#oneoftheextras

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t six

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 8k

chapter warnings: tension, almost fight, fluff

proof-read by my girl: @madschiavelique

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord for updates

“Hello! What can I get for you both today?” the barista beamed at you both, her smile radiating the warmth of genuine welcome.

She handed you both a laminated menu which you took, but Jayce hesitated slightly before he accepted the double-sided paper, not quite enjoying the feeling of the plastic against his skin.

“Oh, hello!” you greeted her back and let out a long “Uhhh,” of thought. You’d been so concerned about whether this café was suitable that you hadn’t even thought about what you wanted to eat.

You glanced up from the menu and saw that Jayce was having as much trouble as you. “If you would like a moment to decide that’s okay!” the barista continued her kind smile, “Just find a table and come up to the counter when you’re ready.”

Jayce moved the menu towards you and pointed to the drink he wanted and you nodded, “I think we’ll need a minute for food but drinks are good to go,” you spoke to the barista but your eyes flitted to Jayce, awaiting his nod of confirmation, which he provided.

You gave her your drink orders and paid, then walked through the small cafe looking for somewhere cosy for the two of you to sit. 

Considering it wasn’t that big of a building, there were quite a few tables for its potential customers - small circular tables with only two chairs for intimate exchanges, ranging to large booths for a gathering of people, the options were overwhelming.

“Where do you want to sit?” you whispered to Jayce as if it were a secret between the two of you, the pressure of wanting to make this outing perfect making you recede within yourself. As if all your confidence had been used in the previous confrontation.

Jayce shrugged and glanced down at you with a tilted head, his expression changing slightly when he saw your shy demeanour. He surveyed the room for a second and then started walking towards a four person table by a wall of bookshelves, peeking over his shoulder to make sure you were following him; you were.

He pulled out two of the chairs on one side, giving you the option of which of the two you wanted to sit on, before walking to the other side and sitting in the one he’d chosen for himself.

Whilst the chairs themselves were aged and made of hardwood, the owners had arranged an assortment of cushions and pillows on top of them to make the surfaces more comfortable for longer stays. You picked up the pillow from the chair you didn’t sit on and put it behind your back, sighing with the relief that it brought.

Jayce didn’t seem that bothered by the hardness of his seat as he pulled the plush cushion out from under his body and presented it to you. You laughed gently and shook your head, “Two is enough for me, but thank you,”, at your words, he placed it on top of the seat next to him and gently pushed it down as if he were telling it to stay put.

There was a beat of silence between you, the only noise being the busy ambiance of the people around you. The subtle ‘Psst’ of the coffee machine nozzle blowing out fresh steam. The clattering and clinking of cups and cutlery. It was just enough to keep the awkwardness away from your table.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you apologised, finally breaking the silence between you. Jayce gazed up at you, his forehead wrinkled at the raise of his eyebrows and his ears bounced at the sound of your voice; his head still tilted downwards as he inspected the menu but his attention was now on you.

His eyes searched yours, possibly looking for where your sentence was going. “In the other cafe-” you clarified, even though you didn’t need to, Jayce knew what you were talking about, “-I didn’t think it through properly, and I should’ve checked beforehand to make sure it was okay for you,” your eyes lost contact with his, the guilt you were feeling forcing you to look anywhere but him.

“I just didn’t expect it from them,” you pulled the sleeve of your top up over your knuckles and played with the fabric, “I’ve been going there since I’ve lived here and they’ve never been like that with anyone,” you knew you were rambling but you couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

You cleared your throat, you were unintentionally making excuses for them, and they didn’t deserve that. Jayce didn’t deserve that.

“They were assholes to you, I’m sorry,” you said firmly and regained your confidence enough to look back at him. It was as though his eyes had never shifted from when you’d started talking; he studied your expressions as you spoke as if he was going to have a test on it later that day.

You felt visually dissected by him, and you could tell he was searching for something specific beneath the word vomit that was being expelled from your mouth, but you didn’t know what.

He blinked slowly at you and you felt a wave of reassurance flitter over you, but before you could verbally dig yourself deeper into this apology hole the barista appeared at the end of your table.

“Got those drinks for you!” She put the two mugs down on the table with such delicacy that the ceramic clicking against the wood was almost inaudible. Just as quickly as she’d arrived, she left again with a happy “Enjoy!”.

Then it was back to the silence. Even though you’d already apologised, and everything in your gut told you not to linger on the subject and to move on, your heart couldn’t let it go.

The urge to bring it up again teetered on the edge of your tongue and you weren’t sure if you could balance it well enough for it not to topple over and fall out of your mouth. 

His attention had returned to the laminated menu, reading every item with a curious intensity. There was a perfect excuse to change the subject onto what he wanted to eat, if he liked the music that was playing, or even if he was warm enough where you were sitting, but the roots of guilt were too deep into you that you felt like you needed to rip them out before the infestation was incurable.

“Why did you leave?” You asked before you could stop yourself and his body stopped moving at the mention of the situation, as though the thought of it turned him into a statue like a memory-medusa.

His vision went from the menu, to you, to the table, then back to you again.

He put the menu back down on the surface and laced his fingers together in front of him, seemingly in thought. 

You should’ve left it alone, moved on with the afternoon and allowed him peace, but you were being selfish. The need to remove this guilt off of your shoulders had overpowered the conscious thought to let him move on, and that only pushed the stone of anxiety deeper into your stomach.

“It doesn’t matter, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” you quickly tried to erase the question ever coming out of your mouth, but no matter how hard you inhaled, the words wouldn’t go back into your body.

You read the menu in front of you with such forced focus that you weren’t actually reading the words on the page, the same thoughts swirling around in your mind and overpowering any cognitive ability you had left to take in the letters and form any coherent sentences.

Out of your peripheral vision, you could see his fingers unwrap themselves from each other and his arms lift from the table. You locked your eye line onto the menu, actively ignoring what he was doing, feeling as if you had done enough damage for one day.

After a few moments he tapped the table and slid a napkin over to you, the white square landing diagonally over the text you were pretending to read. In black ink, the word ‘Safer’ was scribbled - parts of the tissue had ripped from the force of the pen tip, but it was legible.

You took the napkin in your hands, holding it delicately as if it would rip apart if you moved too quickly. “Safer?” you read it aloud and returned your gaze to him. His eyes flicked to the napkin and then to your face, nodding once.

“As in, it’s safer here?” you queried, the tight knot in your chest and your incessant need to overthink apparently making you forget the question you’d asked him.

He closed his eyes and exhaled with, what you regarded to be, annoyance. His shoulders relaxed as he opened them again and jutted his chin towards the exit. “Outside? Do you want to leave?” your heart sunk at the prospect that you’d only made the situation worse, making two mistakes in one day.

He shook his head side to side, his brown locks mimicking the motion in front of his forehead. No. He tapped the napkin twice with the ballpoint of the pen, harder than he had before and widened his eyes with his mouth slightly agape like he was mentally repeating what he was trying to say but the wavelength wasn’t reaching you. Your brain was too full of everything you’d done wrong today.

“I-” you started, looking down at the word and back to him as if viewing it another time would somehow rearrange the letters into a way that would form the sentence he was trying so hard to get to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” your eyebrows raised with sympathy from their previous state of confusion.

He reached forward quickly and spun the napkin back towards him, clicking the pen with his thumb and starting to scrawl more words onto the fragile surface. One letter in and you watched the delicate fabric tear from the force he was pressing down, making it completely unusable. 

The hand that was holding the tissue in place swiftly scrunched it up in his palm, the same hand coming to massage his nose with frustration. His shoulders rose with a deep inhale, he held it for a second, then pushed it out of his nose as a way to calm down.

A minute of you watching him rub the indent between his eyes with his index finger and thumb felt like hours. Multiple times you had opened your mouth to say something but closed it again, not being able to find any words that would comfort anyone but yourself.

The usual comfortable silence between you was tainted with tension you didn’t know how to relieve. The pangs of nostalgia picked at your heart with involuntary memories of weaponised silent treatment.

But Jayce wasn’t him. It wasn’t like that with him, his silence was not a battle against you but one within himself and you needed to be patient with him.

“It’s okay,” you finally said, and he opened his eyes to meet yours again, his fingers still connected to the bridge of his nose. A cautious smile strained onto your lips, “I’m sorry I pushed, and I’m too much of an idiot to understand,” the second part of your sentence was supposed to have humour to it, but the moment it left your lips his frown deepened. He shook his head at your self-deprecating remark, clearly not liking the way you were speaking about yourself, but he softened his gaze and lowered his hand.

“We can talk about something else if you want?” you spoke with a new gentleness, trying to navigate the situation properly. You didn’t wait for him to answer before you threw another question at him, “Have you decided on what you want to eat?”.

Jayce stares at you and blinks as if he’s trying to keep up with the barrage of questions coming his way. He lowers his head to the menu again and exhales out of his nose twice in a mixture of a sigh and a chuckle, a ghost of a smile twitching on his lips.

He appreciated how hard you were trying to make him comfortable, it made the thrums of his own frustrations fizzle out into a calmness he wasn’t yet used to.

He laced two of his fingers through the handle of his mug and sipped his drink, reeling back for a moment as the hot liquid burned his top lip unexpectedly. His tongue ran over the sensitive flesh to soothe it as he looked down at the foam like it had done it intentionally.

As if watching him sip his coffee made you remember that you too had a drink, you mimicked his movements, lifting your cup to your mouth and blowing on the top layer of foam, not wanting to make the same mistake he did.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, he turned the menu with his other hand and pointed at what he wanted. 

A loud grumble sounded from across the table, Jayce’s stomach seemingly agreeing with his choice. “You must be so hungry, I’m sorry!”, you said as you collected the menus off of the table and stood, the legs of the chair audibly creaking against the floor from the speed your thighs had pushed it backwards.

“I’ll go order the food and I’ll be right back,” you tapped the table twice with your knuckles and headed for the counter.

You stared at the words on the page, repeating what Jayce wanted over and over in your mind as you stood behind an older man. He was taking his time querying all the different syrup flavours that they had to offer.

You didn’t mind waiting. It gave you a moment of reprieve to catch your breath and slow your thoughts. Jayce was patient, but you couldn’t help but feel like you’d pushed that patience to its limit already, and this was your first real day together.

It wouldn’t surprise you if you woke up tomorrow morning and he was nowhere to be found with how badly today had gone. Your chest cramped at the thought.

“Hi, are you ready to order?” The barista’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Hi, um, yes!” You stepped forward and put your hands, and the menu’s against the counter, relaying what Jayce wanted and then your own choice.

You were pretty sure you’d remembered his order correctly, you prayed you had.

“Great, we’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready,” she finished scribbling on her notepad and punctuated it with a full stop, “You’re number six,” she handed you a wooden spoon with the number six drawn onto the convex side with black sharpie.

You took the spoon and started to turn when you spotted a pile of whiteboards and pens behind the partition that separated customers and staff.

“Excuse me?” You called out to her as she reached through the gantry, a hand - who’s owner you couldn’t see - took the paper slip containing your food order from her fingers.

She twisted her head around to you, giving you her attention once more, her face expectant and awaiting your question.

“Are those whiteboards for customers?” You asked, the inquiry feeling a bit silly now that you’d heard your own voice make it audible. “It’s just-“ you continued, over-explaining yourself again “-Your companion is mute?” She finished your question for you with an expression of understanding and sympathy. 

“Uh, yeah,” you confirmed, a little taken aback that she knew what you were going to say before you could vocalise it, “That’s why we have them!” She grabbed one of the whiteboards and individually picked up a black, blue and red marker.

As she handed them to you, she must have noticed your surprised expression, or it was extremely obvious that you were out of your depth as she started to explain in more detail.

“It’s common for our hybrid friends to choose not to speak, most of them have been through a lot, it takes time for them to re-find their voice,” there was a sad but hopeful lint to her words, as if she’d experienced it personally. 

The implication that Jayce may speak one day made your heart thump an extra time. You’d heard him chuckle and clear his throat multiple times, so you knew he had the itinerary needed, but hearing someone else say it filled you with optimism.

“Although, not all of them do,” her interjection dampened your internal celebration. She must have seen the excitement on your face and not wanted to give you false hope, “My nana had a hybrid who never spoke a word to her for her whole life, but she was the funniest person she knew, apparently.”

Whilst you wanted to stay and chat to the young girl, you glanced over your shoulder to make sure Jayce was still content while he waited for you. 

He was sat sideways in his chair, one arm on the backrest and the other on the table as he observed his surroundings in more detail. You could spare a few minutes to maybe learn something that might help you make him more comfortable.

“She never spoke to her?” You asked, encouraging her to continue her story, “Not a word! All their communication was written,” she grabbed a cloth and started to wipe down the nozzles of the coffee machine as she spoke.

“My nana is the one who opened this place around 30 years ago, I think? And she was adamant we have enough whiteboards and pens for every table, that’s what mom said anyway,” she grinned as she retold the memory. It was nice to know this was a family owned business of people who genuinely cared for hybrids.

She dropped the cloth onto the counter, “I won’t keep you from your afternoon, but if you want more info about hybrids we have a couple of books,” she pointed to the bookshelves by the table Jayce had chosen.

“Is it that obvious I’m new to this?” You laughed and rubbed your elbow with your hand, the girl raised her hand and made a pinching motion with her fingers, “A teensie bit,” she played along with your humour.

“But it’s okay, we all start somewhere! You’ve made it harder for yourself by starting with such a large breed, but if the connection’s there, that’s all that matters!” She reassured you, the cadence of her voice carrying that of someone much over than she seemed.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you smiled at her with gratitude and left her to her job, returning back to Jayce.

