickly changed the topic. 

“Just cheese please.” You smiled up at him and he nodded. He quickly spread some of the jarred sauce on with the back of a spoon and sprinkled on a handful, or three, of the shredded cheese you bought at the store. You smiled at the heap of cheese on your pizza, just the way you liked it. None of the sauce was visible under the coating and he smiled at you as you helped him slide in onto the pan. He quickly did the same to his own, adding a few slices of the tomato and a handful of basil on top. 

With the pizza’s in the oven it would only be a few minutes until they were ready, just enough to let the cheese melt. 

Azriel leaned against the counter, already holding two wine glasses in his hand. YOu walked over and grabbed them from his hand, placing a quick kiss to his lips and putting them down on the counter. He leaned down and grabbed your face between his hands, pulling your lips back to his. You let yourself sink into the kiss. The first real kiss you two shared all night. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip and you whined against him. He chuckled deeply, the sound reverberating through you and heating your blood instantly. You whined again and you felt Azriel backing you up into the counter across the kitchen. His hands snaked down to your waist and tapped, silently asking you to jump onto the countertop. You obliged and he helped hoist you up so your lips didn't leave his. Your hands snaked into his dark locks, pulling his face even closer to yours. His hands started wandering down your hips, grabbing at the fat of your hips, pulling you somehow closer to him. Your mouth parted in a moan at the tight grip and you used that as an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. You bit down lightly, pulling away from the kiss. Both of your were panting but he just trailed kisses down your neck, down to the neckline of your dress. He had just snuck a hand up to pull down the fabric when you noticed a burning smell in the air. Shit. You pushed him away, already hoping off the counter. He looked at you, confused at your sudden shift. Then his eyes widened as he remembered the pizza you had both seemingly forgotten about. You quickly grabbed one of the over mitts sitting on the counter and pulled the pizza’s out. If you could even call the nearly black circles on the pan you were pathetically holding out in front of you. 

You really couldn’t find it in yourself to be disappointed. Not when you could still feel Azriel’s lips ghosting along your skin. You pushed the contents of the pan into the garbage can and looked up at Azriel. Both of you immediately bursted out laughing. He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry baby.”

“I’m not.” You winked at him. 

“Well what are we going to do for dinner now.”

“There's ice cream in the freezer?”  You shrugged. Suddenly not in the mood for cooking at all. You bit your lip as you looked at him and he laughed in response. 

“Okay. Ice cream for dinner it is.” 

So the two of you, still in your clothes from the failed dinner reservations, curled up on the couch. Each holding a pint of ice cream and the now full wine glasses on the table in front of you. Azriel had thrown a blanket over the two of you and put on some cheesy movie that neither of you were paying attention to. 

“I’m sorry tonight was such a disaster” You said to him, mouth still half full of ice cream. He shook his head, leaning his face closer to yours until your foreheads were touching.

“I got to be with you, what more can I ask for?” 

The two of you nearly finished the bottle of wine, Azriel had already placed the nearly empty ice cream containers back into the freezer. When he returned to the couch he pulled you against his chest, hand swirling random patterns onto your back. You felt your eyes getting very heavy as you tried your best to focus on the movie in front of you but the wine was lulling you to sleep. It felt like your eyes had closed for only a second before Azriel was shaking you awake. 

“Hi sleepyhead.” He mumbled into your hair.

“I was not asleep for that long.”

“Long enough to drool on me.” You quickly shot up, hand going to wipe away any wetness that might have split from your mouth. Your hand was dry. You stuck your tongue out at him as he gave you a wicked smile. He pulled you back down to his chest, twisting you so you were now straddling him. 

“I think I can find a perfect way to wake you darling.” And that was all you needed to hear before you pressed your lips against his. Very much awake.

[the-californicationist]

he rescues you

You were just trying to get the house ready for a Halloween party, but you got trapped when you were trying to pull down boxes from the attic. The ever-helpful John Price comes to your rescue…eventually.

MDNI/18+

TW: consensual non-consent, rough sex, squirting, forced orgasm, stuck trope, mentions of violence

Link to AO3

“John! Help! John? Hello?” You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to get your husband’s attention.

You were impossibly and undeniably stuck, trapped on the rickety ladder that led to your attic storage room, and if you tried to get down, you would surely break a leg from this height. The join of the old, folding stairs had rusted away, and when you went to open the attic door, you felt the lower half of the steps snap under your feet, clattering onto the wooden floor. Luckily, you were securely held up by the joist of the door and your other foot that was jammed in the top step, but you were unable to get out of this situation without seriously injuring yourself.

“Love? What’s happened?” John called over to you from what sounded like the kitchen. You shouted back,

“John! Help me down. I’m stuck up here.”

“What do you mean? Up where…oh,” he obviously rounded the corner and came into view of your predicament.

From his vantage point, he was face to face with your plump ass dangling with one free leg under the thin cotton of your festive pumpkin dress you’d decided to wear to your Halloween party. You wiggled your foot at him,

“C’mon, babe, give me your hand. I was just trying to grab our spooky bowls and plates for the party tonight, and the damn stair step broke on me,” there was no answer, “John? Are you still there?” You couldn't see him from this angle.

“Mmm,” you heard him purr directly beneath you, “I like this dress, love. Whatcha got underneath?”

“John!” You kicked out at him as a warning, but he grabbed your ankle roughly, “Now is not the time.”

Your scolding did very little to deter him. With your free ankle secured in his grasp, he used his other hand to lift the thin fabric of your dress skirt up and over your rump, showing off your black mesh panties. They had little ghosts embroidered into the edge, and there were orange, satin bows which tied the sides together. Festive, indeed.

“My, my, my,” he teased you, kissing your calf and thigh as he made his way wetly up your leg, “Here you are, looking good enough to eat.”

“John…” Your resolve was breaking down, and his soft, bearded kisses were making you melt in his hands.

Your whole body convulsed when you felt his fingers graze over the swell of your pussy through the mesh panties, and you couldn’t help but let go of a high pitched moan. It had been a while since he’d been home, and although you’d reconnected when he first arrived back from the field, your love-making had been rushed. John was the kind of man who enjoyed long, marathon sessions where you could expect breakfast in bed, more orgasms than you could count on one hand, a break for lunch, another romp in the kitchen in the middle of that lunch, a fragrant cigar break while he tormented you with a handheld Hitachi, more orgasms for him and for you, some wine and fruit from the fridge, and then finally a shower and a cuddle sometime after midnight - and even then he might not be finished with you. Once, when you were younger, he’d been so insistent, you had needed to call into work just to satisfy his cravings. So, needless to say, the man was starving this evening and you were the only meal he was interested in consuming.

“You gettin’ wet for me, sweet girl? Trapped up there with nowhere to run,” John growled darkly, his voice deep and raspy.

As he spoke to you, you felt his prominent nose rubbing across your panties, nuzzling against your folds, smelling you deeply. It made you a little self-conscious, being so exposed and vulnerable as you were, and you were still very much stuck in the stairs. You tried to coax him to let you down, giving him your sultriest tone,

“Yes, baby, I am. Why don’t you help me down, and we can finish this in bed?”

He started to lick you through the fine mesh of your underwear, wetting the fabric, trying to writhe his long tongue past the edge of the band. He mumbled his response as he teased you, applying just enough pressure to excite but not enough to soothe,

“Nuh-uh. Like you just where you are.”

You heard his belt buckle jingle as it fell open, followed by the whir of his zipper, a rustle of fabric, and then his hot breath against your wet panties as he let out a heady sigh. He had his cock in his hands, jacking off as he ate your pussy. With his free hand, he wrapped up the skirt of your dress and tucked it into the band of your bralette, under your arm and - most importantly - out of his way. Then, he plucked one of the bows on the side of your panties. You felt the fabric flutter open, exposing your flushed skin to him. He groaned in a rumbling tone, a mixture of agony and bliss. The other bow didn’t put up much of a fight, and you were fully on display, ready for his mouth.

It was his beard that tickled you first, sending sparks to your core with its comforting familiarity. Once, when he’d been on deployment for a long time, he’d come home clean-shaven. He was handsome still, and you would never tell him this, but your folds had sorely missed his soft facial hair and the way his dense bristles ghosted over your most sensitive skin. Now though, his mustache had grown out, winterized and ready for the cold season, and it was shining with your juices as he ate you sloppily. His tongue slipped expertly to one side, just where you liked it, and you keened, crying out at the delicious pulse of your nerves.

He placed a finger at the bottom rim of your hole, pressing downward to stretch you open, and your walls immediately responded, clutching at nothing, but ready to be filled. John chuckled, and you could feel his lips smile against you, those rosy cheeks filling the space between your thighs,

“Careful, love. Gonna wake the bear if you keep doing that on my hand.”

Your body had a physical - wet and sticky - reaction to his use of your inside joke about “the bear”. A few months ago, when he’d been under heavy enemy incursion for weeks in the wilds of some Russian wilderness, he’d come home absolutely battered. Your captain had bruises, black eyes, and stitches on his belly. He was covered in wounds, and part of his head had been shaved to staple his scalp back together. He was in rough shape, and you set to caring for him right away. You ran a hot bath, cleaned him up, told your friends and family that you were in stay-cation mode to warn them not to call you, and helped him into bed. Price still hadn’t spoken a single word to you since he walked in the door. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight, though. Even when you went to the bathroom to pee, he followed you in there, lingering in the door frame, not really staring at you or anything odd, but he required your proximity above all else.

That night, a firm jolt woke you up, and you discovered that Price had taken off your pajamas and pushed all the sheets and pillows off the bed. It was jarring, and you screamed. He was also naked, covering you, rutting against you mindlessly and blatantly ignoring your scream, continuing to bite at your neck and breasts as he rubbed his cock against you in a lurid, perverse way. You’d never felt him hold your body down that tightly, not caring if he was hurting you. He was usually so careful and so self-aware of his size and strength. After you recovered from the initial shock, some animal part of your brain knew what he needed and let him in, whispering to him that it was okay, that he could take what he needed. The growl-like scream that left his throat when you consented was identical to that of a raging grizzly. You felt like prey that night, finally understanding the true power of all that muscle and all those years of savage training.

