#had this idea for like a week and needed to get it out of me

[beloveds-embrace]

(even more designationless!reader…)

The idea had clung to you like a ghost, silent and persistent. A whisper of possibility, a gnawing what if that refused to let go, lurking in the quiet spaces between your thoughts.

It started as an offhanded remark- just a passing suggestion from an Omega medic flipping through your file, his frown deepening at the blank space where a designation should be. He’d leaned in closer, like he was sharing a deep secret even though you’d heard of it before.

“You know, there’s a new procedure. A way to synthesize a scent, balance your hormones. Might help you fit in better.”

At the time, you’d laughed it off, a dry, hollow sound. You were fine. You had learned to live without instincts, without scent cues. You had a pack now- wasn’t that such a wonderful thought? You, of all people, with a pack- and they never made you feel lesser for it.

But still…

Still, you would never stop noticing the way strangers hesitated when they got too close, noses twitching as they tried to find something that wasn’t there. The way some looked at you like you were an anomaly, a hollow space where something vital should be.

The pack never made you feel wrong. But the rest of the world did before and after them.

So, you started actually looking into it. Quietly; and what you found was terrifying.

The procedure wasn’t just some simple injection or pill, wasn’t like the time you got yourself a pheromone perfume. It was invasive- gene therapy, hormone treatments, scent gland augmentation. Synthetic pheromones would be forced into your system, rewriting the very foundation of your body’s chemistry. The risks of rejection and infections were high. The list of potential side effects was even higher- neurological damage, sensory overload, organ stress. Death.

It wasn’t just expensive. It wasn’t just painful. It was dangerous.

And yet, the thought had taken a root far too deep to be simply pulled out.

What would it be like to walk into a room and be known? To have a scent that soothed your pack, something that would mark them the way they marked you with touches and borrowed clothes and lingering words? The pheromone perfume had been temporary, but this- it could be permanent. A cure.

It took weeks before you built up the courage to bring it up to your pack; weeks of staring at catalogues and brochures, google searches all on the costs, the risks, the very, very few who had tried it.

Sitting in the nest one evening, curled between them, you hesitated before you gathered enough courage and spoke. “I found a way to get a scent.”

The reaction was immediate, though you weren’t surprised. They’ve likely heard of the procedure before.

Johnny turned his head sharply from where he had been sprawled beside you, brow furrowing. Kyle, who had been playing absently with your fingers, froze. John, seated at the edge of the nest with a book in his lap, went still. And Simon- Simon growled. A low, rumbling thing that vibrated through your ribs, curling up inside your chest like a warning.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Your throat went dry. “You know about that procedure, right?” your words were careful, hesitant. “It’s… expensive. But it can create a scent for me. A real one.”

Silence. Then-

“No.”

John’s voice was sharp, absolute. Not angry, not yet. But firm in a way that brooked no argument. A command all on its own.

Your stomach twisted, and a deep frown etched itself onto your face. “I just thought-”

“No,” Simon repeated, harsher this time, sitting up straight. His eyes burned into yours, dark and furious. “Who the fuck put that idea in your head?”

You faltered, the hesitant hope in your chest slowly fanning out. “It’s not- I wasn’t—”

“You dinnae need fixing, hen.”

“It’s not about fixing,” you argued, pulse quickening. Why weren’t they giving you a chance to explain? “It’s about- I don’t know, being normal? Being able to-”

“You are normal,” Kyle interrupted, his voice thick, pain threaded around each word. “Christ, love, what made you think you weren’t?”

Frustration bubbled up, clogging your thoughts. “You don’t get it,” you snapped, and the words poured out, raw and aching. “None of you do. You’ve never had to live without it. Never had to wonder if you belonged because you don’t have the one thing that ties you to everyone else!”

John’s exhale was sharp, scrubbing a hand over his face and beard. He looked at you- really looked at you, and his face tensed even further. “And you think putting yourself through hell to force a scent into your system is the answer?”

You hesitated, exposed under their scrutiny, laid bare even in spite of the layers you were wearing.

“You’d risk your life for this?”