Waiting for the food to arrive was much less awkward than before you’d ordered. Whatever tension you were feeling you’d seemingly left somewhere on the journey between your table and the counter.

The two of you sat in silence, taking turns to sip your drinks and take in your surroundings.

Jayce’s attention was on the ceiling where there was an intricate painting of ivy vines and leaves intermingling with, what you presumed to be, fake ivy pinned to the same surface. It gave the interior a more at-home-in-nature type of vibe.

Meanwhile, you were observing him. The way his curious eyes followed the trail of greens and ambers from the corner of the room to the expanse of the ceiling above you. The way his throat bounced with every swallow of his coffee, and his lips turned up into a satisfied and content smile.

His side profile was angular; the slope of his nose just after the slightly raised dorsum emphasised the tip nicely - it would wrinkle intermittently whenever a new scent found its way to his nostrils. His rounded lips, although scarred with harsh lines, were outlined almost-perfectly by his coarse beard.

The strands of hair from his moustache were beginning to peak over a bit too much, and you realised he would probably need to shave soon if he didn’t want to be eating it with his food.

As if he knew you were analysing the shape of his mouth, his lips parted slightly as he continued to admire the artwork above him, giving you a glimpse of the canines that you’d seen in different context this morning.

You couldn’t help but wonder what his voice sounded like. It wasn’t something you could rush, nor could you hold onto the expectation that you would hear it. But you could still wonder nonetheless.

Would it hold the same soft, patient, gentleness that you’d seen in his eyes? 

Before your thoughts could take you any further, your plates were set down in front of you and you began to eat.

You hadn’t realised just how hungry you were until the first morsel of food connected with your tongue, your tummy immediately grumbling as if you weren’t actively feeding it.

He ate faster than you, and you realised he had the same sensation. The last time either of you ate was last night, and you were most certain that he hadn’t gotten proper rest. 

“I’m sorry it took us so long to eat, I shouldn’t have dragged you around town,” you covered your mouth as you spoke to make sure no stray food flew at him despite having an empty mouth.

While he chewed the last few bites of his meal, he reached for the whiteboard marker and popped off the lid, scribbling on the board’s surface much easier than he had the napkin.

‘Stop apologising’ he’d written in hurried handwriting. You read it as you swallowed your mouthful, your instinct was to say sorry again but as you opened your mouth to do so he gave you a scolding look.

He didn’t need to write it down for you to understand he was saying ‘Don’t you dare’.

“I do that a lot, don’t I?”, he closed his eyes and nodded as he put the last piece of his food into his mouth and savoured the flavour. He didn’t seem annoyed, but you made a mental note to not say it as much.

“Okay, I’m never going to apologise to you again,” you joked, trying to fight the curl of your lips, but his raised eyebrow made you crack.

It was nice, sitting there with him. Comfortable.

When you’d finally caught up to him and cleared your plate, he picked it up and slid it on top of his, placing them both towards the end of the table so the server could retrieve them easier.

It was moments like these that you forgot what his file said about him. Feral tendencies and behavioural trouble seemed like the furthest thing from his repertoire. 

Instead, he replaced where your plates had been with the whiteboard, rubbing out where he’d chastised you with the same napkin he’d ripped earlier and drew two horizontal lines and two vertical lines over the top of them.

As you were tipping the last of your drink into your mouth to wash down your food, you hummed excitedly as you recognised what he was doing. Tic-tac-toe.

He picked up all three of the pens and presented them to you with a gaze that said ‘Choose your weapon’, for this battle, you chose blue. He put the black pen down, having selected red as his sword for this tournament.

He gestured to you to start and you realised he was letting you go first. You twirled the pen between your fingers as you looked over the whiteboard, trying to decide which space to put your circle in.

“It’s been years since I’ve played this,” you recalled as you observed the grid. From your memory, going first almost always guaranteed a win because the other player would always be on the defensive, trying to counter the first player’s moves, it seemed like he was almost doing you a favour by letting you begin.

With an air of confidence, you put your blue circle in the top middle box. Before your pen had even lifted from the board he’d put his cross in the top right box, next to yours, with two swipes of the pen.

You narrowed your eyes with a sly smile, and he returned your expression with a raised eyebrow. Oh, it was going to be that type of game.

You had learned your lesson by underestimating him previously, but you wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Readjusting your posture so your elbows were on the table and your back an unhealthy arch, you inspected the board.

The circle and cross next to each other stared back at you as your brain mentally drew all the different moves you could make, he would be the one blocking your victory after all.

He watched you think. The way you chewed your bottom lip and your eyes darted to each square then back to the scribbles already on the board, the light crease in between your eyebrows whenever you reached a conclusion where he would win, and the subsequent shake of your head to erase the invisible game you were playing with him in his head. 

He liked seeing you serious about a game, it sent a rush of adrenaline through him, finding a worthy opponent was difficult.

He could probably guess where your next circle was going to go just by how often your eyes locked onto the square, and he was already planning his own measures to stop you succeeding. He was correct in his assumption when he followed your pen to the middle left box.

You hoped your tactic would work - cutting off the middle box of the left and top so he wouldn’t be able to predict where you were going to go next, and so he couldn’t win on those lines. 

He would surely take the bottom left so you couldn’t complete a trio on the left column and leaving the middle box unprotected for your taking - then you would have the option of winning horizontally or vertically. 

The red pen drifted towards the left corner and you couldn’t help the grin that started to creep its way onto your face, soon victory would be yours.

Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he swiped two lines in the bottom right corner. 

Your smile dropped, your plan had failed. But then your mouth parted as your eyes finally relayed the information you were seeing to your brain, the middle right box was blank and he was one move away from winning.

Promptly, you drew your circle in the space, blocking his pesky red cross from triumphing over you. Although you hadn’t given yourself time to think about your move, it was the only one you could make that wouldn’t end the game immediately.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating in his throat and causing you to glance up at him. His lips were parted and his tongue caressed the tip of his fang for a moment before resting back in his mouth, the glint in his eye was almost identical to the one he had once his food had arrived. Hungry and ready to pounce.

You swallowed the saliva that had built up in your throat, the few microseconds it took for him to raise his pen building the suspense of your fate in a way that made your heart race. 

You’d lost. Even though the game was still in motion, you could tell by his eager expression that he had you exactly where he wanted you. With threads of hope that you could still turn this around, but he was three steps ahead of you on a hill you couldn’t see over.

Eventually, he slowly drew his red cross in the centre square. Ironic, you thought you were being clever by not taking that one to begin with, but now it was your downfall.

The tip of his pen was still against the whiteboard when he raised his eyes to lock with yours, his golden irises held anticipation but not for how the game was going to conclude. No, he knew that from your first move, it was more so for your reaction. He wanted to consume your realisation of your defeat, and drink in the helplessness of knowing that whatever move you made, he had won.

You blinked rapidly, breaking the eye contact with him and taking in your situation. It took you a moment to register what had happened, but then you saw it. The only spaces blank were the top left, and the bottom and middle left - he could win with either the top or bottom left by making a diagonal red trio.

When you’d understood you’d lost you thought it was just by one space, but knowing that he had a selection of ways that he could claim his victory made you comprehend exactly who your opponent was.

One square would’ve been an honourable loss. However, the way he’d not only given you an advantage by going first, but so swiftly pulled that advantage out from under you and given it to himself was nothing short of impeccable.

“You win,” you straightened your back and spoke softly, starting to put your pen down in defeat. He tutted and you didn’t need to see his face to know that he was telling you the game wasn’t over yet. To surrender so close to the end would be to rip his reward from him.

Your fingers hadn’t left the pen yet and you’d already conceded to his wishes, drawing a lazy circle in the bottom corner and securing his success.

He folded his arms on the table in front of him and watched you pull your pen away hesitantly, as if the longer you took the longer you could live in the moment where you hadn’t lost.

The hand that was holding his pen came up to rest on his face as he tapped his cheekbone in mock deep thought, he smirked smugly as his eyes went from the whiteboard to your face, his lids slightly hooded but you could still see the gold of his irises piercing you with indiscernible contemplation.

He’d already won, so why was he dragging it out? You squirmed in your seat under the pressure of his gaze, and you saw his smile deepen. Ah, that was why.

Deciding that he’d tortured you enough, he put his cross in the top left box and drew a diagonal line through his three territories, signalling him as the winner.

You exhaled deeply and leaned back in your chair, examining the board to try and figure out where you went wrong, how he’d so quickly gotten the upper hand on you, but you were coming up blank.

He erased the whiteboard and re-drew the grid and you were all too happy to try and even the score.

The rest of the games were draws. As much as you wanted to win, the mixture of overthinking his moves and second-guessing your own meant that, no matter how hard you tried, he beat you. But the flash of his teeth and curl of his lips made it worthwhile - you didn’t mind losing if it made him happy.

You tapped your phone screen, having noticed that the cafe was starting to quieten down with empty seats, it was getting late. “I think they’re closing soon,” you said with regret, watching him wipe the previous game off of the board with the napkin, “Is there anything else you want?” you asked as you stood from your chair.

He thought for a moment and shook his head as he continued to clean up the board and put the pens on top of it in a neat line.

You picked it up and put your hand over the pens so they wouldn’t roll off as you walked and returned it back to the counter. You began to turn back around to the table and make your exit when you saw a cupcake in the bakery cabinet, vanilla sponge with a little bit of frosting and a strawberry, cut in half, nestled on top.

Immediately you asked the barista for it, you remembered in Jayce’s file that he liked strawberries and his favourite type of cake was vanilla - although, the document did state that vanilla was the only flavour they were able to get him to try in the short span of time he was there, but at least you knew he didn’t hate it.

You paid and she passed the treat to you on a little ceramic plate, you held it like it was the most precious thing in the world; this was your cargo to carry to its destination. However, as you slowly spun to return to Jayce, your shoulder collided with someone walking quickly behind you.

A sudden gasp left your lips as the cupcake wobbled but remained standing, and you gazed up at the moving target you’d accidentally hit. Another canine hybrid. His hair was a gradient of black to white from the roots to the ends, but with no uniform pattern, light grey being the dominant colour you could see - emphasised by the pointed grey ears sticking out from the wavy mess. A husky, if you had to guess. “I’m-”, “I’m so sorry!” you both spoke at the same time, but you were the one to finish your sentence first. He regarded you with icy blue irises, slightly obscured by the playful but curious hood of his lids.

“It’s fine, shit happens,” he shrugged with one shoulder, ironically the one you’d collided with, his voice was melodic with a slight raspiness to certain words. If this had been the first hybrid you ever encountered you would’ve never second-guessed if they could speak.

Internally, you scolded yourself. Automatically assuming that every hybrid was incapable of dialogue because they were different from you is not what they deserved.

Whilst you were in thought, you must’ve been staring at his shoulder because his hand came up to grab it dramatically, “I mean, ah!-” he bent his knees to dip as if he’d just been hit, “-I think it might be broken, you really did a number on me!” 

There wasn’t a single drop of sincerity in his voice or his features as he scrunched up his face and grit his teeth in faux pain, the bridge and nose piercing bobbing with the sudden contraction of the muscle.

He opened one of his eyes to see your reaction, his face still a performance of agony, and his bottom lip pouted as if it took a lot of concentration not to break his character.

Then you laughed, hesitantly at first, but when he joined you it flowed easily. 

You thought an awkward silence was going to follow, but his voice filled your ears again. “I haven’t seen you here before, first time?” he lowered his hand and his genuine tone returned.

You nodded, “Yeah, only found out about this place today. It’s nice!” you glanced around the cafe as if you were seeing it for the first time again, mainly to avoid his eye contact. Whilst he had a comforting aura about him, the light blue of his eyes felt like they were boring into your very soul.

“Well, I don’t get to come here often, but I’ll certainly remember a face like yours,” he wasn’t subtle in his compliment, but if there was any doubt of the intention of his words, the mischievous one-sided grin would’ve been all the evidence you needed.

You exhaled out of your nose as a bashful laugh escaped you. Despite his forward nature, this man was charming, you could tell he wasn’t serious in his advances but his playfulness was a breath of fresh air.

The man’s eyes trailed behind you and up, his smile remaining but his eyes lost their joyful lint. You turned your head to glance behind you but felt a tug on the back of your sweater, pulling you backwards and making you take a few steps back. 

Jayce moved one step forward, placing half of his body in front of yours and between you and your new acquaintance. 

The atmosphere shifted in a bubble around the three of you, the rest of the cafe unaffected by the unspoken argument between blue and golden gazes. 

You didn’t need to see Jayce’s face to know his features were hard and apprehensive as he stared down at him, you could tell by the way he adjusted his shoulders. The smaller man tilted his head to the side, chin raising and back straightening to try and make himself look bigger.

It was like watching two peacocks bristling their feathers at each other. You reached your hand out to touch Jayce’s bicep but refrained from making contact, afraid that it might make the situation worse, “Jayce, it’s okay. He’s friendly,” you spoke softly but strongly. Maybe sounding confident would put him at ease that you weren’t in danger.

Jayce’s ear twitched towards you, hearing your words but his body language didn’t change. “No harm meant, big guy,” the husky reinforced your statement with his own, but folded his arms over his chest defensively. You swore you caught a glimpse of redness on his knuckles, but it could’ve been from the cold weather.

The tension in the air wasn’t fading and you could feel that both of them weren’t willing to back down anytime soon.

“Jayce, stop!” you called his name, this time not shouting but firmly and direct as an attempt to get his attention away from his potential opponent. “Listen to her,” the younger man jutted his chin towards you without his eyes leaving Jayce.