The next day, after hours of physical contact and tears and reassurance, you had gently joked with him about it over breakfast as he fixed you an ice pack to use between your legs. John had apologized for letting “the bear” into the house, and he promised that it wouldn’t happen again. He was bereft that he had hurt you, and told you that you deserved a husband with more self-control. You grabbed his hand to make him look at you, and you told him that there was nothing to forgive. You gave him your consent for him to use your body freely, and he gave you a safeword - as well as a knife to keep in your bedside table - “just in case”. You didn’t like to think about the knife, but you knew it made him feel better for you to have it.

Now, as he pushed his finger into you, he purposely curled it upwards to find your softest spot, rubbing it in slow, aching circles. You were moaning shamelessly as you hung from the attic door, sure that he had a front-row view of your dripping hole, and you were trying not to be embarrassed about it. Eventually, two orgasms into this adventure from his fingers and tongue, you stopped caring. You were so incredibly wet, and you could feel it running into the cleft of your ass. You begged him,

“Please, John! Take me down. I want you to fuck me, please, I need it…”

“Patience, love. Be a good girl for me, and I’ll give you everything you want,” he was drunk with pleasure, having spilled his come onto the ground, still playing with himself and growing hard again.

Then, he began to fuck you with three, huge fingers, thrusting them into you at an amazing pace. He was at an angle that felt so foreign and intense, and you clenched down hard, worried that you would wet yourself if he didn’t stop.

“Wait, wait! I think I’m gonna…wait, John…” You slurred, your pleasure invading your brain and stealing all of your words, “Holy fuck, baby, I can’t stop it. I’m - ah!”

“Let it go, pretty girl. Come for me, just like that. I wanna see it, feel it on my face.”

You came hard enough for it to make you choke on your breath and wrench your eyes shut, blacking out your vision, burning the air in your lungs. It felt like you were squirting on him, almost like you were relieving yourself, but not exactly. It wasn’t the same sensation. You just knew that you weren’t in control. There was a distinct dripping noise as your fluids ran onto the wood floor, covered by your screams and John’s loud groans.

You were ripped from the stairs and pulled into his arms before you could recover. The attic would have to wait, it seemed.

[iovetecchou]

Too Far Gone ⧸ Choso

༞ Contains...! smut, established relationship, mentions of masturbation, scent kink, virgin!choso, making out, premature ejaculation, use of 'good boy', slight dry humping, slight oral fixation, choso rips your shorts when he cums <3 lots of saliva... you're welcome.

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1,291 words.

Relationships were foreign territory to Choso. So, when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out, and you said yes, he was dumbfounded. Choso partially expected you to reject him, so when you inevitably didn’t... he had no clue how to function.

He was reticent around you more than ever before. You had been seeing each other for months, and Choso, was still acting cagey. You knew intimacy was brand new to the tense man himself, but you’ve initiated every physical act. You chalked it up to him just being nervous and inexperienced. 

Your first kiss together? That was all you. Choso stood frozen before you when it happened. When you pulled back to read his expression, he was blushing profusely. With a lopsided grin adorning his face. 

It took him several more times of you offering chaste kisses before he finally caved. Choso’s kisses were devoted yet hesitant. His lips would quiver as he sucked in a shaky breath before pulling himself back. His eyes swirled with desire as if he wanted- no, needed more from you. Though, your doting boyfriend never acted on such desires. Choso’s touches remained perfectly innocent— until something seemingly snapped within him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower when you arrived. You visited the place he called home often, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. “Choso, I found this new game we can play together. It’s kinda scary though, think you’re up for—“ Your train of thought was cut short when you finally looked up from your phone. Your boyfriend was practically bare before you, only clad in a thin cotton towel that hugged his hips. You couldn’t help but ogle Choso’s exposed torso.

You didn’t expect him to be so built under his clothing. Choso always wore baggy, ill-fitting apparel, so it left much up to the imagination. But seeing his defined muscles decorating his stomach and arms caused heat to pool in your core. 

Wet raven locks stuck to his neck. The dampened strands of hair clung to his cheeks slightly too, and tiny water droplets trickled down his throat and to his full pecs. At this point, you were silent for too long, and it was evident you were practically eye fucking your boyfriend. But you seriously couldn’t look away. You spent countless nights imagining what Choso might look like, entirely uncovered for you. What it would feel like to touch him, to make him feel good. Hear him cry out in pleasure because of you. 

You spent many late evenings getting yourself off to these impure thoughts you had about your boyfriend. So, to say your mind wandered while you gaped at his half-naked form was an understatement. “Uh… change of plans. We can always play that game another time. I have something else in mind.” You cleared your throat, trying to conceal the fact that you were unbearably horny. 

“…Sure, what else did you have in mind?” Choso spoke softly; a complete contrast to his deep voice as he averted his gaze from yours. That signature blush of his coated his face once more, spreading to his ears. Making him feel hot under your intense gaze. 

You hardly gave Choso any warning as you lept into his arms. On instinct, he caught you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist as your legs hooked loosely around his torso. Your sudden action caused the towel to slip off his hips, leaving him entirely naked. Choso's eyes were blown wide at the realization. He tried to pull back to conceal himself, but you wouldn't allow it. Instead, you pulled him in for a heated kiss. Your hands tangled in his damp hair, tugging on his raven locks playfully. You ground your hips down on instinct when Choso let out a delicious whine against your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you felt his cock begin to stiffen underneath you. Choso's length twitched and throbbed against your clothed lower half. The further you ground down against his needy cock, the more desperate your lover's whines became. His legs were shaky from the intense pleasure. The furthest you had gone in your relationship was a few heated makeout sessions. So, this was exhilarating for Choso. He slowly stumbled backward until the back of his thighs hit the edge of his bed. You both let out a gasp as he sat down, causing his cock to slot between the crease of your ass. You could tell he was big just by the feeling of him alone. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth at the thought of your boyfriend stretching you out with his cock.

Choso gazed at you, half-lidded eyes darker than before. A string of saliva connected both of you as your lungs burned for air. Choso looked like he was contemplating something as you huffed, trying to catch your breath. But, before you could ask him what was on his mind, he flipped you over. Now Choso was above you, comfortably slotted between your parted thighs. His eyes never once left yours, not even for a single second. This was rare. Choso almost always averted his gaze after a makeout session. But something shifted within him. His resolve dwindled down to nothing before he could hold himself back. 

He began kissing down your neck, huffing against your skin. Breathing you in. Choso allowed his hands to drift underneath your flimsy shirt as his kisses traveled lower. He was whining against your skin as his hands pulled your shirt over your midsection. You let out a soft sigh as he kissed your stomach, carding your hands through his raven locks once more. "You're so soft... smell so good... especially right here... fu-fuck..."

Choso mumbled in his daze. His face was centimeters away from clothed pussy as he inhaled deeply. His eyes finally left yours, dark orbs now fixated on the wet patch left behind on the fabric of your shorts. He pushed his face further into you, nose brushing up against your clothed clit as he breathed you in. His hips twitched from below the more he lost himself in your scent. "A-Amazing... Never smelt something so... so- hah... wonder if it tastes just as good..." Choso continued to mutter to himself as his tongue darted out. He lapped at the wet spot on your shorts, further dampening the fabric with his saliva. 

You watched in amusement as Choso's eyes rolled back from the faint taste of your essence. His hands held your hips tightly in place as he indulged. You let out a whine, imagining how he would react if he tasted you without the barrier of clothing. You were sure he would lose his mind. He continued to pamper his perverse desires for a few moments more before it became too overwhelming for the chaste man. "Hah... so good... sh-shit!" 

You gasped as Choso's hands that adorned your hips pulled at the fabric of your shorts, tearing them apart as he twitched and bucked his hips. He was drooling as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. A faint smirk etched into your face as you realized what had happened. Choso just came... from this alone. Pride pooled in your chest at this realization. "Good boy, Choso..."

Choso was twitching so much as he rode out the aftershocks of pleasure. He bit his lip at the realization that his cock was still painfully hard. He was too far gone, Choso couldn’t control himself around you. It was as if an invisible force surrounded you, pulling him in. You had a certain effect on him that no one else acquired.

"You really think I'm a good boy? But I didn't... here, let me make it up to you."

this is definitely gonna need a part two...

[despacito-uwu16]

Instant Regret- Tadashi Hamada x Reader

“But I miss you, I’m sorry” - Gracie Abrams

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

You would think that no matter how big or small the arguments would get, that you would always find a way back to each other. But it really wasn’t the case for the two of you. 

You’ve gotten a job opportunity at the company of your dreams. However, their office is ten thousand miles away from home. At first, you weren’t sure what to do. You built your life around getting into the company of your dreams, however you never prepared yourself for the day that you have to leave San Fransokyo. Not only that, you would be leaving Tadashi behind. But after a few days of hesitation, you decided to take the risk and go for it. 

You and Tadashi were in your apartment watching your favorite TV show while eating Chinese take out. You couldn’t concentrate on the current episode of That 70’s Show because you didn’t know how to tell Tadashi about the job. If you tell him about it, he would for sure be supportive of it. Right? It’s not like he would just tell you to turn it down…

“Something wrong Y/N”? He snaps you out of your daze. 

“No! Nothing’s wrong”. You quickly said. 

“You sure? You barely touched your eggplant and tofu”. He pointed at your food with his chopsticks. 

You look down at the take out box. It was barely half empty. 

“I’m just not hungry”. You said, playing with your food. 

“Y/N, if something’s bothering you, you can always talk to me”. Said Tadashi. 

You look down at the food. “I guess it’s time”. You thought. 

You put your food down and turned off the TV. You turned to him and gently held his hands. 

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you”. You confessed. 

“Okay”. He turns to you. “You got my full attention”.