“People go through hormone therapy all the time-”

“Not like this,” Kyle shook his head, immediately cutting that line of thought off. “This isn’t just hormone theraph. This is gene-altering shit. You read the side effects, love? The risks?”

You had. And now, under their gazes, the weight of it pressed heavy on your chest.

Ghost shifted closer, holding your arm, face tight. “You’re not doing this.”

“You can’t just tell me what I can and can’t do with my own body!”

Price’s jaw tightened, eyes dark with something unreadable, something heavy. When he finally spoke, it was rough, edged with the kind of steel that only came from deep, unwavering conviction.

“You’re right.”

For a second, your breath caught, because you hadn’t expected him to say that. Did you-?

“We can’t tell you what to do with your body,” he continued, low but firm. “But we can stop you from hurting yourself. I will not allow you to go through that damn procedure.”

The words hit like a fist to the gut.

Simon exhaled sharply, tilting his head like he couldn’t believe you had even considered it. “You’d put yourself through that- all that danger, all that risk- just to what? Smell a little different?”

You swallowed, and then, after a heavy moment, nodded.

Kyle leaned in, wrapping himself around you, protective. “You,” he hissed. “You think some synthetic, lab-made scent could ever be worth you getting hurt?”

Your throat felt tight, and you looked away, only for Johnny to let out a rough, disbelieving laugh. “Jesus, lass. You think we’d ever want some artificial shite over you?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. “I just thought… maybe it would make things easier.” You admitted eventually, voice small and weak, avoiding their eyes. You’d thought… it might even make your family care.

Gaz inhaled sharply, like your words had hurt. “Easier for who?”

The question left you hollow, because you knew the answer.

Not for them.

Never for them.

John sighed, rubbing his temples before reaching out, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand and forcing you to look at him. “Love,” he murmured, and his voice had softened now, rough edges worn down to something gentler, something aching. “We don’t need you to smell like us to know you’re ours. We don’t need a scent to claim you, or to carry your scent.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, touch warm. “You’re already part of this pack.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, curling around your ribs, something painful and good all at once.

For so long, you had felt other. Like something was missing. But here, surrounded by them, their warmth pressing into you, their hands grounding you-

You could almost convince yourself you were whole.

Simon let out a slow breath and reached for you, pulling you into his lap with a kind of desperate, hungry care, his arms curling around you like he could somehow shield you from your own thoughts. Johnny pressed against your side, warm and solid, his grip firm where he held onto your wrist. Kyle leaned in, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and Price wrapped an arm around all of you, anchoring you to them.

And you let yourself believe them.

Omegaverse masterlist

[starlightswitch]

@flashfictionfridayofficial I was thinking about this idea since like Wednesday and the prompt slotted right in. But it's European Figure Skating Championship week and I was running out of time to watch replays, so it took me two days to finish it and to the Antique Prompts list it goes.

First Time For a Few Things

“Mom?” Chloe’s voice from upstairs.

“It’s after midnight!” Nina hadn’t looked at the clock but she had a feel for time when she was painting. If she was up after midnight painting it meant she was in a flow, and her daughter was not supposed to distract her unless it was an emergency.

“I… need… help.”

Nina rested her brush hand. “What kind of help?” she called, a sigh coming out in the middle of the words. She couldn’t imagine an emergency that would put that tone in Chloe’s voice—not urgent distress, more like… embarrassment?

“I think you need to come up here.”

This time the sigh was more quiet, but very, very long. Nina set her work aside and headed upstairs to find her daughter.

The first thing she saw in her daughter’s room was a teenage girl who was not her daughter.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” the girl said. “I don’t even know how I got here, and then that thing is asking Chloe what she wants it to do with me!”

Sure enough, at the other side of the room lurked a familiar frightening figure. And her daughter.

“He just… showed up!” said Chloe.

“The agreement,” said Nina, half to the demon, “was that you would be protected from harm. What harm were you coming to?” There was a little snark in her tone. She had a feeling she would not define it as harm.

“I was, um, just upset about something that happened with her. No big deal.”