You flicked a stare towards your new friend, a gaze that told him that he wasn’t helping the situation, but before you could vocalise your thoughts to him a man came jogging towards the three of you.

“Abraxas!” His voice carried a command that you could never dream of speaking to Jayce with. Once he was level with you all he looked between the two hybrids, “Is he causing trouble?” The man panted, clearly out of breath from his speedy approach.

The husky - who must have been Abraxas - turned his head to the man with offense, unravelling his arms from his chest and extended his arms out either side of him with annoyance, “I didn’t do anything! We were chatting and this guy-” he raised his arm to gesture at Jayce but his sentence was cut off by the man’s hand pushing against his chest sharply to make him stand behind him.

You noticed how Abraxas’ ears drooped slightly at the action, but it had done the job of silencing him.

“He always does this,” he shook his head disapprovingly, “These bigger canines are hard to control sometimes, you turn your back for one second and they’re starting fights,” he spoke with a cadence of comradery with you, as if he was talking to someone who would mutually understand.

But it made you think. If Jayce got out of hand, would you stand a chance at calming him down?

Your gaze drifted back to the side of Jayce’s face as you cautiously stepped in front of him again so you could converse with the man. The fabric of your sweater was still pinched between his fingers and you felt the resistance of his gentle tug once he’d deemed you were close enough.

“It was all a big misunderstanding,” you explained, trying to portray with your voice how silly this whole altercation was. “At least your one is quiet, I can’t get him to shut up most days,” he chuckled, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Abraxas, who seemed just as offended as before at the comment.

“I’m Henry, by the way,” the man extended his hand for you to shake and you resisted the urge to check with Jayce before you shook it and gave him your name. “Us canine owners have gotta stick together,” there was a noticeable crease beside his eyes when he spoke, showing his age. “Well, this is actually our first day together,” you corrected him and gestured to Jayce, who was still tense. “Ah!” Henry glanced between the two of you as if he had secret information of events you were yet to experience, “They can be a handful, but looks like you’ve got a good one,” his eyes trailed over Jayce as if he was examining him.

“This is Jayce,” you introduced him, missing the side eye that Jayce gave you as you freely offered up his name to this stranger, “Nice to meet you Jayce, sorry about the trouble,” Henry extended his hand for him to take as well, but you weren’t surprised when it was left hanging in the air.

“Well,” Henry dropped his hand and turned back to you, “I wish you luck! I’d offer you my number as a support line, but I wouldn’t want to impose!”, “Yes, please, that would be great!” you waited for him to finish speaking before you interjected with your acceptance out of politeness.

The truth was, after the events of today, this was going to be hard. You didn’t want to keep making mistakes that would backtrack any progress the two of you were making. The man took out his phone and passed it to you so you could input your number, “I’m very new to this, so any help is appreciated,” you gave him his phone back once you were done and felt your own phone vibrate with a text after he’d typed you a quick message. “You’ve certainly made a bold choice for your first hybrid,” his eyebrows jumped as his eyes lifted from his phone and to Jayce, again looking him up and down, “Any questions, shoot me a text.” 

He said his goodbye and made his exit, grabbing the sleeve of Abraxas’ jacket and forcing him to walk with him, you could hear the muttering of scolding fade with them.

Jayce seemed to relax when it was just the two of you again. You thought about doing the same thing Henry had done and reprimand him for almost starting a fight, but the sympathetic expression he held told you that he already knew.

“I got you a cupcake,” you changed the subject and his features softened as he regarded the plate you’d been holding in your hand the entire time, “I hope you like it.”

He took the cupcake off of the plate, picking the strawberry off of the frosting and holding it in his palm. He bit into the sponge, almost eating the whole thing in one go, and you held your breath with anticipation.

His tongue wiped away any traces of the frosting that had attached themselves to his moustache and he hummed whilst nodding his head, showing his enjoyment. You let out your breath.

“Are you okay to eat it while we walk? I think they’re closing,” you twisted your head to see the members of staff wiping down tables and putting the chairs on top. Jayce didn’t give you an answer, but started walking towards the door instead.

The evening air was much colder than when you’d arrived, the sun having set a few hours ago and the only illumination you had was the streetlamps.

Jayce had finished his cupcake before you’d even caught up to him outside. He picked up one half of the strawberry and placed it into his mouth, the red berry seeming no bigger than a small candy in his palm as he presented the other half to you. You shook your head, “No, I got it for you,” but he moved his hand closer to you, insistent on you having it. You reached up and hesitantly took the strawberry half between your index finger and thumb, the tips of your skin gently brushing against his palm; it was warm, really warm, with a roughness to it that you didn’t want to question.

Placing it into your mouth, you chewed with a thankful smile as he licked the part of his hand where the sticky residue of the fruit had leaked and brushed his hands off against each other.

“Shall we go get some snacks for home?” you said once you’d swallowed, the word ‘home’ seeming foreign to say to someone other than yourself, reminding yourself that it was now his home too.

His nod certified your next plan of action and you led him to the closest store you knew would be open. He stayed close to you as you roamed the aisles, picking up what snacks you wanted and encouraging him to do the same. As you approached the register you passed the stationary section and an idea came to you. It would be impossible for you to pick something up without Jayce noticing, so as casually as you could, you picked up a sketchbook and a metal tin of drawing pencils. You remembered how interested he was in the artist earlier and wondered if he wanted to try it himself.

By his unchanged expression, you assumed he didn’t notice, or thought it was for you.

You paid and continued your walk back to your apartment, the inky black night sky now hung fully above you, it really was getting late. There was too much light pollution in town, all the neon signs of bars and restaurants, with the bright street lamps, meant that any attempt at observing the stars would be pointless.

Has Jayce ever seen the stars? You thought to yourself. He must have, from his years of not having a roof over his head. But had he ever stargazed without the fear of what the dawn brought? You made a mental note to yourself to take him further out of town one day to do just that, maybe even camping?

You were so deep into your mental to-do list that you barely noticed when Jayce had stopped walking. His head was tilted towards the high rooftops of the tall buildings, drinking in the LED lights that you’d seen so many times since winter hit.

You shuffled next to him and stuffed your hands into your pockets to protect them from the chill, taking in the bright white snowflakes and tinsel that draped from roof to roof. In some sense of it, this was probably the equivalent of Jayce seeing the stars for the first time, under different conditions.

To you, it was a simple and repetitive thing that the council organised every year, but to him it was the first time seeing the festive lights. You thought about how it must feel, to have a moment of wonder so late in your life, one that you had taken for granted as a child, but a glance at his face answered your question.

The pulsing glow radiated in the glossy surface of his eyes, as if the stars themselves had nestled into them to twinkle and shine, recognising another celestial body. The soft hue of the whites, green and reds reflected against his skin, illuminating him like he too was a celebration to be marvelled at.

It astounded you how anyone could treat this man so poorly. His features were so full of longing and affection that he wasn’t yet ready to share with another living person, an adoration that begged to be allowed to the surface. But the festive lights were an exception, they couldn’t hurt him.

You opened your mouth to usher him along, to mutter a quiet “Let’s go home,” but you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt this moment. 

So, you patiently waited for him until he was ready. Viewing the lights you’d seen in various different places throughout your life, they were always similar designs, but this time through a new lens. Appreciating them from a new perspective, the perspective of Jayce.

lockjaw:

lockjaw:

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[jayce-talis-hybrid]

Hello, this is an rp account for hybrid puppy Jayce from the fic 'Lockjaw' by @oneoftheextras. You can read it ⮕ here

This account is for the character of Jayce. I will be covering the two timelines I have for him:

⇢ Lockjaw Canon - events of Lockjaw, Jayce is adopted by Reader.

⇢ Lockjaw RP Canon - events of hybrid RP, Jayce is not adopted and stays in the Sanctuary with Viktor and meets the other hybrids (the ones mentioned in chapter five).

⇢ I'm a 36 years old chocolate Labrador hybrid, I have no interest in talking to humans or other hybrids under the age of 18.

⇢ I am okay to discuss and answer questions about my life, experiences, opinions and the other hybrids as long as I feel it is appropriate.

⇢ Viktor has told me to clarify that I am comfortable talking about nfsw topics, not that I can think of a reason why people would want to know that.

⇢ I will answer questions as they arrive, unless they need more thought.

[thehoneycrypt]

got my little hybrid & owner oc pairing for @oneoftheextras's lockjaw-verse: meet kiwi (bunny hybrid, they/them) and sage (human owner, he/him)!

i love jude’s ongoing worldbuilding with lockjaw and hope to see more about how hybrids operate within the society featured lockjaw! <3

(p.s. go read @oneoftheextras’s lockjaw)

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t four

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 4.4k

chapter warnings: blood, violence, and angst (trauma), not a lot for this one but its got nuggets if you can find them

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

Droplets of scarlet hit the wet pavement under his hands in trickles. The rain tried it’s best to wash away the blood seeping out of the abrasions on his knuckles but it was failing. 

He lifted his hand to wipe away the metallic-tasing liquid that filled his mouth from the split in his lip, and pushed himself back on his knees. 

“Get up, puppy!” the man who’d hit him shouted the pet name with the intent to cause offence. He spat a ball of saliva at him, clearly meaning for it to land on his person, but his inebriated state affected his aim as well as his decision making skills.

Jayce tilted his head diagonally but kept his eyeline to the floor; lips parted as an attempt to inhale the fresh rain-chilled air and calm his growing frustration. It would’ve been refreshing if not for the lingering flavour of iron.

The man, with his companions in tow, continued their approach, “Are you deaf, mutt?” he kicked up a puddle, splashing his already dirty t-shirt with filth, “What’s the point in those ridiculous ears if they don’t work?”.

Jayce shook his head, letting little beads of water fly from his hair, and got to his feet. He noticed how the three pairs of steps faltered for a moment when he’d fully straightened his spine, before they advanced. 

He didn’t want this. All he was trying to do was find somewhere safe and dry to rest for the night and avoid the storm.

“Freak!” one of the men yelled as he lunged forward, a metal pole moved with him like an extra limb, swinging through the air. 

Jayce leaned backwards to avoid it, and the end of the metal skimmed his cheekbone, but didn’t make contact. He used the man’s momentum to push him into the wall of the alley. His head collided with the brick and he slumped to the ground with a groan.

Hold back, don’t hurt them.

Upon seeing their friend get so easily manoeuvred, the other two charged like angry bulls. One tackled his middle section and the other jumped and grabbed him by the roots of his hair.

“You fucking animal!” the one on his torso cursed as he repeatedly punched him in the stomach, while the other shifted his grip to be on his sensitive ears, pulling them until he was hunched over.

He could’ve fought them off, he was physically stronger, but when he saw the crimson streak running down the man’s face - the one who he’d pushed - he knew he shouldn’t.

Hold back, don’t hurt them!

He closed his eyes and inhaled with every strike, it would be over soon. They dragged him to the ground and pushed his face into the dirty puddle that had stained his clothes, the murky water attaching itself to his skin and hair like a fungus.

“Monster!” they spat as they got their last jabs in and left him on the ground to collect their friend, satisfied that he was no longer moving.

Maybe he was a monster, but what else was he supposed to be?

A loud thud shook you awake, your body was on red alert as you jolted from your bed. The room was steeped in darkness, the illuminating glow of the street light leaking through the crack in your curtains was your only source of light.

Blindly you reached for your phone and clicked the button to light up the screen, the eye that was more awake than the other focused on the time; 4:22am.

You rubbed your face and put your phone back on the side, it was too early to be awake yet, so you started to lay back down with an attempt to go back to sleep. However, before your head could fully touch the pillow you heard footsteps from the living room.

For a moment it startled you, the sensation of living alone still second nature, but you settled once you realised it must have been Jayce.

Adrenaline still flowed through you, so there was no chance that you’d be getting back to sleep any time soon. Throwing your blanket off of your body, you stretched and wandered to the living room.

The small reading lamp gave the room a slight orange tint, not enough to hurt your tired eyes but enough to radiate the room with a soft glow. 

“Hey,” you called out to him gently, your voice cracking from the first use of the day. He stopped his pacing when he heard you, and turned to your direction - his hair was ruffled with strands sticking up in places, even the fur on his ears was unkempt.

You glanced down at the couch where the brown fluffy blanket was scrunched up to one side and the pillows slightly torn, their white polyester innards across the couch and some fallen to the ground.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked cautiously, trying to ignore how deep the gashes in the fabric were.

He averted your gaze and slowly moved towards the window to observe the street below, his jaw was clenched from gritted teeth hiding behind pursed lips, and his amber eyes were hard and unmoving.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had rattled him. It was unsurprising considering he was in a strange place with new smells and sounds; a lot of the forums said sleepless nights were common for the first few days.

“Do you want some tea or coffee?” you stretched again with a groan and started toward the kitchen but waited for his response before fully exiting the room. The ear closest to you twitched and you saw him briefly look at you out of the corner of his eye.

His body language shifted to indicate he wanted to follow, but something was holding him back. “Well, I’m going to make a coffee, you’re welcome to join me if you want,” you left the door open and decided not to push him any further.

You got two mugs out of the cupboard and set them down on the counter, rubbing your eyes with your free hand - the glare of the kitchen light stung - when you heard footsteps getting closer to you.

Glancing over your shoulder and towards the doorway, you watched Jayce enter slowly. He was cold and somewhat unreadable but you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, so you pulled out one of the stools from the island and tapped it for him to sit.

“Come, keep me company while I wait for this to boil,” you gestured to the kettle, “And…” you extended the word and held it until you found what you were looking for. “I got you these-” you placed a wooden box in front of him and lifted the lid, “-just choose one and let me know, okay?”.