“Well, remember I told you about that job interview for that company I always wanted to work at”? You started. 

He thought for a bit before replying. “The one with the virtual reality and AI research?”

You nodded.

“Well…” you sighed.

“I got the job”. You looked up at him giving him a small smile.

His eyes lit up and he started smiling ear to ear. “Y/N that’s amazing! See! I knew they would like you”! He hugged you tightly.

“Yeah. However, they want me to work at their London office”. You added. 

Tadashi’s face fell as he let go of you. “Oh, I see”.

“I know, I promised I would stay, but I didn’t think they would relocate me. But hey, we’ve been through this before. Who said we couldn’t do it again ”. You said

“Yeah, yeah totally”. Tadashi looked at the ground.

You noticed his facial expression. It was a mix of sadness and disappointment. You knew that he wouldn’t approve of this.

“Did I say something wrong”? You ask.

“It’s nothing like that, it’s just”… he trailed off

“It’s just what”? You pressed on.

He let out a sigh before continuing “I had a plan for us to move in together after college. For us to start our life together”. 

“I know this is a huge shift from what we’ve planned Tadashi. But this is my dream, you know I couldn’t just let this slip by”. You said in attempts to justify your reasons .

“What about us and everything we built”? He said, emphasizing on “us”.

“Well what about me? You knew how important this job and this company is to me”! You exclaimed

“Am I not important to you”? He asks

“You are, that’s not what I meant. I just thought you would be more supportive of me”. 

“I was so supportive Y/N! I supported you when you went abroad for a semester, I supported when you had that 8 week internship over the summer! I was there for you through thick and thin, and now you’re leaving again”? He raise his voice.

You tried to calm the situation down, “Tadashi please I”- 

“You never think about the consequences of your decisions and how it affects others. YOU ARE SO INCREDIBLY SELFISH”. He yelled, his words piercing into your ego.

You were both sitting on opposites sides of your black leather couch. The room fell silent. The only thing you both could hear was the clock ticking away and you attempting to muffle your sniffles. But before long, you hear Tadashi letting out a sigh, breaking the short term silence. between the two of you.

“I don’t know if I can wait for you this time Y/N”. Tadashi looks at you. 

“No. Please stay. I want you to stay”. Your mind screamed.

“Then leave”. 

You felt the couch cushions rise as Tadashi got up. He grabbed his hat from the hooks along with his keys. 

Before he closed the apartment door, he looked at you hoping you would say something to make him stay. But you just sat there and stared at the blank TV.

“Goodbye Y/N”. He shuts the door.

And that was the last time you ever saw him. 

The next thing you know, you got a call from Aunt Cass. She slowly broke the news about Tadashi’s passing. At first you thought Tadashi was doing this in retaliation for what happened a few weeks ago. But after the news broke out about the fire that killed Tadashi and Professor Callahan, the sad reality settles in. Tadashi is gone.

The funeral was short and simple. You stood in silence, hovering over your late boyfriend’s tomb stone while everyone around you cried. You didn’t think this was going to happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen. 

You weren’t planning on sticking around during the reception. But before you could leave, Aunt Cass stopped you.

“Tadashi wrote something for you”. She hands you a white envelope. 

You thanked her and began to make your way to the door. But as you were about to leave, you made eye contact with Hiro. You were about to say something, but he disappeared into his room. 

You came back to your semi empty apartment physically and emotionally drained. All of your furniture has been shipped to your new apartment in london, and the only thing left is a small white mattress and a few cardboard boxes stacked into a pyramid. You took a bottle of wine from one of the moving boxes and drank out of it. You sat on the floor, letting your head fall back against the wall. Looking down at the envelope, you carefully opened it. You took out the paper and unfolded it.

Dear Y/N,

I wanted to call or text you, but I don’t think you would respond. I’ll be sending this to you after the SFIT showcase. You know that I’m never good with words or with writing down my feelings, so bear with me. 

I want to start off by saying, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for calling you selfish. You were so excited about your dream job, and I ruined our night. You were never selfish to begin with, I was. The truth is, I got scared. I know we’ve done long distance in the past, but the thought of us eventually drifting apart scared me. I should’ve been more vulnerable when it came down with these things, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. 

I never want to loose you. I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Remember during our date at the butterfly gardens, we were all alone in the auditorium and I randomly blurted out “I want us to last forever”. Well, when I said forever, I meant it. I want us to last for a lifetime.

If anything, I want you to take that job. You’ve worked so hard for it and I bet you would make a great employee at the London office. understand that I cause you some pain, and I don’t expect you to forgive me now. But when you’re ready, I’ll be here, waiting for you. 

I love you so much Y/N.

Sincerely,

Tadashi 

You buried your head in your arms as you let out loud sobs. You cries drowned out the sounds of the thunder and rain outside. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if you never took that job offer. What would happen if you apologized to him. Telling him how much you loved him, telling him to stay. The amount of instant regret fills up your heart, and there was no way of getting rid of the grief that came with it. 

“I miss you, I’m sorry”. 

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

A/N: I love me some angst hehe srry readers :)

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Inbox is open for requests so request away!!

[moonshynecybin]

for the prompt list, #8 rosquez and the closet is the factory ducati box next year

#8: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck.

WORD. This got long (1.3k good lord)... fox in the henhouse concept from f1vegas look at their post here...

Vale pulls him into a closet after FP2. Marc, to Valentino’s surprise, goes.

“What was that?” He starts, frustration filling him to the brim. Pecco in the dirt, Marc one step closer to his ninth. Running through Ducati like a fox in a henhouse.

Marc doesn’t answer, just stares at him like he’s taking fucking notes. It conjures memories of when he would follow Vale’s lap in quali after sticking his own bike on pole, a moment just to catalog his strategies, peek at what lines he was planning on taking, and it thins his already narrow patience.

“Marc,” he tries again, more forcefully. His tone is quiet, he has to be quiet in here, with half a dozen Ducati engineers outside, but he knows Marc feels every inch of intention.

Marc’s posture is clamped up, arms crossed. His scar is poking out of the sleeve of his shirt, jagged and pale in the dark of the room. He blinks calmly, and Vale shifts, irritation ratcheting up. Marc does this— stonewalls him like this. Refuses to engage.

“What?” 

“With Pecco— what were you doing?”

“Let me go.” Marc asks, and his voice is even, but his eyes— gone. Done. He isn’t even looking at Vale, is absently looking at the space of wall to the right of Vale’s shoulder.

Vale hadn’t even realized they were touching. His hand springs away from Marc’s arm like he’s been burned, and he compensates by stepping closer, crowding Marc in against the wall. Body heat simmers in the small space of the room, close and heavy. 

He takes a rough breath inwards. He fucking hates the sight of him in that red team shirt, hates the way his eyes sink in on themselves whenever Vale tries to get him to, to do something. Bend, a little.

He never does.

“Answer me,” Vale asks, tilting his head so he’s directly in Marc’s eyeline. “Or are you too much of a coward?”

That triggers something— a flame sparks, catching at Marc’s edges, and he’s back, terrifyingly present. His eyes shoot up to meet Vale, chin lifting proudly, and his jaw clenches. The most direct acknowledgment of tension Vale’s gotten from him since they were last on track together, going on four years ago now.

“Or what?” Marc answers, casually flinty. He's not giving an inch, now, every bit of the ego rising to the surface. Marc’s back, he remembers everyone saying last year. Apparently so. 

Still, something ugly and satisfied claws in his chest at the attention, at the way he’s finally gotten Marc to acknowledge it. He knows Marc wouldn’t do this with Pecco, wouldn’t let it get this far— He’d be out the door by now, halfway to his motorhome, content in his ability to confine it to the track. Content to say he doesn’t take it with him once he steps off of the motorcycle. That careful separation of Marc the rider and Marc the person that Vale knows is entirely bullshit.

But he’s not turning and leaving. He's still here, with Vale, his feet planted on the ground like he’s bracing to throw a punch. 

Marc’s neck stretches, craning up a few inches to meet him. The only light in the room, a thin slash peeking in through the crack in the doorframe, casts dramatic shadows over his cheekbones, moody and dangerous, and his eyes are deep, dark pits. They flash as Vale refuses to yield, glimmering with that savage energy he recognizes when he looks in the mirror. His pulse thrums, loud in his ears, and—

Marc looks older, like this, alone and up close. Tired. Anger setting his face into marble. A statue carved by Vale’s own hand.

The moment stretches tight enough to snap, coiling in his body like a spring. Breath hits his face. He can’t stop staring at the soft pink of Marc’s upper lip. Vale leans forward, on the lure, and Marc leans back, reactive, unsure. His eyes jump wildly, searching for something on Vale’s face.

And then they’re kissing like they’re starving.

He loses time after that. Flashes. A hand in his hair. A wet pressure across his pulse point. Fingers working at his belt. Marc presses close and he presses closer, tugging his waistband down over his ass and spitting in his palm. Marc’s eyes close when he gets a hand around blood hot skin, nearly collapsing into Vale.

His thumb rides its way to press against the underside of Marc’s cock, wet against his fingers. Marc’s eyes squeeze shut, pretty face locking up at that first lightning sharp hit of pleasure as Vale gets his teeth in his neck and bites hard, tongue a soft counterpart against the skin there. Marc shifts, shivery, a caught sound in the back of his throat, and his lips part. Soft, overcome. A different fucking world from the way he was a few moments ago, tension snaking away from him as Vale sucks harder. He’s going to leave a mark, something obvious, shiny and purple.

“Cameras, cameras, cameras,” Marc remembers, chest heaving. He taps at Vale’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Vale says, unrepentant, and leans in to bite again. Marc moans louder this time— he always did like it like this— and Vale has to break off to shush him.

“Microphones, microphones, microphones,” He whispers in Marc’s ear, just to watch Marc fight a smile. His own cock is throbbing, and he hauls Marc against him so he’s riding the top of his thigh. His dick bumps against Marc’s, still slick and red from spit and the friction of Vale’s hand. He catches on the picture they make for a second, breathing loud in the quiet of the small room.

“C’mon,” Marc pleads, characteristically impatient, voice hitching in as Vale wraps a hand around them both, drawing them off on long strokes. “C’mon— fuck,”

“I’ve got you,” Vale answers, still fixed on the visual of Marc’s dick notched beside his own— he thinks he can feel Marc’s pulse through his cock— 

“Please,” scrapes its way out of Marc, throaty, almost involuntary, and he’s so wet now, leaning into Vale as his arm works faster. The sound is obscene, they’re going to get caught. He doesn’t care.

“I know baby, I’ve got you—“ Vale babbles, nonsense flowing out of him as Marc’s head burrows into his neck, breath hot and wet on his skin. “That’s perfect, you’re perfect, fuck, just like that—“

They’re both close now, breath coming harsh and fast, and the temperature in the closet is scorching, heat crowding in. Marc shudders as Vale gets in a particularly nasty stroke, and Vale can feel it, a feedback loop between their bodies winding him up every time Marc’s hot mouth skates over his skin, every time his cock jerks in his hand. He feels wild, half out of his mind, hand in his dick and on Marc’s dick in a hot rapid slide, as close as he can get without— without—

He opens his mouth, says “You should— you should let me fuck you, in here. So everyone would know, would hear. Let me put it in you,”

Marc convulses, “God,” He swears, cheeks red, and comes gasping, shooting over Vale’s fist, getting them messy. And it's the sight of his come, staining up the pretty red of his Ducati team shirt that sticks in Vale’s mind, too much, and hurtles him over the edge, a gut punch of a sensation, mouth open around a curl of Marc’s hair, sweat dripping down his back.

[pinkgelatin]

Being dads is exhausting. And how do you deal with exhaustion? Cuddles! This time with a tiny fic under the cut ❤️

Teething

Salim got up from the carpet and dusted off his knees. How in the world did the remote end up under the tv stand, he'd never understand, but that was indeed where he found it. The vcr whirred as it rewinded the tape. He hoped he'd find the moment they stopped watching the movie last night, rudely interrupted by a shrill cry and loud wailing. The doctor warned him that teething could have many symptoms, but Salim quietly wished that constant crying and sleepless nights wouldn't be as bad as they were when the first tooth poked out. If only he knew how wrong he'd be.

This night was Jason's turn to attend to Zain when he simply refused to fall back asleep. Salim felt for their baby boy, he really did, and both of them tried anything they could to ease Zain's pain and discomfort, but with few things available, and even fewer of them working, they had only one way of dealing with a teething baby. Patience.

Unfortunately said patience has been wearing thin over the last couple days. So much so, both Salim and Jason have become snappy and irritated. Last night Jason proposed watching a dumb movie to "debrain" themselves, which Salim eagerly agreed to. Not that they succeeded. After they dealt with their little interruption, Salim ended up nodding off on one end of the couch, and woke up in the morning to Jason curled up and lightly snoring on the other.

There was hope however. While half an hour ago Zain had been crying his little heart out yet again, at this point things seemed pretty calm. The only sound Salim could hear was Jason quietly singing a lullaby. 

Salim smiled to himself as he moved a couple of Zain's toys out of the way, then stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes for a moment, focusing more on the lullaby. Who knew Jason of all people would have a great singing voice and an array of lullabies stashed somewhere in his brain. And that Zain would react so well to them. Their boy wasn't the only one who did so either. Salim loved Jason's voice just as much, and hearing it off in the distance with a soft pillow under his head was enough to lull him into a trance. 

"Their boy," Salim's mind honed in on that particular phrase. Zain was their boy now, not just his anymore, and that made his heart swell with love and affection for the man in the other room. Jason accepted Zain as his own pretty much immediately, surprising himself most of all. He was a blessing in many more ways than one, and Salim would never be able to give enough thanks to whatever power had brought them together, be it pure chance, or something more mystical. 

He snapped back to reality when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You didn't just fall asleep on me, did you?" Jason teased, but the bags under his eyes told Salim just how much he'd like to do the same. Zain wasn't the only thing keeping them up at night. The nightmares were still vivid and frequent as well, even weeks after that awful day, and both of them had a feeling they wouldn't let up anytime soon.

"Almost," Salim stretched slightly and sighed. "Mission successful, I take it?"

Jason chuckled and gave him a mock salute, "The tiny wailing beast has been pacified with a lullaby and lots of cuddles. And that new teething gel the doc gave us. Now scooch."  

Salim felt a knee nudge his side, but didn't move a muscle. He was way too comfortable for that. Though moving could have saved his stomach and slowly scarring chest from being crushed by the full weight of an ex-Marine.

Even if Jason seemed to purposefully avoid his wound, Salim still gasped and groaned in surprise, "That hurt, habibi."

Jason simply shrugged and sneaked his arms around Salim's torso, "Should've moved."

Salim grumbled some more, but reached for the blanket anyway, and soon they were both snug and cozy. "I rewinded the tape already. I think I got the right spot."

"With how early you conked out we might as well watch the whole thing," Jason took the remote from Salim's hand and pressed the button to rewind the tape fully, ignoring any protests. 

With the most exaggerated eye roll he could manage Salim pushed himself deeper into the pillow and set his mind on focusing on the movie this time. As long as there would be no interruptions that is. He instinctively kept listening for any distressed sounds coming from Zain's room, but after hearing none he let himself relax. 

It was about halfway through the movie when he proudly announced, "See? I told you I'd watch it this time." Only he didn't get any kind of response. 

Salim craned his neck to glance at Jason's face and let out a low chuckle. 

With eyes closed, and mouth slack Jason was asleep on top of him. Probably has been for a while as well, judging by the crease on his cheek and one arm hanging loose off the side of the couch.

Salim paused the movie. The house was quiet, save for Jason's even breathing and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Zain seemed to still be asleep, and the neighborhood cocooned them in quiet darkness, making the night perfect for catching up on some much needed rest.

"Oh well," Salim thought, and let his own eyes slip shut. "Take the little blessings as they come." They could try again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that. They had all the time in the world.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Credit where credit is due because it was @poppitron360 bringing up Jason’s extended family in a fic that made me think about this.

Anyway. I think Leo deserves some closure with his extended family, too. Obviously it’s never going to happen with his shitty aunt. However. He has a cousin.

His name is Raphael. We don’t really know anything about him except that he bullied Leo when they were kids (that’s the only half-sentence mention he gets). Obviously this isn’t a great start, but I think it makes sense in context.

Rosa never liked Leo. Maybe it was a superstition thing. Maybe she took issue with the fact that his dad wasn’t in the picture. Maybe she convinced herself that he’d somehow ruined her sister’s life. Either way, of course her behaving that way and talking badly about him affected her own kid.

Raphael also didn’t really get Leo, who went on about boring machine stuff Raphael didn’t care about for ages and just wouldn’t shut up. Who’d only play in very specific ways and get upset when Raphael tried to change the rules. He was weird, and Raphael didn’t like him, so he was mean to Leo.

When Rosa tells him Leo is going away and he’ll never have to see him again, Raphael isn’t upset. He takes his mom at her word that it was Leo’s fault his aunt died.

But Raphael was nine, then.

(I’m putting most of this under the cut because it got incredibly long. Oops. Fair warning, I did make myself weep writing this.)

Raphael doesn’t think about Leo for years. They were never close. He’s just a weird kid that used to be a family member but that they’re not seeing anymore. Raphael has friends and school to worry about. Leo doesn’t even cross his mind.

But then he’s packing for college, going through boxes in the attic, and there’s two that look weirdly different from the rest. He’s curious and opens them. It’s mementos. Pictures of Esperanza, and of Leo, and a whole bunch of random trinkets taken from their apartment after the workshop burnt down. And suddenly he’s wondering what happened to his baby cousin, ashamed he hasn’t thought of Leo in so long.

So he asks his mom. Rosa shrugs and tells him Leo went into the foster system and they’ll thankfully never have to deal with him again. That if there’s any justice in the world, he’s dead, because it’s his fault that his mom died.

Raphael is horrified to hear her talk like that. Leo was eight. Even if he did make a stupid mistake that somehow led to his mom dying—and he isn’t nine anymore, he won’t just take his mom’s word for it this time—that’s more traumatizing to Leo than anything. And he was just left alone to deal with it all. A child with so much blame on his shoulders, made to feel like his family didn’t love him.

He’s kicking himself for not asking about Leo sooner. For not being nicer to him when they were kids. For not being there for him when his mom died.

He asks which foster home Leo went to, and his mom snaps at him to drop it. But Raphael doesn’t drop it. He asks his dad when he gets home, and his dad tells him.

It’s a dead end. Leo hasn’t been there in years. Ran away after a few days, apparently. It’s a miracle the person he calls even remembers who he’s talking about.

There’s nothing he can do about it now. But he takes the boxes along to college. If Leo can’t have them, the least Raphael can do is keep them far away from his mom. He puts up a picture of Esperanza and little Leo along with the ones of his own friends. Because if all he can do is carry their memory, he will.

The question of what happened to Leo never quite lets Raphael go. He tries a few avenues over the years, but it’s like Leo vanished into thin air. The only solace he has is that he doesn’t find any obituaries that fit.

Eventually, he decides to look into becoming a foster parent with his wife, and that’s how he finally finds Leo. One of the older social workers mentions she knew a Valdez boy that would be around his age now. Got into a whole bunch of trouble. Ran away from several different foster homes. He was sent to Wilderness School in Nevada the last time she saw him. Apparently ran away with a classmate—Piper McLean. Never heard from him again after that.

She only remembers because Piper is the daughter of a film star she really liked at the time. It’s just a weird random anecdote to her.

But Raphael knows Piper McLean. Not well—they’ve never really talked—but he’s seen her at an office party or two because she’s married to one of his coworkers. Reyna works in a different department, but he could talk to her. Ask her if Piper knows what happened to Leo. If maybe they’re still in contact, though that seems like a long shot after so many years.