The box contained different packets of tea, each divided into their own section and labelled, you’d bought it specifically for him. 

“I don’t know if I remembered all the ones you had back at the sa-” you paused to correct yourself, “-the other place, but I got a few that I thought you might like,” you rambled as you filled the coffee machine with a pod and put your mug under the nozzle, pressing the button for it to start.

He inspected the box; picking up a packet, reading it, sniffing the outside and putting it back into the box. After the sixth sniff test you were starting to worry if you’d remembered incorrectly.

He inhaled one light-blue coloured one and scrunched his face up with disgust - he doesn’t like chamomile, okay, noted.

“Did you know that-” he lifted his attention from the box to the back of your head while you watched the coffee pump out into your mug and spoke, “-No one knows where chamomile tea originally came from?”.

You twisted the mug on it’s podium so the hand was on the right and let the brown liquid slowly fill it, “Well,” you interrupted yourself, “That’s technically a lie,” you chuckled.

“The first documented use of it is in Ancient Egypt for religious ceremonies, you know, the whole embalming the body so it’s preserved for when they meet the gods type of deal,”.

At one point when you were speaking you’d turned to lean against the counter, but your eye line was still watching your mug. He didn’t know why, but you knew it was because the coffee machine would sometimes cut out while pouring and you didn’t want chunks of granules in your drink.

He observed the side of your face, watching your jaw move as you continued, “It was the Romans who started to actually drink it, and then unsurprisingly, so did the Greeks-”.

The machine stopped pouring and gently beeped to notify you that it was done, so you lifted the cup from its platform and continued making your drink.

“-And they largely documented it as being medicinal- Oh!” you exclaimed as you remembered another fun fact, “Did you also know that the word chamomile comes from the Greek word ‘khamaimēlon’, I’m definitely pronouncing that wrong, but it means ‘earth apple’, isn’t that funny?” you stopped rambling when you turned to him to collect whichever tea sachet he’d picked but realised he was staring at you with a blank expression.

You pulled down the sleeves on your shirt to cover your knuckles when you finally acknowledged his gaze. He noted the gesture and wondered why you did it so much.

“Did you choose one?” you timidly asked, trying to act as if you hadn’t just spewed all your thoughts out at once. Noticing that he had a packet in his hand, pinched between two fingers, you extended your palm to him.

However, instead of giving it to you, he stood from his seated position and ripped open the paper with his teeth, wrapping his hand around the empty mug and placing it in front of him.

“I don’t mind doing it for you,” you stepped closer to him, expecting him to move out of the way so you could take over. As if you were both south poles of a magnet and your proximity repelled him; the closer you got to him the further he leaned away - taking the mug with him, and paper still clenched between his canines.

You recoiled your hand and stepped away, a soft “Okay,” was all you could manage before you returned to your cup and gave him space.

He was more isolated than yesterday. His shoulder muscles tensed when you moved too quickly or closely to him, so perhaps it was best to keep your distance until he approached you.

He trickled the boiling water into the mug and bounced the teabag, submerging it under the water and letting it rise again with delicate precision until he was happy with the colour it had changed to.

“When it’s a more reasonable hour-,” the two of you had made your way back to the living room, “-I can show you around town, what’s nearby and stuff, if you want?” you tucked your legs under yourself as you got comfortable on the couch.

The semi-destoryed pillow puffed out more white innards when you leaned back on it, “We should probably get you some new pillows too, but I don’t know if they do indestructible ones,” you chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

The whole time you spoke Jayce stood by the large window, staring down at the barren streets below. He held the mug with both hands, the only visible part being the handle hooked over two of his fingers, maybe you should look for some larger cups for him too?

“Or we can stay inside, I’m not working again until Monday, so I’m all yours for two days!”, he glanced at you out of the corner of your eye and you suddenly felt very small again, “Well,” you cleared your throat, “I have chores I need to do, but you get what I mean,”.

A car revved its engine outside and his attention darted back to the intrusive sound, the hairs on his arms standing to attention, leaving goosebumps across his skin. 

The grip he had on the mug was intense, causing his knuckles to start to lose their colour, “Come sit down,” you suggested, trying to hold some authority in your voice but largely failing.

He regarded you again but didn’t move from his post, instead sipping his drink and keeping his eyes on the street.

He reminded you of a sentinel, ever watching and ever on guard duty.

You turned the TV on and quickly muted until you were able to put on some relaxing meditation music which finally made him turn away from the window and towards the TV.

The muscles in his nose scrunched lightly as the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened, his eyeline switching between you and the TV, “It’s cheesy, I know, but it genuinely does help,”.

There was a moment of stillness, neither of you moved, just the sound of the music filled the air but the atmosphere was anything but calm.

You pointed towards the bag you’d handed to him yesterday which had been placed next to the TV, “Did you take a look inside?”, he shook his head softly and eyed the bag, “Oh! Go get it!” you shuffled with excitement, picking up your coffee cup and cradling it in your hands.

He hesitated but eventually put his cup down atop one of the coasters on the table and retrieved the bag, “Sit, sit, sit!” you tapped the couch next to you like a child about to open presents on Christmas day, but he opted for the armchair adjacent to you.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him to sit? It slipped out so naturally, but perhaps it came across that you were treating him like an actual dog? You shook your head, trying to ignore your thoughts and instead focus on him.

He put his hand into the bag and slid the first box out, Clue. He turned the box over with confusion and inspected the back, his eyes sliding from side to side - at least that answered a question about whether he could read.

“Have you played Clue before?” you asked. He gently placed the box on the coffee table and shook his head again whilst revealing more board games; Catan, Monopoly, Battleship, and of course, a chess set.

Every box he studied with acute interest, taking in every picture and word on the print like it was the first time he’d seen it. He glanced up to you from the last one, his amber eyes slightly softer and calmer than before, and the corner of his mouth upturned into a subtle smile.

“We can play now if you want?” you placed your coffee to the side and started to clear the table, he shuffled forward to the edge of the armchair cushion and helped you, “You choose, I'm happy to play whatever,” you encouraged him.

He immediately picked up Clue, seeing as it was the one that you'd asked about and seemed the most excited for. When you smiled, he knew he'd picked correctly.

He ran the nail of his pinky along the seam where the lid met the rest of the box, and sliced through the thin plastic wrapping, pulling it off whilst you moved the last few things off of the table. 

Jayce placed the box on the surface and slowly lifted the lid until it popped off, but let you set up the board and shuffle the cards.

You explained how the game worked whilst he picked up each of the small coloured cones and their respective character cards, deciding which one he wanted to play as.

He eventually decided on Colonel Mustard, and chose Professor Plum for you. 

It took him a few rounds to fully understand the mechanics of the game; roll the dice, enter a room and make a guess. He’d write his three words down on a notepad you’d found for him, and the first thing you noticed was how neat his handwriting was.

It was bigger than yours and slightly slanted as if it were in italics, but almost like something you’d expect to find on a fancy sign.

You won the first few games, "Unfair advantage," you'd commented to reassure him, but as you'd expected, he started to pick up your tactics quickly.

“Rope, Library, and Reverent Green?” you recited what he’d written as his next guess and inspected your hand, none of those cards were between your fingers, “I think you’ve got it,” you smiled at him and picked up the envelope in the middle of the board to hand it to him.

He slipped one of his fingers into the sleeve, the paper bending to the outline of his digit and he pulled the three cards out to see if he was right.

He grinned as he turned each of the cards over, revealing one by one.

Reverend Green. He turned the second card over on the board, Rope. He narrowed his eyes at the last card smiling, his canines poking out from under his top lip; as he pinched the card between his middle and index finger to slowly turn it towards you, Library.

He’d won, again. “Damn,” you looked at the spread of cards, the regal yet smug expression on the Reverend's face, sandwiched between the darker tones of the Rope and Library, “Not a bad way to go,” you muttered to yourself with a giggle. 

Your tone wasn’t lost on him. He side eyed you with a raised brow, his expression unreadable but somewhat judgemental. “Sorry, I’m tired,” you said as you fought the rising heat in your cheeks, and rubbed your face with your hand.

The coffee in your cup had long since emptied, as was Jayce’s tea, but he picked up the cards and started to shuffle them again.

You glanced up to the clock on the wall, 6:53am. The two of you had been playing for over two hours, but Jayce didn’t seem the least bit tired.

He organised the cards, reset the pieces and slipped the three winning cards back into the envelope and started to mix the rest together.

His hands moved quickly, like a man who’d spent his whole life shuffling these cards, but your vision was starting to defocus like a faulty camera. Progressively throughout the night you’d slumped further and further into the side of the couch until you were laying down with your arm propping your head up to see the board.

Jayce handed you your pile of cards and rolled the dice, taking his turn first as the winner of almost all of the previous games, but your one eye that remained open couldn’t make out what number he’d rolled.

The last thing you remember was the clicking of his plastic yellow piece tapping gently against the board, signalling every step his character took. He must’ve rolled a five because you heard five taps, or was it four? It was hard to keep count.

When you awoke for the second time that Saturday, although eclipsed by the dark grey curtains that covered the windows, the sun shone brightly alongside the light trickling of rain. 

You stretched your limbs, hearing a few pops and cracks as your joints woke up slower than your brain; and the brown blanket that you’d left at the end of the couch for Jayce slid off of your torso as you sat up.

A groan left your lips as your spine fully extended and the muscles in your arms and legs relaxed from the tension. You peered towards the armchair but found it surprisingly empty, the large figure that had occupied it mere hours prior nowhere to be found. Even the cushion that normally sat there was missing.

With sleepiness still haunting your vision, you stood from the couch and went to pick up the mugs left on the coffee table. The right hand connected with your cup, which was strangely full with luke-warm coffee, and the left hand found nothing.

As if on autopilot, you shuffled towards the kitchen to empty your mug, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand when you almost tripped on a leg.

Luckily, some part of your occipital lobe was awake enough to notice the limb before you stepped on him.

Jayce was sat on the floor and using the side of the couch as a backrest; one leg bent so he could rest his arm on it and the other - the one you’d nearly stumbled over - had fallen carelessly to the ground and extended in front of him. Becoming the perfect hazard for your clumsy feet.

His head was tilted back and sideways against the arm of the couch, and his eyelids closed with his lashes delicately resting against his skin. His chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale of deep breath. 

He appeared so peaceful when he was like this, a picture of contrast to his agitated 4am demeanour, but you were confused as to why he was on the floor. Was it because you’d accidentally taken the couch?

You tiptoed over his leg, successfully passing him without disturbance and continuing your journey to the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. 

The sudden unexpected noise made you jump out of your skin; you were surprised that you didn’t spill the contents of the mug onto the light grey carpet. Thankfully, it stayed inside it’s ceramic container. Coffee stains were a pain to get out of the cheap yarn that the landlords had chosen as flooring.

When you opened the front door you were greeted by the friendly face of your neighbour, “Morning!” you whispered to him as an attempt to maintain whatever tranquillity Jayce had found in your apartment.

“Afternoon?” he laughed back, “Wait, what time is it?” you whipped your head around as if it was even possible to see the living room clock from where you were standing. Instead of ticking hands, you were met with piercing golden eyes staring back at you from the ground. The door was in the direct line of his sight. 

It was hard to break away from his gaze as he got to his feet, “It’s almost 1pm,” your neighbour confirmed, bringing your attention back to the man at the door, “Anyway, I was getting my mail and thought I’d grab yours too,” he extended a handful of envelopes to you.

“Oh, that’s kind, thank you!” you took the letters and smiled at him as if he didn’t do this on a weekly basis, “Not a problem, how have you been?” He put his hands in his pockets and made no gesture to indicate that he was leaving any time soon.

You turned your head back inside the apartment at the sound of a creaking floorboard to see that Jayce was walking towards you and the door whilst stretching his arms above his head.

“I, uh-” you stuttered as you stepped closer to the doorframe and pulled the door with you, trying to hide as much of the interior from him as you could.

“-I can’t really talk right now, sorry, I have company,” you tried to give him the hint to leave. After an already rough first night, you didn’t know how Jayce would react to another stranger within his proximity, and you hadn’t exactly cleared Jayce moving in with your landlord.

“Oh?” your neighbour quirked an eyebrow and smiled at you in a suggestive manner. Whilst you wanted to correct him and explain that it wasn’t like that, you could hear the footsteps behind you getting closer.

You chuckled to him and shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, can’t keep him waiting,” you played into whatever narrative he had running through his head if it meant he would leave. 

He gave you a toothy smirk and looked you up and down, “Well, at least you’ve moved on,” his comment wasn’t supposed to come across as an insult but the implications stabbed you in the gut.

“Thank you for the mail!” you gave him the falsest smile you could muster after being so brutally and bluntly reminded of your loneliness, “We’ll go get brunch soon and you can tell me all about it,” he whispered to you with a wink before you finally managed to shut the door.

You inhaled deeply and leaned against the back of the door, happy to not be forced into a social situation you didn’t want. 

Jayce had stopped his approach when the door had closed, his nose crinkled up in distaste and his eyes boring into the door as if he could still see your neighbour through it. By that reaction alone, you knew you’d made the right call of not introducing them.

“Mail,” you waved the letters in a circular motion and put them on the table by the door. “I’m sorry I slept in so late,” you apologised, despite being the one that woke up first.

“I propose-” you started as you walked into the kitchen, finally completing your mission of emptying your mug and putting it in the sink to be washed up later, “-We go get you some better pillows, and I can show you what’s nearby, and we can get some lunch while we’re out,” you raised your voice slightly so he could still hear you in the other room.