He’s desperate and terrified to maybe, finally, get some kind of answer.

It takes him two weeks to work up the courage to talk to Reyna. She’s confused at first. They’ve only made smalltalk a few times, most of it work related.

But when he brings up Leo, something in her face changes. Yes, she knows Leo. He’s never mentioned a cousin—Raphael isn’t surprised—but she supposes a cousin could exist. She asks what he wants from Leo, and he’s honest with her about the fact that they didn’t have a great relationship growing up but tells her he’s grown since then and that he still has some stuff that rightfully belongs to Leo that’s been sitting in boxes in his house for years.

She gives him Leo’s number, albeit with some reluctance.

He calls and tells Leo that he gets if he doesn’t want to talk to him but at the very least he wants him to have the boxes with Esperanza’s things—boxes that should have been his in the first place. Leo doesn’t even have to see him if he doesn’t want to. Raphael can just drop the boxes off with Reyna or something. But he wanted to apologize for being a jerk when they were kids, because Leo didn’t deserve that.

———————

Leo is shocked to hear from Raphael, to say the least. When he first hears the name of the person on the other end of the line, he freezes up. He barely manages to keep it together for the call and afterwards, he melts into Jason’s arms and starts weeping because a part of him is terrified that this is some sort of cruel prank. Terrified to let himself hope he actually has a relative on his mom’s side of the family that cares. Terrified of whatever might or might not be in those boxes.

But he agrees to meet Raphael, if reluctantly, and he brings Jason. Maybe there’ll be some closure in it. He’s wary, because his cousin was really mean to him when they were kids, but they were also eight and they’re adults now and he realizes kids sometimes do dumb shit when they’re eight and growing up with terrible adults.

Leo is anxious when they walk into the restaurant where they’re meeting for lunch—Jason promises to lightning bolt Raphael through the nearest wall if he starts shit, which makes Leo laugh and relax a little, and they walk in holding hands.

Raphael spots them and his whole face lights up. He looks so different from how he looked as a kid, but there’s still that same scar on his forehead from the time he ran into a table when they were six. He still has the same eyes twinkling with mischief, but they’re not malicious now. He looks genuinely happy to see Leo.

Raphael is clearly nervous meeting Jason, who’s much taller and much more muscular than him, which Leo takes great joy in. And Leo gets the apology he was promised. He’s shocked to hear how long Raphael has been looking for him—shocked that apparently someone on his mom’s side of the family did care about what happened to him. And Raphael doesn’t even ask about his mom. Doesn’t ask what happened, which Leo was terrified he would. He just tells Leo he won’t believe the bs his mom is spouting about him anymore, and he’d like to be at least a little involved in Leo’s life, if Leo wants that. Even if it’s just the occasional call or Christmas postcard. But if Leo wants nothing to do with him after everything, he understands that. He’s just glad to know that Leo is safe and happy and loved.

Leo tells him he’ll think about it.

Jason sits with him when he finally brings himself to open the boxes. There’s so many pictures—several framed ones that they had up on the walls and a whole photobook with pictures of Leo, from birth until age eight. There’s several pictures of just him, and several of the two of them together. The last few pages are empty—memories they never got to make—and all of it is so incredibly painful but he can’t believe he gets to have all of this. Jason holds him through it, stroking his back and kissing his hair and telling him they can take breaks whenever he wants. Leo spends all night telling his husband so many half-forgotten stories of his mom as they look through the pictures.

There’s more in the boxes. A few of Esperanza’s tools. Her lucky screwdriver. An old folder with project sketches she made all the way back at uni that she’d sometimes show Leo drafts of. Random decorative items they had up around the house, many of them hand-crafted. There’s this tiny toy dragon his mom made him as a consolation when he was small and begging for some cool toy they absolutely couldn’t afford and Leo cannot stop crying when he finds it.

Also up there with the photos and the dragon on the list of things that make Leo weep the most is a thick notebook that’s halfway coming apart. It’s got pages torn from magazines and hastily written notes stuffed into it. Some pages have prints glued on them, others are hand-written, in his mom’s hand and different ones Leo doesn’t recognize. A lot of it is faded, and some of the pages have clearly had water spilled on them by accident, but most of it is still legible.

It’s his mom’s old cookbook.

And it’s so much less of her than he should have. But having all those memories back that he thought he’d lost forever means everything.

But after a full night of weeping in Jason’s arms and a lot of cooking (and making sure the cookbook is no longer at a risk of fading or falling into bits when you breathe on it) and even more processing he shoots his cousin a message that just says “I think I like the idea with the Christmas cards”.

And they’re never going to be best friends or anything. I don’t think Leo ever tells Raphael the truth of who he is or what happened to his mom.

But they talk to each other on the phone sometimes. Leo meets Raphael’s wife, and, eventually, his kids. Raphael meets Sofía a handful of times and sends her birthday gifts and Christmas cards every year.

He’s the reason Sofía gets to grow up with her abuela’s cooking and with pictures of Esperanza scattered around the Waystation, and Leo is always going to be grateful for that.

I’m assuming like three people total will read this all the way to the end at most! Thank you for putting up with today’s specific Leo brain worms. Not sure if this will ever be a proper fic because I have way too many ideas but have this for now

[ellephlox]

Muted Dawn

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Summary: You get mugged in the middle of the night, but Matt isn't there to save you.

Warnings: mugging, canon-typical violence, swearing, injuries, physical/verbal assault

In mid-summer, the midnight air of New York had a surreal balminess to it. You wore a tank top and a thin red jacket on top, your suitcase rolling loudly behind you as you hurried down the sidewalk. Every crack, every pebble, every sewer grate — they were all thunderclaps compared to the otherwise quiet evening. The luggage was too heavy to carry, though, so it would have to roll behind you.

It was a long day. You'd flown out to visit family, and your return flight was supposed to be midday. It had been cancelled, though, leaving you to scramble for a layover that could get you to New York by morning. It was a complete shit show, and you'd had to sprint to your gates at the airport with this stupid shitty suitcase that you were half-tempted to just dump in the garbage.

Matt still thought you'd arrived in the evening. He texted you earlier that he had a case to work on with Foggy, and that he'd be up in the office plowing through work, probably until early morning.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you'd actually touched down in New York at eleven p.m. because that would be a surefire way to pull Matt out of work to meet you at the airport. Dragging him from his responsibilities — which were already too numerous — was the last thing you wanted.

So, solo travel in the middle of the night was your only option. You took the airport train to the nearest station, and from there took a train, and from there took another train that deposited you at 50th Street. Matt's apartment was only a ten minute walk, tops, from the station. Just a short walk. Too short to justify calling an Uber, mostly because you didn't exactly have a lot of money left in your wallet and your next paycheck wasn't for another few days.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump—

"Shit," you said aloud, staring between your luggage wheels and the sidewalk, which had switched from mildly smooth to practically cobbled. That didn't bode well for your plan to walk quietly back to the apartment. You snapped the handle down and tried to carry the suitcase again, but managed only to go a few steps before your arm felt as though it were going to break off. "Come on."

"Need some help?" The voice that came from the shadows was most definitely not Matt's, and goosebumps ran down your arms immediately. You didn't bother answering; it was always best to ignore anyone who tried talking to you on the streets of Hell's Kitchen. To regain some speed you pulled your handle back out — no sense in trying to be quiet now — and continued on your way, the thumps more rapid this time as you picked up the pace.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—

"I asked you a question, darling." To your horror, mingled with the sound of your suitcase wheels smashing along the sidewalk were now footsteps, and a figure appeared in the corner of your eye.

"You gonna answer? Not very nice of you." He jogged in front of you, blocking your way effectively, and now you could properly see him. He was pale — practically pasty in the moonlight — and wore a sweatshirt so stained it might as well have been a used napkin at a greasy fast food joint. He had a beard, untamed and straggly, and despite the wild look to him that suggested he was hungry, he was big. Most definitely someone you didn't want to try taking on in a fight.

"Get the hell out of my way," you snapped at him.

"I want to see what's in that suitcase. It's making a hell of a racket."

"Sorry to disappoint." You tried to weave your way around him, but he stepped in front of you again.

Damn it. You suddenly regretted not texting Matt about your late arrival. If you had, you wouldn't be alone on the street right now — Matt would have been beside you — and this wouldn't be happening. Fear, potent and throbbing, swirled in your stomach like a dense fog. You felt like a wild animal, ensnared in a trap with nowhere to go. You glanced behind you; the street was just as empty and silent, with the few streetlights flickering menacingly as though about to burn out.

"Look, bitch, you want to do this the easy or the hard way?"

"I said, let me get by. I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" he said, then laughed, scanning you from head to toe. "You look like little Red Riding Hood. What're you going to do?"

"I can scream. People will come and you'll be in deep shit."

"You're a fucking idiot if you think that. These back streets of Hell's Kitchen are the furthest you can get from help, darling."

"Unless the devil hears me," you breathed out, depending on the hope that this man had heard of Matt's other persona. "Then I have a good feeling your legs will get broken. You heard of him?"

Except the devil wasn't out tonight. He was instead filing paperwork, far away on the other end of the Kitchen, and probably wearing a suit. Unless the man in front of you fell for the bluff... you were thoroughly screwed.

But the man pulled out a gun, which you had not been expecting. "Devil ain't out here. No one's seen him in a few days. Hard way it is, then. You scream, darling, and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

You froze. Never had you felt so helpless in your life. Your heart was banging against your chest like a frantic bird, trying to escape, and yet your limbs wouldn't move, for fear of that black weapon pointing directly at your head. "Please," you said finally, the word coming out in a rasp. "I just want to go home."

"And you can, once you gimme what I want." The man pointed the gun at the suitcase. "Open it up."

You trembled slightly. Should you try fighting him? Sure, Matt had taught you some basic self-defense, but this man had a gun. What could you do against that? Maybe you could try grabbing the gun, or kicking it from his hands, but... that was ridiculous. You had hardly any training. Most likely you'd end up falling on your ass, and then the guy would put a bullet in you.

No, your best chance was to comply. Slowly you bent down and fumbled with the clasp of the suitcase, your hands shaking so hard that it wouldn't open up.

"I said open it!" the man demanded, jabbing the gun against your temple. It was cold and hard, and against your volition you yelped, squeezing your eyes shut. When the bullet didn't come, you slowly opened your eyes, and resumed your struggle with the clasp, finally popping it open. Shame grazed your face as you opened the luggage to unfolded laundry and toiletries haphazardly thrown in; not that this man cared, but somehow you felt as though your last shred of dignity was chewed up and spat on.

Maybe Matt would finish his paperwork early and put on the suit. Maybe he could hear you, right now, and he was on his way, leaping across rooftops. But no one was coming, and you stepped back, allowing the man to root through your belongings. He stooped over the suitcase, his gun now dangling at your side. You eyed him. Though you weren't exactly fast, especially compared to Matt, maybe you could make a break for it, and at least get away. Your suitcase was a lost cause at this point, but frankly, you didn't care.

Do it. Now. While he's distracted. Before you could lose your nerve, you took off, terror burning in your veins and making you pump your arms as hard as you could. You were only a few blocks from home, not far at all —

But footsteps rang behind you, heavy and faster than you. You chanced a look over your shoulder, and hardly had time to react before the man behind you overtook you entirely, tackling you to the sidewalk. Pavement slashed and gnawed against your skin, burning white hot — your cheek, your knees, the palms of your hands.

"Never run away from me like that before I'm done," the man said, in an almost childish way, as though a toy had been taken from him. He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you roughly to your feet. "I'm not finished with you yet."

By this point, tears were flowing down your cheeks, and all sense of shame was gone. Nothing mattered now except surviving, leaving this man and getting into the safety of home. Desperately you thought of the couch, and the shower, and bed, places that had seemed so close just ten minutes ago and now felt impossibly far away. "Please," you begged him. "Please. Take whatever you want, I just want to leave. Please."

He wrenched your arm in response, twisting it back much farther than it wanted to go. You shrieked, thinking that your arm must be broken, but then he let go and slapped your face, right across the cheek that still burned from the fall.

"Quiet!" he said roughly. "Let me finish." He kept his grip on your arm as he bent down to return to the suitcase, and you were yanked off your feet, falling to the ground like some absurd doll in the hands of an aggressive six-year-old. You didn't watch closely what the man took, because your vision was too blurred, but a dazed glance downwards told you that your laptop, earbuds, and jewelry were gone.

"Where's your wallet?" he asked, turning back to you. You didn't question him at all and reached into your pocket, your fingertips searching obediently for the wallet. Where are you, Matt? The man wasn't patient, though, and plunged his hand into your pocket to take over. You stayed stock still, the feeling of his hand against your thigh more disturbing than you could have predicted, as he extracted the wallet, then your phone, and pushed you away.

"Now here's what's going to happen," he said, pulling the gun out again. "I'm gonna let you live, because bodies are hard to take care of. But if you try squealing, if you go running off to a cop — if you tell anyone at all, I swear I'm going to find you and kill you." He took out your license and read it aloud — your name, your height, your weight, your address. "See, darling, I know everything about you. And if I get a whiff that you've tried telling someone about this little exchange we had tonight, I'll come to your address, and I'll slit your throat. Got it, darling?"

You nodded violently.

"Now get out of here," he said, and shoved you one last time. You didn't hesitate, and ran.

He could have taken more. Your clothing, your bracelet from Matt that you wore, your body, your life. All those you still had. The things he'd taken were meaningless, just trinkets. Things you could buy again.

But this reasoning didn't comfort you at all, and the moment you were in the safety of the apartment, with the door locked, you broke down altogether. You could hardly breathe, and every two seconds you ran to the window to check the street, certain that you'd see that stained sweatshirt ambling along the sidewalk, or hear a sudden knock at the door. Your phone was gone, so there was no way to call 911 if you needed to. And Matt wouldn't be able to reach you, either. You wished, like never before, that you could have his hearing. The ability to know when Matt was on his way back, and to hear him coming down the sidewalk, would be infinitely comforting; even more so would be the assurance that you'd hear that man who mugged you if he decided to come to the apartment.

But all you could hear was the whir of the refrigerator and your own shallow breaths.

It was therefore a heart-wrenching shock when you heard the deadbolt unlock, maybe an hour later. Maybe two hours later, or three. You weren't sure; time was a vortex, or even a black hole, with an event horizon so monstrous that everything was sucked into it.

Matt's home. As if you were dropped into an icy bath, you suddenly leapt to your feet. You hadn't showered. Your clothing was torn at the knees, and that man's scent was probably all over you, not to mention blood was smeared across your face and hands from the scrapes. Not good. Not good at all.

You ran into the bathroom just as the front door sprung open, and you only caught the smallest glimpse of the storm cloud of emotion already on Matt's face before you slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.

Why, exactly, you were hiding from him, when there was no doubt he could smell the man and blood either way, wasn't clear to you. Maybe it was the shame of him seeing you like this. He was so capable, so responsible, and to sense you on the floor like a puddle... it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Yes, you'd wanted Matt to save you, but it was too late now, wasn't it? Now you were just going to be another thing he had to take care of.

So, a shower it was.

Matt's fist pounded on the door. "Y/N? What happened?"

"I'm showering."

"It's two in the morning. I can smell your blood and your heart is flying. What happened?"

This time, it wasn't Matt asking, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. You could hear it in the low growl of his voice, the restlessness that simultaneously wanted to defend you as well as throw a punch at something.

"I'm okay, Matt. I'm okay. I just need a minute to clean up," you told him, starting the water. "Please."

"Y/N, if you don't unlock this door, I'm going to knock it off its hinges."

The thought made new tears spring to your eyes all over again. Your money — all gone. You'd have to cancel your credit cards now. And while you'd spent most of your money while visiting family, you'd had at least two twenties in your wallet — forty dollars, now gone, and forty dollars less to fix a broken door with.

Matt must have sensed the tears, because his next words were much gentler. "Whatever happened, you can tell me. I can—"

He fell silent. You peeled off your jacket, examining the scrapes on your hands briefly. Those would sting in the water, undoubtedly. Taking care of them was an imperative. Matt had a case to work on, and a city to save. The thought of him being preoccupied with your damn hands was enough to make you want to throw your fist into the wall with anger. Anger with yourself. How could you have let yourself get mugged? If you'd just called a fucking Uber from the station, then this would never have happened.

Matt said something on the other side of the door, too softly for you to hear.

"Didn't catch that," you said, as casually as possible. Priority number one was making sure Matt didn't know the extent to which you were freaked out.

"I said, who did this?"

"I don't know," you said evenly. It was harder than you thought it would be to keep your voice steady, when every instinct in you wanted to say it with a sob, and to curl back up on the floor. Standing was too hard, listening to Matt was too hard, simply breathing was too hard — every time you closed your eyes, the feeling of the gun against your temple returned to you.

There was a sudden click, and the door swung open. Matt had unlocked it, somehow, and you didn't have the energy to question how he'd done it.

His presence was like a live electric wire as he stepped into the room. You could feel the tension rising within him, threatening to spill over if you didn't give a name or a hint of what happened. You crossed your arms, wishing you'd left your jacket on, even though it didn't make a difference for what Matt could sense about you. The scrape on your face seared angrily and the fleeting thought passed through you that Matt could probably feel the heat of it just as clearly as you.

"I said I was fine," you said finally, keeping your voice controlled. "I told you I needed a minute."

"That doesn't matter when you're hurt. I need to know how hurt. Let me just feel—"

"Matt, please." You were shaking now, and torn between collapsing into his arms and never letting him know the extent to which you were absolutely petrified. Matt froze.

"Do you need me to leave?" he asked softly.

"I... no. I don't know what I need. I need..." A thrill of horror raced through you at the realization that you hadn't checked the window in awhile. What if the man was coming up the street now, on his way to break in and finish the deed with a bullet in your head? A bullet in Matt's head? You brushed by him and hurried to the window, squinting out at the dark.

Matt followed, and this time he didn't wait before coming up right behind you and cupping your cheek with his hand. It was gentle, but not a romantic act — you could feel the way his fingertips grazed over the scrape, accounting for the grit and sweat and blood that adorned it. Unable to bring yourself to move, you stood like a deer in the headlights as his hands then moved to your temples.

"No concussion," he said, but his jaw remained just as tight as he lowered his fingers to your own hands, breezing over them gingerly.

"These scrapes need to be cleaned." His face tensed as his hand hovered near your thigh. "Did he—?"

"No. No, I was just..." Mugged. It was too embarrassing to admit, and the word lodged in your throat. "Just some things were taken. Phone. Wallet. Suitcase."

"Jesus, at seven in the evening? Did anyone see? I want a name. A description. Anything. I'll find him and—"

"It wasn't seven in the evening." You dipped your head, tears welling again. "My plane was delayed."

You feared that he was going to be pissed, but instead he simply looked bemused. "Why didn't you say anything? I would've met you at the airport."

"Because you had work," you said, more stiffly. "And I know that me getting robbed looks bad, but I don't want to be your burden. Foggy needed your help tonight, not me."

"Not you? That's bullshit, Y/N," Matt said, and the electricity that had been buzzing in his movements finally exploded. "The reason I put on the damn suit anyway is because I care about people, including you. And you — you're above the rest, because I love you. Don't you see that? I need this, I need to find whoever did this, because if I don't, then I've failed you. I've failed myself, I've failed the city, I've failed my faith."

"Matt, it's not that serious. I overreacted, that's all."

"Like hell you overreacted. How do you think I felt when I left work and heard your heartbeat from two blocks away, racing like you were staring death in the face? When I got into the apartment and could smell your blood? When I came in here and could taste your fear?"