“What do you think?” you popped your head around the doorframe and found him standing in the hallway as he was before. He opened his mouth widely to yawn; even though he covered his mouth with his hand, you could still see the sharp canines that lined his gums.

He rattled his head as if he was trying to shake away any remaining sleepiness in his body, but eventually nodded in answer to your question.

“Great!” you beamed, almost skipping with joy past him and towards the bathroom, “I’m going to have a quick shower, I’ll let you know when I’m done so you can use it, then we’ll head out,” you tapped the door frame as if you were a judge and your hand was the gavel making the final decision.

You had exactly the lunch spot in mind to take him.

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[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t seven

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 6.5k

chapter warnings: fluff with a sprinkling of angst if you squint

proof-read by the pretty girl: @madschiavelique

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord for updates

Saturday nights were supposed to be for going out, partying, getting drunk or staying up late to watch the sunrise over the horizon. Maybe when you were younger and more full of energy.

There was an underrated enjoyment of staying in, watching a movie curled up on the couch with a blanket, that the flashing lights and thumping music of a club or bar just couldn’t compete with.

A serenity that came with the cosy confines of your home, and Jayce seemed to think so too. 

After leaving the café as the staff were actively packing up for the day, the two of you ventured on your journey back to your apartment, shopping bags in hand.

He’d fought you for carrying the bags, and you’d profusely refused, telling him that you were fine and they weren’t that heavy. His consistent grip on the plastic handle told you that he wasn’t going to give up, and perhaps you’d met someone just as stubborn as you. 

Eventually, you relented and let him take the bag from you, mainly out of fear of the handle snapping and then having to contend with a rather awkward broken bag to carry the rest of the way home. He’d also tried to take the other one but a “one for me, one for you” seemed to settle his need to be the pack mule between you.

You pushed the door closed behind you and watched his shadow disappear into the kitchen. It was reassuring to see him moving through your home without guidance, considering it had only just been over twenty four hours since his arrival. 

As you turned the corner, he had begun to set out the snacks you’d bought for the night, as well as some general groceries to keep you going for the week - you knew you’d probably need to venture out again after work to get more things.

But that was a future you issue, and you didn’t want to think about dragging Jayce around a huge grocery store just yet. All those people, the noises and the burning fluorescent lights made even you wince at the thought.   

He’d meticulously placed everything on the counter into organised sections; all the tins and cans were together, with anything that could be stored in a cupboard, then the chilled goods were in their own pile next to it, and the snacks you’d both picked out together in a small cluster towards the edge of the table top.

A quiet chuckle left your nose in a singular puff of air as you put your shopping bag onto the free space he’d seemingly left for it, “This is organised,” you commented with humour in your voice and Jayce turned his head to your direction, not stopping his chore.

“Normally, I just reach in and put away whatever I grab first,” the weight of the bag shifted onto the hard counter and your fingers thanked you for the release. The thin handles had dug into your skin, leaving sore red lines in their absence. They would fade within the next ten minutes, but it didn’t make them any less uncomfortable.

Your thumb brushed over the ridges to soothe them as you spoke as if the small massage would give you your usual fingers back. Jayce’s seemed untouched by the bite of the cheap plastic, perhaps from any callousness he had, if he had any. 

That fact was still undetermined. From the small contact you’d had with his palm outside the cafe only a few hours prior, it was hard to tell. Not that the question of the softness of his skin was a focus for you in that moment, especially not over the overwhelming warmth it provided against the cold winter air.

Jayce stepped towards you and began to unpack the bag you’d put down, your thoughts had occupied your brain and you’d mistakenly left the task unattended. 

“No, it’s okay, I can-” you leaned your body into the counter to reach for the first item you could see poking its head out from behind the pathetically see-through white of the branded bag. His hand moved quicker than you’d expected, you felt the air that his large palm batted towards you before your brain could register that his hand was approaching yours.

It stopped before contact was made, instead making the gesture of batting your hand away like a fly honing in on a freshly made pie. You recoiled your hand, not out of fear of him actually slapping your hand away, but from a natural response to move out of the way.

“Seriously, you’ve already helped, let me,” you insisted after your body had switched off of autopilot. He stopped his motion in favour of staring down at you flatly, a glance that told you to stop.

And there it was again. That feeling of smallness that came from being underneath his scorching gaze; that unnecessary reminder that he was bigger and stronger than you in every way. If he’d decided he wanted to squabble with you over unpacking your shopping, it would not be a long battle, and you both knew who the victor would be.

As quickly as his glance had immobilised you, he blinked and it was gone. You wondered if he knew how much power his eyes held. By how casually he continued to unload the food, your guess would be that he was completely unaware of its rule.

Stepping back from the counter and choosing to circle it to where the snack pile had made its home, you traced your fingers across the counter absentmindedly - something you always did in your own kitchen. 

If you had taken the time to regard Jayce’s expression once again, you would’ve seen how his eyes followed your fingers across the polished table top; akin to the way a feline traces and tracks a red dot on the carpet, prior to it pouncing and launching its attack. 

Luckily for your delicate skin, Jayce was a canine, and your fingers weren’t a mouse on a string or squeaky chew toy.

“Am I allowed to at least take these into the living room?” you asked with a tilted head and a tone that said you weren’t looking for permission. You were already putting the bags of treats into your arms before he gave you a singular nod and placed the remnants of the shopping onto the counter, balling the plastic bag up in his palm and looking around him for a place to store it.

“Under the sink,” you directed him verbally, putting the last of the snacks into your arms and stabilising the top of it with your chin, “There’s a bag I put all the other bags in,” your voice was slightly muffled from the pressure of your treat jenga tower pressing on the underside of your chin and throat.

He followed your words and opened the cupboard under the sink as you left him alone in the kitchen. As you started to turn the corner you felt the stack in your arms wobble and you froze - thankfully, there were no casualties of the short journey you’d only just begun. 

It wouldn’t do well for you to drop everything after being so insistent on doing this task by yourself. 

A successful landing produced the type of decoration on your coffee table that reminded you of your earlier years. Various bags and bars of confectionery lined up to form a spread of nostalgia. How long had it been since you’d had a sleepover to warrant such a buffet?

As you observed the horde of treats from your much taller height than your school years, a sad smile graced your lips. The last time something like this had found its way into your vision was with him.

The memory was fleeting, but would’ve been a fond one if not tainted by the stain of his misconduct. He led you under the guise of having made most of the food himself, but you’d found the takeaway bag in your garbage the next day - not that it mattered, it was the thought that counted. Not that thinking was something he did often, at least, not if it wasn’t about himself.

A clatter from the kitchen thankfully dragged you out of your melancholic reminiscence, causing your body to jump at the auditory intrusion.

There was a silence that followed; an uneasy silence that immediately threw your legs into panic mode. Rushing to the kitchen, you used the doorframe to swing yourself into the room faster as if it would make a difference and un-thunk whatever had fallen.

There was no emergency, no fire that needed putting out and no glass needing to be swept up and injuries patched up. It was just Jayce, stood looking at the ground with the cupboard door open. “Are you okay?” you attempted to steady your voice of its breathless panic as you moved around the island that blocked your view of the floor.

A part of you almost felt a little bit silly for how worried you’d been, and sounded, once you saw what had caused the commotion. A few cans were scattered on the floor by Jayce’s feet. That was all. “Oh,” you chuckled and approached him, bending down to pick up one of the rogue cans and he copied your motion, his hand picking up the remaining two. Absent-mindedly, you put them back onto their shelf in the cupboard and turned to him, expecting him to hand you the ones he’d collected but he was too busy inspecting the metal cylinder in his hand. 

His thumb brushed over one in particular, rubbing a specific spot delicately. You retrieved the one that hadn’t captivated his attention with ease and pushed it onto the shelf with the other one.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him and attempted to take the last one from his grip, but he glanced up to you momentarily before returning his attention to the object.

His thumb continued to caress the tin, the indent in the side ruining it’s normally rounded shape. The label slightly hid it but he could still feel where his clumsiness had caused the imperfection. Would you be mad at him for his carelessness? 

He wasn’t completely sure what it was that he’d broken, but in the time that you’d taken to arrive at the crime scene, he’d attempted to push the metal back into place with no joy. He just hoped it wasn’t expensive.

Tentatively, he turned it around to face you and placed his finger against the hollow surface, maybe if he admitted to it then it wouldn’t be so bad. 

He watched you inspect it, then look up at him with furrowed eyebrows - you didn’t seem angry, more confused. The object slipped from his fingers and transferred into your smaller ones, you rolled the can over in your hand and reached up to put it with the others.

Shuffling forward with one cautious step, he caught your attention with his sudden movement. Perhaps you hadn’t seen the damage he’d done and he needed to be clearer. “What?” your voice didn’t sound angry either, it was soft and laced with concern.

His tongue graced his lower lip and he blinked rapidly a few times before returning his eyeline to the tin. When you inspected it again and traced your thumb over the same place his had just a few moments prior he awaited the repercussions of his actions.

“It’s okay, it’s just a can, the insides are still fine. We can still use it,” you reassured him once the cogs in your brain had turned enough to understand that maybe he was worried about the contents of it. He must’ve seen a tin of food before, they were so common that they must have had them around the Sanctuary. 

Unless they weren’t allowed to make their own food? There were so many unanswered questions that you had, but were too afraid to ask them in case it made you sound stupid. The last thing you wanted to do was insult his intelligence when he’d already shown you on so many occasions just how smart he was.

He contemplated your words, was there really a usefulness to something that had been dented beyond returning it to its previous form? He exhaled as if he would blow the thought away with such a small puff of air. It was silly to compare himself; it was just a can after all.

You slipped it back onto the shelf and closed the cupboard door, “Come on,” you reached the hand out to him, gesturing your fingers towards you in hopes that he would take it. He did not. Okay, too soon. 

“I need your help, if you don’t mind,” he followed behind you as you returned to the living room, adding the last part of your request to be polite and not assume that he was going to be overjoyed doing manual labour for you. If you could call this manual labour.

You stopped just in front of the couch and turned to him excitedly, “Have you ever built a blanket fort before?” you clapped your hands together gently, ensuring they didn’t make a loud noise. He shook his head side to side, his ears wiggling with the gentle motion.

The smile that spread across your lips was so sudden that even if you wanted to control it, you probably couldn’t. “Great!” you exclaimed and started moving towards your bedroom, “Well, not ‘great’ that you haven’t-” you corrected yourself, “-I meant, ‘Great!’ as in I get to show you how.”

It wasn’t the best explanation, but you weren’t entirely sure how to describe the joy it gave you to be the first one to build a fort with him. It was clear that you were given the gift of seeing him experience many of his ‘firsts’.

You returned shortly with a bundle of blankets and pillows in your arms, of course, he hadn’t moved an inch from where you’d left him. “We need to move the table for a second,” you grunted as you tried to maneuver yourself around him and throw the bundle in your arms onto the couch.

Before you’d had the chance to turn back to face him, you heard his footsteps come closer to you and your back instinctively bristled with the expectation of contact, but there was none. Instead, you continued your rotation and watched as Jayce clasped his hands on either side of the table cautiously - presumably not to spill any of the treats you’d presented on it.

“Careful, that’s-” once again you cut yourself short as he lifted the table gently and with an uncanny ease that - if you hadn’t tried and failed to move it yourself in the past - made you question whether it was forged out of cardboard, “-Heavy,” your sentence trailed off.

Jayce held the table and looked around his immediate surroundings for somewhere to put it down, he cautiously shuffled a few steps to the side before settling on a spot. You tried not to dwell on how undemanding the weight of the table was to him.

Instead, you rearranged the couch cushions until they created a wall between where you would sit and the arms of the couch. Then you started with the additional pillows and blankets you’d retrieved, and it wasn’t long until you’d made a small nest for the two of you.

“Will that be enough space for you?” you turned to him, unaware that he had been silently watching you work in awe. 

He met you in front of the couch, puffed a few of the pillows, and sat down to assess the comfort of his new space. He rearranged himself a few times, leaning back and trying different angles until he was happy.

Meanwhile, you’d grabbed the spare bed sheet you’d found in your closet, unfolding it until the cotton hit the carpet beneath your feet with a thump as gravity took over from you.

You grabbed at the fabric, pulling it up towards you again until you found what you thought was around the center, and carefully stepped onto the couch.

The pillows and blankets dipped slightly under your foot, but you could feel how you were tilted to the side Jayce was sitting on, his own body weight making your climbing surface uneven.

‘Don’t fall on him,’ you thought to yourself as you reached up to grab the small disco ball hanging from a hook above the couch.

It had been here since before you moved in, the previous tenants had either forgotten it, or not cared enough to take it with them.

Some of the little silver squares that made the light reflect from it had fallen off, revealing the cheap white styrofoam underneath. Your fingers pushed the bottom of it up until the plastic ring that kept it on the hook lifted and allowed you to remove it from its home on your ceiling.

The moment you moved it a thin cloud of dust littered the air, some drifting towards your nose and face. You quickly blew out puffs of air to redirect its flow but it still made your nose crinkle and you inevitably sneezed, the sudden jolt making your body wobble from its podium atop the couch.

You somehow didn’t fall, but - not that you had noticed from your own concentration not to tumble - Jayce had put his hands out, ready to be your safety net in case your balance had not prevailed.

Once you were sure you weren’t in danger of losing all of your dignity in front of your new housemate, you gently tossed the disco ball onto the armchair, watching it bounce once before arching off of the chair and onto the carpet; leaving a small circle of dust on the cushion in its wake.

It’s okay, you’ll pick that up later.

With the bed sheet in hand, you reached up towards the ceiling hook but it wasn’t even close to touching the metal. Letting your arms rest for a moment, you dropped them to your side with a huff, accidentally draping the fabric over Jayce’s shoulder. 

He didn’t seem to mind despite how you immediately felt bad. Instead he took it between his index finger and thumb to pinch it, rubbing the fibres between his tips with contemplation, “Sorry,” you smiled gently, and he allowed you to slowly pull the fabric from his touch.

It was so soft, unlike any type of sheet or blanket he’d ever felt before. Even the ones that you’d given him last night weren’t as luxurious as that; he wondered why that was, and hoped that the simple pinch of his fingers wouldn’t be the last contact he had with it.

Stretching once more towards the ceiling, you tried to persuade yourself to grow a few inches taller just so you didn’t need to get a stick or a ruler and play a strange version of bed sheet ring toss in your living room, but it was no use. You’d attempted to reach the hook again and again but failed miserably, with a huff.

You felt the surface under your feet shift and you teetered on the spot as he rose, the redirection of weight taking you momentarily by surprise. Jayce had stood from the couch to step back and observe your situation.

Perhaps he was getting irritated by the cover waving around his head, you knew how sensitive his ears were after all, but he didn’t seem the slightest bit annoyed - more curious than anything else.

Slowly, he approached you, easily lifting his foot - with his shoes still on - to stand next to you on the couch. You felt the cushions shift again.

You were about to start vocalising your concern for the structure of your furniture, it was cheap and it had been here for as long as you had, and most definitely in need of replacing. Still, you didn’t want any of the slats inside to snap, then Jayce would have nowhere to sleep.

But in advance of you forming the words to begin your worry, he placed his hand next to yours on the sheet and sharply nudged his head to the side to instruct you to step down from the pedestal so he could take over. Hesitantly, you did just that; letting go of the fabric and allowing Jayce to take the weight of it instead.

If you thought he was tall before, he was a giant now. 

From your position on the carpet, you could see how his hair was very close to the ceiling. If you took a photo of him and put it into an editing software, all you’d need to do is copy and paste his head and drag it on top of the original for his crown to brush against the drywall.

He barely needed to stretch for the fabric to make contact with the hook, he casually lifted his arms up to tie a small knot around the metal.

Your intention had been to position the sheet in a way that it made a teepee around the couch, giving your little fort a little roof, but as you surveyed the area your eyes fell on the grey hoodie he was wearing. Or, moreso, the lack of it around his midsection.

It had been possibly a size too small for him, that much was evident from when he came out of the bathroom wearing it, but now - with his arms above his head - the fabric had nowhere else to go but up with his appendages.

You shouldn’t be staring, it was inappropriate and rude, but the stark contrast between the light grey cotton and the tanned skin of his stomach was so noticeable that it would’ve caught your eye regardless of how polite you were trying to be.

Maybe it would’ve been just a tiny glance, but the thin dusting of dark brown hair trailing from his belly button to below the waistband of his jeans had held your attention for a few seconds longer. However, that was not the thing that made you stare. It was the faint light lines drawn into his skin.

Fortunately, if one could be fortunate in such a situation, there wasn’t an exorbitant amount of them. You had counted maybe six thin and short squiggles of different shapes and angles. Of course, six was already too many but from the small glimpse you’d gotten of his back by comparison six wasn’t disproportionate.

There it was again, that pang of sadness in your heart you felt the first time you saw him in the Sanctuary. 

Within such a little action of assistance from him, there was the constant reminder of the needless violence that lurked in his shadow. You hoped that he would stand in the sunlight with you for long enough to scare whatever he didn’t speak about away so it would let him know peace.

He hadn’t noticed, or at least, you hoped he hadn’t noticed your eyes pencilling their pattern on his stomach, “Yeah, there looks great!” You encouraged him from your spot below, “If you can tie a knot in it then it should hold, or I can get a hair tie or something!”

As soon as you suggested it, you started patting down your pants as if you’d tucked some away in your pockets in preparation for this moment, but they were empty. 

You watched him delicately pinch the fabric between his fingers and try to tie a knot a few times before he looped it around his index and middle finger and managed to thread it through, securing your makeshift walls to the ceiling.

He looked towards you hesitantly as he let the fabric go, testing whether it would stand on its own from his attempt at a knot, and when it didn’t immediately crumple to the ground in a heap with the pillows, he smiled. 

It was brief, just a small flash of his teeth, but it was genuine. It had only been just over 24 hours since he’d come to live with you and whilst it only lasted for no more than a millisecond, you would take what positive indicators of progression that you could.

It was infectious, his smile. You found your own lips curling up in response to his momentary happiness, and you wondered how long it had been since you’d smiled so naturally. Not a forced one to be polite when greeting people, or the one you did in team meetings to make it seem like you did actually want to be there, but a true one that had crept up on you in the most unassuming moment.

Whilst this one was more a grin of victory through achievement, you hoped you’d be able to recreate it again and make it last for longer. 

Maybe it would only be for a minute or two next time, or perhaps an hour, but it would be happiness nonetheless.

Between the two of you, it didn’t take long to tuck the sheet down the sides of the couch to create a teepee in your living room. It was smaller than what you’d intended, but - you supposed - the last time you made something like this was with someone else, and someone much smaller.

It would be a little snug but hopefully he didn’t mind. 

“If you don’t like it, we can always take the sheet down,” you reassured him as you repositioned the pillows again; they’d been momentarily flattened as a casualty of using the couch as a stool.

You didn’t want to make him feel forced into a small space, even if it was made of cotton and polyester.

Finding your own spot amongst the pillow nest, you left the right side of the couch free for him. He waited for you to stop moving as an indication that you were comfortable, then, without you needing to ask, he picked the coffee table up again and placed it down in front of the couch just as easily as he’d moved it the first time.

“Oh, thank you!” you avoided eye contact, still slightly unnerved by the strength he held within him that you’d somehow forgotten. Almost as if you thought having him in a domestic setting had removed his uncanny biology, and a simple glance would wave away the cloud of disbelief you were hiding behind.

Instead, you reached forward and grabbed one of the snacks you’d bought for yourself as well as the TV remote - using restraint to leave the packet behind and only take what you could fit in your hand, just in case Jayce wanted some too.

It was little things like this, things you’d never thought about, that would possibly take you the longest to adjust to.

Jayce ran his hand over the lip of the hut you’d made together, letting the fabric move slightly against his touch but managing to keep its triangular shape. You watched him observe it cautiously before he ducked under it and entered your blanket fort.

Once again, he shuffled on the spot, rearranging the pillows and pulling some out from between his thigh and the arm of the couch to put behind his back instead.

You were closer than you’d intended, the angle of your fabric roof had severely minimised the actual space you had, but out of fear of getting too close to him and making him uncomfortable, you settled on part of the TV screen being obstructed. 

It was only the top left corner, nothing that interesting or plot heavy would be happening within those pixels so it would be fine if you missed it.

In silence, you turned the TV on and loaded Netflix, scrolling down all the options and categories. 

Ah, the second hurdle of the night, what to watch. 

Admittedly, you hadn’t put a lot of thought into what film you wanted to show him; there was nothing in his file about what genres of media he enjoyed, but by his enjoyment of board games and chess, maybe he would like something logical? “Is there anything in particular you want to watch?” you allowed your thumb to continue clicking the button of the remote as you glanced at him for his reaction, short snippets of audio played from the TV as you slowed your clicking.

His shoulders lifted and then dropped quickly as he gently shook his head side to side. Why was it not surprising that he would say no?

As you opened your mouth to start listing genres of films, you saw his eyes widen and his attention pin onto the screen like a dart hitting the bullseye on a dartboard. You lifted your thumb from the remote to stop it scrolling to the next movie and followed his eye line so you could see what had enamoured him.

Your TV showed a man doing intricate hand gestures, orange sparks followed his fingers like a sparkler on a cold autumn night, drawing shapes into the space in front of him. It then transitioned into another scene where the walls bent and spun as if they were collapsing in on themselves from a mere touch of hand.

You glanced back towards Jayce, his eyes shone with excitement. They were practically sparkling with the same golden flame as you saw on the screen.

“This one?” you lifted the remote and used it as a pointer to gesture towards the TV. Jayce immediately stifled his eagerness and looked to you out of the corner of his eye; you wished he hadn’t felt the need to quell his enjoyment, and a part of you felt bad for interrupting his moment of intrigue.  

From his reaction alone you’d decided that this was the movie you were going to watch, so you didn’t wait for a nod.

You leaned forward again to place the remote onto the coffee table once the film had started, the opening title card playing loud and excitable music as you picked up another handful of your treats. 

Looking down to your snack-filled palm, you thought back to outside the cafe. How he’d saved half a strawberry for you only a few hours prior, and so soon after having a frustrating misunderstanding. Jayce was kind and considerate. In all the time you’d spent with him it totalled to no more than a week, and you already knew this to be fact.

“Want some?” you flattened your hand and let the treats sit on your palm the same way he had, whispering as if you were in the movie theatre and someone a few rows back would shush you harshly for daring to speak while the movie was playing.

You didn’t recall any mention of a like or dislike in his file, but this was one of your favourite snacks and you wanted to share it with him. Not out of politeness or to gain anything from it, but simply because you wanted to share things with Jayce.

He looked at you first, then down to your hand once he realised what you were offering him. Then hesitantly took the smallest piece from you, and you tried to ignore how a twinge of disappointment went through you when his fingertips didn’t touch your skin.

It was silly to get your hopes up over such things. The first time outside of the cafe had been an accident, and you were not delusional enough to believe that your friendship had progressed to the lengths of physical contact within one day.

He put the treat into his mouth, but not before inspecting and sniffing it first, and you tried your best not to watch his microexpressions for any indication on if he liked it or not. After a few moments he nodded, confirming that he did.

As the film continued on, your pile of snacks had dwindled down to the wrappers. It had taken a bit of encouragement, but Jayce had helped greatly in the downfall of your treat empire. You’d made a mental note, which you would transfer into the physical file you had in your kitchen drawer later, of which ones he’d gone back to for seconds.

It wasn’t until another hour had passed and the movie was drawing to its conclusion that you felt the weight in the couch shift, you quickly turned your head towards Jayce to see his head slumped to the side and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

It was only then that you remembered he hadn’t slept much last night. 

He must’ve been exhausted. The day had been filled with a lot of new experiences, both positive and negative, but they were new experiences all the same. Christ, you were exhausted and today was pretty close to a normal weekend for you, you couldn’t imagine how drained his social battery must be.

The movie became an accompaniment to watching him doze peacefully next to you, if you ignored the small line that separated his eyebrows. Then you remembered the pillow and your eyeline drifted to his hands; even in his sleep they were tensed, the tendons and veins rising to the surface to make indented lines under his skin.

They had ripped apart the soft fibres of the pillow and the innards had come spilling out as easy as water from a broken bottle. He was, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, still dangerous. Perhaps letting him fall into unconsciousness next to you was a bad idea? But then again, nudging him awake seemed not only the more stupid option, but also the less considerate.

So you let him breathe slowly and deeply, praying that you wouldn’t become pillow shaped in his dreams.

There was so much uncertainty around Jayce. Of course, you had his file, but the words inside it was as unfeeling and unpersonable as reading the dictionary, just a list of facts printed in ink as if he wasn’t a complex being beyond a simple string of bullet points.

There was so much about Jayce that was unknown, undiscovered, and even with the benefit of the doubt, within the confines of your common sense, you knew it was because of a lack of trying.

Carefully, you leaned forward to pick your phone up off of the table, making sure not to disturb his slumber in the process. You unlocked the device and opened the web browser, tapping the screen until the word “Hybrid” formed in the search bar, and hit enter.

Nothing. There was next to nothing online about them, save for the rare article of an attack - both to and from hybrids - or a Reddit thread stating less than unsavoury things, but none based within the world of fact.

It was as if they didn’t exist, as if they had been shoved into a container and covered with a blanket so no one would see them. The only traces to be found where the occasional tapping of the glass which was quickly hushed back into silence.

You put your phone down against your thigh and took a moment to stare at the movie’s end credits. There had to be something out there about them, surely not every crumb of information had been swept under the rug. That cafe had books on them, which meant there were authors who specialised in documenting them, so where on earth was it?

You raised your phone again, this time leaving the browser tab and navigating to your text messages, clicking on the most recent entry. Henry. He had specifically said if you had any questions to contact him, and, well, this was a question.

There was a reluctance you had to asking for help when the internet was so readily available, one to many ‘Google is a free service’ thrown your way had dissuaded you from doing anything other than independent research.

But, you had Googled, you had searched, you had looked, and it seemed to be an information blackhole on the subject.

So, you typed out a quick message. “Hey, it was nice to meet you today!” It began, short, sweet and polite - get the pleasantries out of the way before making a request, “I was just doing some research on hybrids and I can’t really find anything, and you said to message if I had questions, so here I am!”

You internally cringed at how you’d taken the long road around simply asking for what you wanted. 

Staring at the phone for a few seconds you waited for a response, but when the seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes turned into twenty of them, you realised that maybe Henry was the type of person who wasn’t chronically on his phone.

Reaching for the TV remote, you pressed the power button and sat in the silence of your living room. It was odd now, to hear only the rushing of cars outside when you were so aware of another presence in your home. It was a feeling opposite to loneliness, but not quite companionship. A feeling you had yet to name.

You stood as slowly and carefully as you could from the couch, feeling your weight transfer onto your feet and the fibers of the rug flatten beneath your sole. So far so good, Jayce was still asleep and your fluffy white pillow stuffing had remained inside of you.