"I didn't ask you to sense those things," you snapped, and the moment the words were out of your mouth, you regretted them. It wasn't as though you could have simply elected to not see Matt that time he'd arrived at the apartment, torn up and bloody, or simply turned your head when you'd heard him yelling in the hospital as Claire stitched up his guts. In fact, it was impossible to not pay attention even more at times like that. Your mouth was dry as you shook your head. "I'm sorry, Matt. I don't mean that."

Still, he didn't get mad at you. "I know."

And it was that, his patience despite the energy palpitating in his fists that made you sink onto the couch, placing your face in your hands. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I... I can tell you what happened. It's just that admitting it makes it so much more real. It's humiliating."

Matt sat next to you, just shy of touching you. Waiting for your permission, likely. "Who was it?"

"Bearded man. Stained sweatshirt, really large — probably six foot four."

"Where?"

"Three blocks directly west of us."

"How did you get the scrapes?"

You closed your eyes. "I tried to get away. He tackled me. There was a gun, too. He kept it pointed at my head, and — Oh, God. He said if I told anyone, that he'd come here. He's got our address because of my license. He said he'd come here with the gun and—"

"Pointed at your head?" Matt's voice dropped to a dangerous low again, reminiscent of the devil. "You could've been killed." He got to his feet, stalking to the cabinet and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Matt," you said weakly, unsure of how to make the request for him to stay. He wanted to leave. He needed to let out the energy and protect, as was his standard, but you needed him to protect from here. The thought of being alone in the apartment was unbearable; you wanted him by your side, keeping you safe with his presence, not the mask.

"I wasn't there for you." Matt's fists were clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he stood in front of the suit, shirtless. Contemplating, or strategizing? You weren't sure. "I — if he had shot you — I can't—"

"Matt," you said again, louder this time. "I need—"

You were about to say "you" but the energy broiling in Matt's stance made you fall short. He needed to do this. You could be alone for a bit longer, you told yourself. "I need the bandages," you finished. "They're... not in the bathroom."

"They're under the kitchen sink," Matt said, and suddenly he turned around, his expression softer. "Let me help."

Inwardly sighing, you sat on the armchair, hugging your knees, while Matt cleaned your scrapes with a steady hand. He didn't say a word as he worked, his eyes darting about uncharacteristically. You still couldn't get a read on exactly what he was thinking. There was no chance he'd be angry at you, but that didn't preclude him from being disappointed.

How many other people would have been able to hold their own against that man? Everyone else in Matt's circle would have been capable. Frank, Jessica, Danny, Luke — they wouldn't have been even fazed at all. Elektra would have had a field day with him. Even Karen and Foggy had proved themselves quick to react in dangerous situations, and you couldn't help but think anyone in that situation other than you would have walked away unscathed. Your cheeks burned at the thought, as much as you willed them not to.

"What is it?" Matt said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Of course he'd notice the shift in your temperature.

"Maybe I deserved it," you said, a bit bitterly. "I shouldn't have been walking out there. Like you said, I could've called you. And I didn't. I could've learned more self-defense over the past few years, and I haven't. It's my own stupidity that's got me where I am."

Matt stilled. "You're blaming yourself?"

"I'm blaming my lack of foresight."

He resumed dabbing at your hands, and was silent for so long that you thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said, "With that line of reasoning, then it's my fault Elena Cardenas was killed. I should have done more."

"That's not the same, and you know it."

He ignored you. "It's also my fault that Foggy got shot, that time we were in Reyes's office. If I had been listening more closely to what was going on down the street, then I would have heard the threat coming sooner."

"Matt, come on. You know what I meant."

"And it's my fault that Fisk got out of prison. If I had the wherewithal to kill him the first day I met him, he would never have—"

"Stop it!"

"Do you get it?" he whispered. "It's not your fault. We could preoccupy ourselves all day with the ifs that might have changed what happened. But you can't beat yourself up over the ifs that you couldn't have predicted. The bad people in this world don't get to benefit from your own self-degradation. Never take the fall for something they've done."

You let out a short laugh through the tears that caught in your eyes. "You give great advice, Matt, but you're terrible at following it yourself."

"Touché. Take off your pants for me?"

You smiled. "You really know how to sweet-talk a girl."

Matt brushed his thumbs over the corners of your eyes, exactly where they were still damp. "Well, maybe once your knees are cleaned up, I'll show you how it's really done."

You pulled off your pants and tossed them onto the couch. "You're not... heading out onto the street?"

"I'd rather be here."

You hardly dared to believe it. "You sure?"

"Positive." He didn't hesitate as he bent down onto the floor, methodically poring over the scrapes with the washcloth. "You're my priority."

A warm glow flushed through your cheeks, this time out of relief, and the smile that tugged at Matt's lips told you that he sensed it. You let him finish bandaging up your knees before you grabbed his arm and pulled him next to you on the armchair. There wasn't much space, but you lifted your knees so that he was partially underneath you, squeezed next to one another so tightly that you could feel his heartbeat.

"Hey," you said, after a moment. "How'd you unlock the bathroom door without a key so quickly?"

"It's an easy trick. Stick showed me years ago."

"Can you show me?"

"A good magician keeps his secrets," Matt said. At your frown, he laughed. "I'll show you tomorrow."

"I love you," you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," he answered. You fell asleep to his hand running through your hair, the billboard outside rotating between hues of violet and cobalt, and the faint thrum of the muted air conditioner in the apartment above.

When you woke, you were in bed. It was still early; the dawn outside was muted. Matt must have carried you into the bedroom, because you had no memory of moving in there yourself. For a moment you feared he had taken to the streets, but feeling the warmth on your left, he was still there, and had been for some time. You shifted, trying to get nearer to his warmth. He said nothing but tugged you in even closer, his arms and legs thrown over you protectively.

What if you had been shot and killed? The thought was eerie. This bed would be empty. Matt would surely be out for the man's blood. And all this... you wouldn't ever get to experience it again. It was far too easy to take each day for granted. Far, far too easy.

One day at a time, then, you decided, and closed your eyes again as Matt's hand crept over your own.

[mybelovedwoo]

sound of love pt.2

hongjoong x f!reader

fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, work rivalry/ wc: 2.9k

warnings: arguments, kissing

note: part 2 is finally here everyone!!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics, you can apply here!

hongjoong masterlist - main masterlist

"Your sister?" Hongjoong repeated, his mind struggling to process the information.

The room fell into an awkward silence, the tension palpable. Maddox stood there, his fists clenched, glaring at Hongjoong. Y/n shifted uncomfortably, caught between her brother and the man she was just kissing.

"Yes," Maddox said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Y/n is my half-sister. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mess around with her."

Hongjoong's eyes flicked back to Y/n, who looked at him with a mixture of worry and apology. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I... I didn't know," he finally said, his voice softer.

Y/n stepped forward, placing a hand on Maddox's arm. "Maddox, please, it's not what you think. We were just—"

"Just what?" Maddox interrupted, his eyes never leaving Hongjoong's. "This place is important to all of us, and I don't want personal issues to interfere with our work."

Y/n sighed, trying to keep her voice calm. "I promise, Maddox. This won't affect our work."

Maddox exhaled slowly, his expression softening slightly as he looked at his sister. "Fine. But remember, Y/n, I'm watching out for you."

Hongjoong, his mind still reeling from the revelation, took a step forward. "This won't happen again," he said firmly, looking directly at Maddox. "I respect Y/n and our work here. I won't let anything jeopardize that."

Maddox gave a curt nod, seemingly satisfied with Hongjoong's response, and left the room, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. Y/n and Hongjoong stood in the silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between them.

-

In the days that followed, Hongjoong made a conscious effort to stay away from Y/n. The complications of their situation were too much for him to handle. He was mad that the truth had been hidden from him and the others, and he was mad that he liked her very much.

Every morning, Hongjoong arrived at the studio early, hoping to avoid any interaction with Y/n. He buried himself in his work, headphones clamped over his ears, eyes glued to his computer screen. When she entered the room, he barely acknowledged her presence, offering only curt nods and monosyllabic responses.

Y/n, noticing his cold demeanor, tried to reach out to him several times. She approached him during breaks, hoping to have a private conversation. "Hongjoong, can we talk?" she would ask, her voice tinged with concern.

He would look up briefly, his expression blank. "I'm busy," he would reply, turning his attention back to his work.

The distance he put between them was palpable. In team meetings, he avoided sitting next to her, choosing seats at the opposite end of the table. During brainstorming sessions, he directed his ideas to others, rarely making eye contact with Y/n.

Their once lively collaboration had become a series of stilted, professional exchanges. The creative energy that had flowed so naturally between them now felt strained and mechanical. The rest of the team noticed the shift, their curious glances and hushed whispers only adding to the tension.

Y/n, frustrated and hurt by Hongjoong's behavior, found herself constantly on edge. She didn't understand why he was pushing her away, and the more she tried to bridge the gap, the more he seemed to retreat.

One afternoon, she cornered him in the break room, her patience worn thin. "Hongjoong, we need to talk," she said firmly, blocking his way.

He sighed, avoiding her gaze. "There's nothing to talk about, Y/n. Let's just focus on our work."

"Don't give me that," Y/n snapped, frustration coloring her voice. "You can't keep shutting me out. What's really going on?"

Hongjoong's eyes flashed with anger. "You know exactly what's going on. This whole situation is a mess, and I don't know how to deal with it."

"At least let me explain the situation," Y/n pleaded, her voice softer now.

But Hongjoong shook his head, his expression hardening. "No, Y/n. I don't want to hear it. Just leave it alone."

Y/n's shoulders sagged with defeat as she watched him walk away, the distance between them growing wider with each passing day.

-

As fate would have it, the team had a scheduled work trip to a cabin retreat for brainstorming and team-building exercises. The idea was to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city and focus on their creative processes in a peaceful environment. The entire group was excited, but the tension between Y/n and Hongjoong cast a shadow over the trip.

They arrived at the cabin in the early afternoon. As everyone unpacked and settled in, Y/n and Hongjoong tried to keep their distance. Their interactions were limited to polite, strained exchanges, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air.