Shuffling around the coffee table as best you could, you watched his face intently for any sign of him waking up, but as you circled the mundane piece of furniture, his expression remained unchanged. A sight of slight discomfort, but an underlying essence of peace across his features.

You wanted to say goodnight so he wouldn’t wake up at some point in the night and wonder where you’d gone or why you’d left, but on the balance between that and allowing him to get a decent night’s sleep, you chose the sleep.

It was only when you’d crept down the hallway and gently closed your bedroom door that you realised you had a couple of text messages.

Henry had replied, which surprised you, considering it was now pushing 2am. What was he doing up so late? But, you guessed, the same thing could be said about you.

“Yeah, you wont find much online unless you know where to look.” Blunt, to the point. It would seem he wasn’t as chatty over text as he was in person, but there was a second message containing a link, “Start here. A warning, it’s not a pleasant read.”

Your heart sunk slightly at the precaution he’d given you, it was obvious the history you were looking for wasn’t going to be some fun little bed time story, but for someone like him to warn you made you think the worst.

With a sharp inhale, you threw your phone onto your duvet and got ready for bed. Once you were under your blanket and comfortable, you clicked the link and prepared yourself for whatever you were about to discover.

lockjaw taglist (pls dm to be added) :

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[oneoftheextras]

after the whirlwind yesterday was, i didn’t spot this donation on my Kofi:

thank you whoever you are, it means so so much

[oneoftheextras]

Handwritten Letters

hello! i've re-opened my shop of handwritten letters from characters

i've reduced the prices and added new options, you can now have:

anime (aot, jjk, mha ect) pls im begging someone order aizawa i have specific black wax i wanna use for him

resident evil

stranger things

i'm dying to start writing these letters again, it was so fun, and if you order in the next week they should arrive well before christmas!

[oneoftheextras]

Truth | Gojo Satoru

masterlist | request?

paring: gojo satoru x reader

summary: gojo was the most annoying upperclassman and partner you’d ever had, he always had something to say. 

when a special grade exorcism goes a bit too well, you realise all too late the truth-telling side affects of this particular curse. you just pray that gojo doesn’t ask the wrong or right questions.

words: 5.7

warnings: 18+, smut, swearing, spoiler free, descriptions of gore and blood, cheating mentioned (the curse’s vibe), mentions of someone taking their own life, little bit angsty

“Will you just shut up and give me the debrief?” you snapped, lifting your eyes up from your phone to glare at the descending ceiling of the abandoned subway station.

Satoru Gojo.

Of course it had to be Satoru - fucking - Gojo.

Normally, you’d be dispatched on your own, but for some reason the higher ups thought that this curse needed not one, but two special grade sorcerers to exorcise it.

With talent alone, Gojo outranked you - he made sure you knew that every moment you spent at Jujustu Tech with him - but, your cursed energy technique was stronger.

“Loosen up, you’re no fun to be around when you’re all grumpy-grumpy,” his voice took on a child-like tone as he pretend to stamp his feet the same way an infant would, “And you’re no fun to be around at all.” you quipped back.

This was the ongoing battle between you and Satoru Gojo. He knew exactly how to piss you off, to the point where just being in his presence grated on you, and you wanted more than anything to put him in his place.

He was arrogant, cocky, and egotistical. It didn’t help that he was attractive and didn’t try to hide the fact that he knew it.

Why the sorcerer executives had paired you together? You didn’t know. 

Both of you were more than capable sorcerers, but ever since you graduated Jujustu Tech they were adamant to make you work together. Gojo claimed it was so you could learn from him as he was a year older, but you protested that it was to keep him in line.

He placed a hand on the left side of his chest, right where his heart would be if it hadn’t frozen over, “You hurt my feelings.” he pouted and you scoffed, keeping your flashlight trained on the disgusting steps ahead of you.

“Good. Now tell me what the situation is.” you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you spoke, a headache was already starting to creep it’s way behind your eyes.

A long sigh left the tall man beside you, but you were glad when he started going through the case.

“Special grade, only because of it’s intelligence. Seems to stem from a heartbroken woman, she caught her husband cheating and threw herself in front of a train.” he said matter-of-factly, only showing sympathy towards the end.

Curling your nose up into a snarl, “What an asshole.” you felt yourself getting angry on behalf of this unnamed woman.

“Mhmm,” Gojo nodded along, probably the only time the two of you were in agreement, “Apparently the curse is vengeful and extremely violent. Likes to target couples too.” he continued.

You didn’t need to see his eyes to know that he was glancing at you, his shit-eating smirk did that on it’s own. It was clear what he was implying.

As if Gojo, as if.

He was a hard man to read, if you were being completely honest with yourself. All the time you’d spent getting to know him, the line between sincerity and teasing had blurred. You’d known each other since you were 15 and he was 16, you being a bright eyed and bushy tailed first year, and him being the ‘all knowing’ second year.

Immediately, you’d made it into his rotation of people to pester.

For years you watched him flirt with women, shoot his shot and very rarely get turned down, only fuelling the fire of his ego even more. 

But he was different around you. Sure, he flirted and teased just as much as he did the others, but he wasn’t as persistent with them - he’d only pursue someone for a couple of days and if they weren’t reciprocating his feelings he’d leave them be.

Here you were, ten years later, and he was still teasing you. Maybe it was just because you never left his rotation, all the others either dropped out or were dispatched to other parts of Japan. Only you were the one dumb enough to stay at Hokkaido.

Gojo said it was because you would miss him too much, you said it was because they needed you.

A rotten stench was starting to waft up from the subway, the deeper you went the stronger it got. By now, all natural light was gone, your only visual aid was your flashlight.

“We’re definitely in the right place.” you almost dry heaved at the odour that filled your mouth as you spoke, if it weren’t for your years of training your disgust would be more visible, “Oh, is that what that is?” Gojo feigned ignorance, “I thought you forgot to shower again.” he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Ha ha, very funny! Go get eaten.” you mocked him and shoved the shoulder that’d bumped into you. At the force of your push, he stumbled down the last couple of steps and into the darkness of the subway platform.

You waited for a second, holding your breath to see if you could hear footsteps. There was nothing but silence.

The amount of cursed energy that radiated from this place was intense, if it wasn’t so far below ground it would’ve lit up like a Christmas tree, it was surprising that it’d taken you this long to find it.

“Gojo?” you called out into the darkness, hearing your own voice echo back at you. The silence continued so you stepped down onto the platform, flashlight scanning dusty expanse of the building.

“Over here!” you heard in the distance and shone your light at the direction it came from, his white hair illuminated in the light. You sighed a breath of relief, you had no idea how you would explain getting The Satoru Gojo killed to the higher ups.

His long legs were bent as he crouched down near the edge of the platform, it took everything in you not to push him off the edge and onto the filthy tracks below.

“What’re you looking at?” you asked as you strolled over to him. If you were on your own, you’d be on high alert and awaiting the inevitable jump scare of the curse showing itself, and in some ways you should be - this was still a special grade curse.

Gojo pushed up off the floor and stood at his full height, reminding you once again just how much shorter you were than him.

Does he really have to spike his hair like that too? He’s tall enough as it is without the hair for help.

He pointed a slender finger down onto the tracks before stuffing both his hands into his pockets, “Think I found our curse.” he inhaled deeply and then let out a noisy exhale through his mouth.

When you peered over the edge to see what he was talking about, you realised why he sounded so disappointed, “That it?” you grumbled, the thing you were both staring at was grotesque in every sense of the word, but you wouldn’t look at it and call it a special grade.

Laying on the rusted tracks was the torso of a woman, from what you could tell anyway. Where the head would normally be was a splattered stump of hair, bone and flesh - it was unrecognisable.

The arms connected to the torso were mangled and bent in multiple different directions, bone had shattered through skin and protruded through like a sprouting flower.

Where the torso would usually connect to a pair of legs was a gaping hole with intestines ungracefully dragging across the floor as it attempted to pull itself across the ground.

“I kinda feel sorry for it.” Gojo stretched his hands out in front of him with his fingers interlocked.

“Please, don’t lie to me.”

If you weren’t already looking at Gojo you would’ve sworn you heard him say something. “I’m not! Look at it, it’s begging to be put out of it’s misery.” he gestured to the mound of what used to be a person.

He didn’t see the confused expression on your face as he jumped down onto the tracks, “What?” you cocked an eyebrow at his weird statement.

“I do have a heart, you know.” he inspected the torso for a moment, probably wondering what made it so special. He clicked his fingers and the entire thing disintegrated the second his fingers had fully extended.

Okay, say what you want about his personality, but his power was nothing short of hot.

“Baby, please, don’t lie to me.”

This time you were sure you heard it, but before you could ask him what he meant Gojo was already speaking.

“As flattered as I am at the nickname, I’m not?” his voice went up at the end, he was just as confused as you. “What are you talking about?” your forehead crinkled with frustration.

It was hard to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, that was too easy to be a special grade, and Gojo’s one sided conversation was throwing you through a loop.

“Baby, don’t lie to me”

This time you were both already facing at each other. You staring down at Gojo on the tracks and him gazing up at you on the platform - neither of your mouths moved.

“I just heard-” you stared cautiously, lowering your voice so only he could hear, “-your voice.” he finished your sentence for you and you both nodded in understanding. Now, this made more sense.

You stepped towards the edge of the platform and extended your hand out for him to grab, but as he reached up to take it you felt something slimy coil itself around your middle.

In the space of a few milliseconds your eyes widened, but before you could even gasp you were yanked backwards into the darkness.

He was too focused on you to realise what was happening before it happened - if his head had been more on the mission rather than you maybe he would’ve been able to warp fast enough. 

Instead he stood on the platform trying to sense which direction you’d gone, this curse was smart and was at least trying to mask it’s presence somehow. He was sure you’d be okay.

Cursed energy flowed around your hand as you punched the fleshy tendril that took hold of you, “Get off of me!” you shouted into the air. Every time you struck the curse and was able to get free another disfigured limb would take it’s place.

It’s lucky it took me by surprise.

As you became more and more frustrated, you felt your curse energy flowing faster. One of the fundamentals of Jujutsu was to maintain your cursed energy output regardless of your emotions to avoid burn out.

Something you’d been rather good at is expelling large quantities of cursed energy without the burn out - most sorcerers could never achieve that.

“I said, get the fuck off of me!” you bellowed, a wave of cursed energy exploded from you like a sonic boom, causing the curse to paint the walls a red-ish black.

Landing delicately on your feet, you groaned. Half from how disgusting that was, and the other half from the fact that the exploded pieces were merging back together again.

“You okay?” his voice made you jump, the sudden jolt of your body made you slip on guts and landed on your back with a thump. Damn his warping, he could at least give a warning. 

He peered over at your fallen form, somehow you’d managed to land with your head directly in front of his dress shoes. Great, now he literally is looking down on me.

“No, I’m not okay!” you huffed, normally you’d keep up the tough guy act until you were alone. But you must have been letting your emotions get to you.

Gojo knelt down and held his hand out to help you up into a sitting position and you graciously ignored it, instead pushing yourself off the floor to make a point.

You cupped your hand and watched your curse energy twirl around your fingers until it formed a sphere in your palm, “Are you hurt?” Gojo placed his hand on your shoulder to try and get you to look at him but you quickly shoved him off, too busy thinking of a revenge plan.

Also, you weren’t sure how you’d react to touching him. 

The things about your relationship with Satoru Gojo: you’d known him for 10 years, he’d been your biggest bully for 10 years and for the last 5 you’d been in love with him - like every other woman he came into contact with.

You absolutely did not want to become one of them. Discarded to the side lines when he was done.

So, you kept an arms distance from him, both physically and emotionally. At some point along the way you started this act of disliking him, and it was working but you weren’t sure what would happen if you felt his skin on yours without his infinity.

“Get behind me.” he commanded you in a lower voice, the curse had almost completely reformed itself, “No way.” you bit back, throwing your ball of energy at the curse.

It stuck to it’s sickly body for a moment, you glanced over your shoulder at the crease in Gojo’s blindfold. Ah right, he hasn’t seen this one yet.

“On second thought...” you corrected yourself, taking a step behind him just to let your ball of energy explode, sending chunks of guts hurling in the air.

This time you were safe and sound behind your meat shield. You watched the blood and guts slide off of his infinity, slightly disappointed that he didn’t get covered in it.

Gojo lifted his middle and index finger, letting a small purple ball form above the tips, and when it got to the size of a marble he threw it at what remained of the curse.

Granted, his explosion was bigger and louder than yours, but it seemed like the curse was finally dead. “Show off,” you snapped at him while rolling your eyes, “Yeah, but you love it, don’t you?” he turned his head to the side, smirking. “Yeah, I do.” you folded your arms.

Wait, that’s not what I wanted to say.

Your words seemed to take both you and Gojo by surprise. “Was that supposed to be an attempt at sarcasm?” he belittled you, striding over to the largest part of the curse’s limp body, “No.” you said before you could stop yourself.

What the Hell is happening? 

Say calm and he wont notice.

“A genuine compliment? From you? That means the world.” this time he was the sarcastic one, he kicked some of the guts with his shoe and let it tumble to the floor.

Not trusting your words, you stayed silent and watched him for a moment before turning on your heels and heading for the exit.

“Where are you going?” he called after you, “I’m leaving!” you shouted back, thank God you still had some control over your mouth. Your whole body, specifically your tongue was tingling and it scared the shit out of you.

Within a few seconds he was walking next to you, your hurried pace easy to match with his long legs, “Aw, bored of me already?”, he feigned sadness to irritate you.

“No.” you huffed through heavy breaths. Shut up, shut up, shut up. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking but you could at least try and limit it to one word answers.