While everyone was busy unpacking the car, Y/n approached Hongjoong, determined to break the ice. "Hey, do you need any help with the luggage?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Hongjoong, struggling to lift a heavy music device, glanced at her briefly. "No, I can handle it," he replied curtly.

Y/n watched as he continued to struggle, the device clearly too heavy for him to manage alone. Before she could insist on helping, Hongjoong lost his grip and the device fell to the ground with a loud thud, causing him to stumble and fall with it.

"Are you okay?" Y/n asked, rushing to his side to help him up.

But Hongjoong, his frustration boiling over, snapped at her. "I said I didn't need your help!" he shouted, brushing her off.

Y/n stepped back, hurt by his harsh words. Hongjoong stood up, wincing as he put weight on his hurt foot. Without another word, he limped inside, leaving Y/n standing outside alone.

Later that afternoon, the group gathered in the main living area of the cabin, the atmosphere a blend of camaraderie and creative energy. They settled into their respective corners with their instruments and equipment, ready to work on the music for the album. Drinks were poured, laughter echoed, and the cabin buzzed with the vibrant chaos of collaboration.

Y/n, seeking a bit of solace amidst the lively chaos, found a quiet corner with her piano. She gently pressed the keys, letting soft, soothing melodies flow through the room. Hongjoong, who was strumming his guitar nearby, glanced at her every now and then, unable to completely ignore her presence.

As the hours passed and the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the cabin windows, Y/n's playing grew more introspective. She began to hum, her voice blending seamlessly with the piano. The melodies were hauntingly beautiful, filled with emotion that tugged at the heartstrings of anyone who listened.

Hongjoong watched her from across the room, his curiosity piqued. He couldn't hear the words she was humming, but he could see the shift in her expression—eyes closing, brows furrowing, lips quivering. The music took on a melancholic tone, and Hongjoong's chest tightened with an inexplicable ache.

Suddenly, Y/n's playing stopped. She stood up abruptly, her face a picture of suppressed pain, and hurriedly left the room, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Hongjoong's heart sank as he watched her retreat up the stairs, disappearing into her room.

The room fell into an awkward silence, the previous joviality replaced with a sense of concern. Maddox, noticing his sister's sudden departure, frowned and glanced at Hongjoong, who looked away, guilt and confusion etched on his face.

"Should we check on her?" one of their colleagues asked, breaking the silence.

Maddox shook his head gently. "No, she just needs some time. Let's give her some space."

But Hongjoong couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to do something. He stood up, setting his guitar aside, and without a word, followed Y/n up the stairs. The hallway outside her room was dimly lit, the only sound the faint echo of her soft sobs.

He knocked gently on her door. "Y/n? Can we talk?"

There was a long pause before she replied, her voice shaky. "Go away, Hongjoong. I don't want to talk right now."

"Please, Y/n," he pleaded, his hand resting on the door frame. "I... I want to understand. Let me in."

The door creaked open slightly, and Y/n stood there, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She looked at him with a mix of sadness and vulnerability. "Now you want to talk?"

Hongjoong took a deep breath, his expression earnest. "Yes, now I want to talk. I know I've been distant and cold, but I care about you, Y/n. Seeing you like this... it hurts."

She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "So why did you keep pushing me away? Why now, Hongjoong?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because I didn't know how to deal with my feelings. Everything became so complicated, and I was scared. But I don't want to keep hurting you."

Y/n looked down, her shoulders trembling. "It's been so hard, Hongjoong. I thought we had something special, but then you just... shut me out."

He reached out, gently lifting her chin so she would look at him. "We do have something special. And I don't want to lose that. Can you tell me what happened? I want to hear your reasoning."

Y/n took a deep breath, her eyes searching his face for sincerity. "Alright. Maddox and I are half-siblings. We share the same mother but have different fathers." She paused, then continued, "We agreed not to tell anyone about our relationship. We didn't want anyone to think that I got the job because he is my brother. I wanted to show my abilities, what I'm capable of. I wanted to be respected for my work."

Hongjoong nodded, his expression softening as he listened. "That makes sense. But why didn't you tell me once we got close?"

"Because," she continued, "I didn't want you to think less of me or to think I was hiding something important. And by the time I realized how much I liked you, it felt like it was too late to explain. I was scared you'd be mad, and it turns out I was right."

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I understand now. It just hurt to think that you were keeping such a big part of your life from me. I felt like I couldn't trust you."

Y/n nodded, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "I get that. I really do. But I never meant to hurt you, Hongjoong. I was just trying to protect my relationship with Maddox and keep things professional."

He took her hands in his, squeezing them gently. "I'm sorry for pushing you away. I was just overwhelmed and didn't know how to handle everything. But I want to try again, Y/n. Can we?"

A small smile broke through her tears, and she nodded. "Yes, Hongjoong. We can try again."

Y/n pulled him into her room, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Hongjoong's eyes widened in surprise as she closed the door behind them. She stood in front of him, looking down, her demeanor suddenly shy and uncertain. "Now can we talk bout that kiss that happened between us?"

Hongjoong took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "Okay, let's talk about it."

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "That kiss... it was unexpected, but it meant something to me. Did it mean anything to you, or was it just in the heat of the moment?"

Hongjoong stepped closer, his gaze sincere. "It meant a lot to me, Y/n. I didn't plan it, but I don't regret it. It made me realize just how much I care about you."

She blushed, her heart swelling with hope. "I care about you too, Hongjoong. I was scared that my feelings were one-sided, and that maybe you kissed me out of anger or frustration."

He shook his head, gently taking her hands in his. "No, it wasn't out of anger or frustration. It was because I couldn't hold back my feelings any longer. I've been pushing you away because I was scared, but I don't want to do that anymore."

Hongjoong stepped closer, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. He reached up and gently stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear. The tenderness in his touch made her heart flutter.

Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, tentative kiss. Y/n's eyes fluttered closed as she melted into the kiss, her hands moving to rest on his shoulders. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them wrapped in the moment.

The kiss deepened, growing more passionate and urgent as their emotions spilled over. Hongjoong's hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further. Y/n responded in kind, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him close.

They stumbled slightly, their movements uncoordinated but filled with a desperate need to be closer. Hongjoong's legs bumped against the edge of the bed, and they tumbled onto the mattress, their lips never breaking contact.

Y/n found herself lying beneath Hongjoong, his body pressing down against hers in a way that sent a thrill through her. She arched her back slightly, her hands roaming over his shoulders and down his back, feeling the strength and warmth of him.

Hongjoong pulled back slightly, his breath ragged as he looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Y/n..."

She smiled up at him, her own breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "Hongjoong, I..."

He silenced her with another kiss, this one even more fervent than the last. His hands roamed over her body, exploring the curves and lines that he had only dared to imagine before. She responded eagerly, her own hands caressing and pulling him closer.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as they lost themselves in each other. The kiss became a conduit for all the emotions they had been holding back—fear, desire, hope, and love—all mingling together in a heady, intoxicating blend.

Eventually, they pulled back, their foreheads resting against each other as they caught their breath. Y/n's eyes were bright with unshed tears, but this time, they were tears of happiness. 

They lay in each other's arms for a while, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. The warmth and comfort they found in each other felt like the beginning of something beautiful.

Hongjoong gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/n's face and asked, "What was that song you played earlier on the piano?"

Y/n looked at him, her eyes softening with affection. "Do you want to hear it?"

He nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Yes, I'd love to."

They both stood up, and hand in hand, they walked downstairs to where the rest of the team was gathered. As they entered the room, their colleagues looked up, curious and slightly surprised to see the newfound closeness between them.

Y/n made her way to the piano and sat down, glancing at Hongjoong who gave her an encouraging nod. She took a deep breath and announced, "I wrote a song, and I'd like to share it with you all."

The room fell silent, all eyes on her. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation as Y/n positioned her fingers on the keys and began to play. The melody flowed effortlessly, capturing the room's attention with its beauty and emotion.

Her voice joined the music, soft and haunting, as she sang the words that had been pouring from her heart:

"In the quiet of the night, I found a melody, A whisper of the stars, A secret symphony.

In the shadow of the moon, I felt a gentle breeze, A story in the silence, A heart's sweet release."

Her colleagues listened, captivated by the raw emotion in her voice and the poignant lyrics that seemed to resonate with everyone in the room.

Hongjoong watched her, his heart swelling with pride and admiration. The song was beautiful, a testament to her talent and the depth of her feelings.

"Every note a tear, Every chord a sigh, In this song of love, We will learn to fly.

Though the path is long, And the night is cold, With this melody, We'll find our way home."

As she finished, the last notes lingering in the air, the room erupted in applause. Y/n looked up, her eyes meeting Hongjoong's, and she smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment and connection.

Maddox was the first to speak, his voice filled with pride. "That was amazing, Y/n. Truly beautiful."

The others chimed in with their praises, each one expressing their admiration for her talent and the song's emotional impact.

Hongjoong made his way to her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You were incredible," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

Y/n's heart fluttered at his words, and she leaned into his touch. "Thank you, Hongjoong. It means a lot."

As the night continued, filled with music, laughter, and camaraderie, Hongjoong glanced at Y/n, her smile radiant as she interacted with their colleagues, and felt a warmth in his chest.

In that crowded music store, he had been so frustrated, so determined to get his hands on that last speaker. But now, as he looked at Y/n, he realized how glad he was that he hadn't. If he had, he might never have met the woman who had changed his life in ways he could never have imagined.

It felt like destiny, like some cosmic force had orchestrated their encounter, setting the stage for a symphony of emotions, challenges, and ultimately, love. The rivalry that had sparked between them had been the catalyst for something beautiful, a perfect harmony that resonated deeply within him.

Hongjoong knew that their journey was just beginning. There would be more challenges, more disagreements, and more moments of doubt. But there would also be more music, more laughter, and more love. Together, they would create something extraordinary. 

-

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