“Hey!” he grabbed your arm with a tight grip, you tried to pull away but his grasp was firm, “Is everything okay? What’s wrong?” he fired two questions at you, “I don’t know,” you panted, “I don’t feel right.”.

For once in his life he seemed genuinely concerned but all you could think about was his hands on your upper arms. “Stop, talk to me.” he tried to calm you down.

You stayed silent, and your mouth let you.

“You said you don’t feel right? What’re you feeling?” his thumb started rubbing reassuring circles on your skin, “Warm and tingly.” you blurted out.

Okay, so it’s only when he asks me questions? 

He cocked his head to the side curiously and you hoped it was vague enough for him not to connect the dots. “Let go of me, asshole.” you growled at him, feeling more like yourself. 

Almost as quickly as your own attitude changed, so did his. “Okay, sure.” he shrugged and released you, “Anyway, there’s a cute little café about five minutes from here that I’d love to take you to.” he said casually as you started to walk towards the exit again.

You wanted to tell him to get lost, or to keep dreaming, but the tingling became more intense and your skin got even warmer so you stayed quiet in hopes that he’d get the message.

“So, what’s your ideal first date?” he asked like some cheesy dating show host. He had to know, or at least he was feeling more playful than usual because of your vulnerable state.

The tingling feeling travelled up your stomach and soon is was creeping up your throat, you couldn’t hold the feeling down anymore, it was like you were going to be sick.

“P-Probably, something quiet-” you clamped your hand down over your mouth and muffled the rest of your answer into your palm, the moment you stopped talking you were gasping for air. This was harder than any training you’d ever done.

“What is up with you?” he laughed through his words, you were already exhausted from the last bout of word-vomit so the next answer came prettily quickly, “I can’t stop myself from talking.” you whined with annoyance.

Then he went strangely silent, it made you nervous. The both of you hoisted yourself back up to the main platform so you were off the tracks, just a little while longer and you could go home and wait for whatever side affect this was to wear off.

When he started lowly chuckling to himself you felt your blood go cold, “What?!” you snapped at him, “You’re freaking me out.”, he continued his laugh until he stopped walking, making you halt your pace as well.

“I get it now,” he wiped under his blindfold as though he was wiping away a tear from laughing, “How the curse was made, hearing that repeated phrase-” he stopped talking to stand up straight again, “-You can’t lie.” he grinned devilishly.

You tried to stop your eyes from widening but you were sure he noticed, “I need to leave.”, “Do you?”, “No.” the exchanged happened so quickly that you got whiplash.

“So, why are you in such a hurry to get away from me?” his smug grin never left his face.

Just say, 'I want to go home’, that’s all you need to say.

“I’m scared I’ll say something I don’t want you to know.” every muscle in your body was tensed, if you could clench your jaw tight enough, maybe it wouldn’t come out. But it wasn’t working.

When you’d realised what you’d said, you turned on the spot and started sprinting towards the exit, you needed to get far far away from him until this was over.

Then you collided with something hard, that something being Gojo’s chest. That fucking warp!

“What don’t you want me to know?” he asked as he wrapped his arm around you, holding you in place, “How I feel about you.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

Please, please, please don’t ask!

The corners of his mouth curled up into a wicked smile as he looked down his nose at you, the grip on your waist getting ever so slightly tighter.

“Okay okay! I see that look,” you could almost see his eyes flicking between your left and right iris under his blindfold. “What look?!” you snapped back rather harshly.

He quietly laughed to himself, “The murderous look in your eye,” he paused for a second, “But you don’t want to kill me do you?” he tilted his head to the side slightly. 

Normally you’d spit something like ‘If I could, I would’ his way but the moment you opened your mouth to speak, “No, I don’t,” came out instead.

“Aw, how sweet!” he cooed sarcastically. You could tell he was enjoying every second of this. He let go of your wrist and latched onto your wrist instead, walking you towards the exit, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up,” he stated.

He lifted his head up as though he was expecting a reply from you, but when your body allowed you to stay silent he added a “Would you like that?”. 

Despite the furrow of your eyebrows you let out a meek “Yes.” which earned an even deeper smile from Gojo.

In his defence, he left you in silence for the whole journey back to your apartment; although you felt a significant shift in his energy once you stepped through your front door.

“You can go now,” you huffed, shuffling your shoes off and immediately making your way to the bathroom so you could wash the dried blood off your hands at least.

Gojo tutted as he followed you down the hallway. “That’s no way to treat a guest!” He watched you start to scrub your hands clean as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, “And besides-” he continued “-Someone should stay with you just in case the curses effects get worse.”

You harshly turned the faucet off and gave him your most lethal death glare, “Well, I want a shower so you need to leave,” you peeled your shirt off of you and dumped it straight into the bathroom bin - there was no saving it from that curses residue, it was ruined.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he inspected his nails casually as though it was no big deal to him, but he had a slight lint to his voice to suggest that he was challenging you.

In some ways, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d seen you in your underwear before, back when you were both students.

“Leave!” you stood firm as you started to shimmy out of your pants, “Do you actually want me to?”, “No.” Slipped through your lips before you could stop it.

If his ego was visible it would’ve filled the room three times over by the stupid look on his face.

You sighed a “Whatever,” and proceeded to take off your underwear and dispose of them the same way you did your other clothes.

It was easier to be fully naked in front of him when he had his blindfold on, you knew he could obviously still see but you could still hold the illusion that he wasn’t sharing at your body.

“Happy now?” you smiled sarcastically at him and proceeded to turn the shower on, “Very,” he nodded and observed you.

He stood quietly against the doorframe as you leaned into the shower and turned the water on, the sound of water hitting the tiles was a nice change to the ever-tightening silence.

“So,” he started up again - of course he wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for long - “If you don’t want me to leave...” he let his sentence hang in the air.

You knew how it was going to end so you stepped into the shower and prayed that the water running over your ears would be enough to drown out your guest. “Sorry, can’t hear you, the water’s loud!” you said with sarcasm.

For a few deafening moments, everything was still; save for the sound of the shower. You didn’t trust it. The only thing worse than Gojo talking was when he wasn’t, because it meant he was up to something.

You turned to pull back your shower curtain to see whether he’d left, when Gojo stepped into the shower with you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he smiled, “How inconsiderate of me! Can you hear me better now?” he raised an eyebrow at you and you realised that he’d taken his blindfold off as well as the rest of his clothes.

“Yes!” you squeaked and turned your head to the side to avoid eye contact with it. He placed his palms against the same wall as the showerhead and leaned over you, blocking the water from running over you and instead cascading it down his own back.

You refused to move away, even in your vulnerable state, you were determined to keep your pride.

“So, as I was saying-“ his smirk crept up the corner of his mouth as you dared to meet his eye “- if you don’t want me to leave, what do you want me to do?”. 

The cocky expression that his face held made you want to scream, but you knew that wasn’t going to come out of your mouth. 

Instead of having your thoughts aired to him, you slapped your hand over your mouth as you did previously, and mumbled your confession into the palm of your hand.

Casually he gripped your wrist in one of his large hands and pulled it from your face, “The fact you’re doing that gives me all the answers I need,” he planted a gentle kiss onto your wrist just above where he was holding you.

You opened your mouth to tell him that he was wrong and to let go of you, but you realised that you could easily get out of his grasp if you wanted to.

The twinkle in his crystal blue eyes said that he realised that too.

He let go of your wrist and dragged the pads of his fingers down your side, outlining the silhouette of your body until he got to your hip - where he pressed his thumb into your flesh, making you jolt forwards.

He continued to trail his fingers along your skin as though he hadn’t done anything, his slender tips venturing lower and lower until they stopped on the inside of your thigh.

He leaned in so his lips were inches from your ear, “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered. He could’ve said anything, but he just had to ask you a question when he knew you couldn’t lie, “No.” you replied bluntly.

You swore at yourself under your breath. Of course you didn’t want him to stop, but you didn’t want to become just another number in his head. 

Somehow you’d managed to keep your name out of his ‘black book’ after years of pining for him - you didn’t want to give in and then be ignored by him for the rest of your life.

But you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted him, badly.

As soon as you gave him the answer he was looking for, he slipped his hand lower and immediately pressed the pad of his middle finger against your clit.

You gasped at the shock it gave you, but you quickly regained your composure enough to shoot him a quick, “I’m genuinely surprised you can find it!”.

He laughed through his nose and stared at your shit eating expression; even after a mission, with a curse’s lingering effect on you, somehow you still managed to challenge him.

The expression on your face fell pretty quickly when he started to rub little circles against your sensitive nub, instead it contorted into a look of bliss.

Your knees buckled and you fell against him, unintentionally trapping his hand in between your bodies as he wrapped his other arm around your waist so he could hold you against him.

“I- I-” you kept trying to speak but the barrage on you meant that any attempts at speech were cut off by gentle whines. 

For some reason he showed you some mercy and slowed down enough for your brain to form a sentence, “Go on, what is it?” he encouraged you, water running down his face and dampening his white locks.

“I hate you,” you said shakily, and he stopped all his movements save for momentarily letting go of you so he could push his sopping hair out from his eyes.

He reached behind you and turned your shower off, the only sound bouncing off the tiles was your laboured breaths and stray water droplets hitting the floor.

“Do you mean that?” he searched your face for an answer before your voice would give it, “No, I don’t.”. This time you couldn’t tell if that was the curse or you speaking.

A wicked grin crossed his lips as he yanked the curtain back and stepped out of the shower, swiftly grabbing you and pressing your front against the cold surface of your counter top.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he tutted playfully as he kept you bent over with a single hand on your lower back, “You could’ve really hurt my feelings!” his voice was laced with sarcasm.

The palm of his other hand caressed your ass cheek before giving it a gentle slap. 

His hand disappeared for a moment and you were about to turn your head to see what he was up to when you felt something warm tapping against the cheek he’d just slapped.

The wet feeling of, what you presumed to be, is pre-cum spread across your skin, “Do you want me?” he asked in a voice that was almost a whisper. You bit down on your forearm so he wouldn’t hear your answer.

A loud tut came from him moments before you felt his fingers slide into your hair and yank your head backwards, “I want to hear your answer, I said do you want me?” his voice had an aura of annoyance to it.

Your mind didn’t have time to warn your mouth, “Yes, I want you!” you cried. 

At your admittance, he pushed himself inside you. The lack of preparation meant that he met a bit of resistance against your tight ring of muscle but once you felt him push past, he slid the rest of the way in with ease - the angle he was holding your head meant that your moan was able to glide up your throat freely. 

A quiet sigh of ‘Oh fuck’ came from behind you as Gojo started to softly rock his hips, squishing your body between his pelvis and the counter.

His pace started off slow and calculated, but as his groans and your whimpers grew louder his resolve seemingly slipped away from him - he untangled his fingers from your hair and decided to grip your hips instead.

His fingernails, while short, were digging into your flesh just enough that you were sure there would be little crescent moon shaped indents left in their wake.

As moan after moan left your lips, you started to lose sight of why you’d resisted his advances for so long. 

Every smack of his hips against your ass reminded you that he’d offered you exactly this at least once a week since you met and you’d responded with a scoff of disgust or just flat out ignoring him.

Every laboured breath fogging up the mirror prompted the memory of you throwing your drink at him when he tried to kiss you at his promotion party. 

The sour words ‘I can do better than you, Satoru,’ holding an ironic embrace around your thoughts as they were flooded with the sensation of his shaft rubbing against your insides.

When one of his hands left your hip to entwine his fingers with your own, and his lips landing feverish kisses on the back of your shoulder, your mission to protect your pride felt more like blind sighted stubbornness.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he mumbled almost drunkenly against your skin. For once in your life, you sensed no sarcasm, cockiness or arrogance in his tone. “I th-thought, ah! I thought you r-really did hate me,” he struggled through his sentence.

His pace increased, as did your own sounds. You couldn’t help but mentally kick yourself for waiting so long to give in - you were sure you’d have buckled eventually, but feeling your orgasm tighten so quickly inside of you made you realise how much time you’d lost by digging your heels in the mud.

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” he spoke breathlessly. You unconsciously tightened around him, causing him to groan loudly against your skin, the fact that he’d seriously thought about fucking you heightening your senses.

He straightened his posture and used your hips to pull you back onto him and meet his thrusts until the new angle forced your orgasm out of you unexpectedly, washing away any last piece of stubbornness you had in you.

The mixture of your moans and the way your walls gripped him had Gojo finishing shortly after, he attempted a few more shallow bucks of his hip as though he was in denial of it being over, but he was spent.

He silently helped you clean up, turning the shower back on again and helping you into it like you’d gone back in time and he hadn’t just fucked you over your sink.

“Are you going to leave now?” you asked quietly, the sad realisation that now he’d had you he was probably going to throw you away like he did the many other girls before you.

His movements stilled for a second, “What?” he furrowed his eyebrows, looking genuinely hurt.

“Isn’t that what comes next? You got what you wanted and now you ignore me,” your cockiness from earlier had completely disappeared, “Is that what you think of me?” he asked.

You didn’t want to reply, but the feeling of your words being forced out of you returned - it wasn’t as strong as before so you were able to control how you told the truth. At least that meant the curse’s effects were wearing off.

“That’s what I’ve seen you do to others,” you shrugged sadly and reached for your shampoo bottle. 

He took it out of your hands and squeezed a bit of the gel onto his own hands and started to massage it into your hair for you.

“No to you, you’re special” was his brief reply as the gel turned into a light lather. You didn’t need to verbally say anything for him to understand that you didn’t believe him, it was in your eyes.

He leaned down and gently kissed you on the nose, a genuine soft smile spreading across his face, “For me, it’s always been you.”

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