Nina looked at the demon, then back at her daughter. She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“She told me to bring her to her,” the demon put in. Nina didn’t think she was imagining a bit of a whine in his voice.

“You got that thing involved—” said the other girl, staring at Chloe, “—because your—”

“I didn’t get that thing involved!” Chloe insisted. “I don’t know how he got here!”

“But you know how I got here! I got here because you told it to bring me to you. Then what were you going to do?”

“I don’t know!” That tone that might be embarrassment again. “I didn’t think that far!”

“So what happened?” said Nina. “What started this?”

“We don’t have to get into it!” said Chloe.

Nina looked at the other girl.

The girl raised her chin. “Her boyfriend broke up with her,” she said. “And started dating me.”

Nina swept her gaze back to Chloe. “So it wasn’t something she did?” she said.

“I mean,” said Chloe, staring at her feet, “it wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t exist.”

The other girl’s voice peaked. “You were going to tell it you wanted me to not exist?”

“I told you I didn’t think that far!”

Nina took a very deep breath. “You don’t want a guy who doesn’t want you and wants someone else,” she said to her daughter. “Trust me, you don’t.”

“I can’t just not want him!”

“You could try harder than you’re currently trying.”

Chloe went back to staring at her feet and did not say she couldn’t try harder.

After a minute, Nina said, “So now what do we do?”

“Ultimately I answer to you,” said the demon.

Nina was looking at Chloe.

Chloe rubbed her head, her chin in her hand like she was getting a headache. “He should take her back to where she was,” she said sullenly. “And I should try to get over the guy. I guess. And you’re probably going to say this dude can’t take orders from me.”

Nina swallowed a laugh at ‘this dude’. “The intention was to protect you from harm,” she said. “Let me now specify, physical harm. Or, obvious, direct harm. Not getting what you want is not harm, especially when it involves someone else making a choice.”

A boyfriend. It suddenly sank in. Chloe had had a boyfriend. Her daughter’s first boyfriend. Her daughter’s first breakup. She was not being the mother you were supposed to be for that.

But then, your daughter’s first breakup was not supposed to involve her sending demons after people.

“Um, can I get home?” said the girl. “So I can go to bed and not fall asleep in class tomorrow?”

“Take her home,” Chloe said with resignation. “So my mom can get back to work. I distracted her after midnight so I’m already in for it.

The demon looked at Nina. She made a gesture of “go ahead”. The demon and the other girl both vanished.

Chloe glanced at her mom. “You can go back to painting,” she said. “And we can never talk about this again." Before Nina could respond, she added, “Were you ever going to tell me I have some kind of weird, creepy god… goblin?”

That time Nina could not avoid a snort. Carefully casual, she asked in return, “Were you going to tell me you had a boyfriend?”

“I mean, it never really came up.”

Nina raised her eyebrows. “Well. Yeah.”

Chloe snorted.

“You should go to bed. It’s after midnight.”

“You should also go to bed, but you’re not going to.”

“If I’m tired in the morning, that’s my problem. If you’re tired in the morning, that’s also my problem.”

“And my problem.”

“Well, yes.” Nina shut the door, went downstairs, and went back to painting. She hoped she’d gotten away with not explaining, but knowing Chloe she knew that was too much to hope.

This should probably all feel much weirder to her than it felt. Maybe summoning a demon to protect your daughter had set the bar for abnormal pretty high. Or maybe everyone had a different sense of normal after midnight.

Seventeen years ago you summoned a demon to protect your infant daughter. Today, you regret that decision immensely. Demons should NOT be allowed to do the bidding of teenage girls.

[mulloey]

distracted

bad students must face the consequences of their behaviour. it doesn’t matter who your boyfriend is.

words: 2.9k

part of my february festival event

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warnings: dom!professors matz x sub!student reader, teacher-student relationship (hongjoong x you), power dynamics, threesome, punishment, spanking with ruler, very light anal play, face fucking, double penetration (mouth & pussy), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, sir kink, degradation, light dumbification etc

i am not responsible for the content you consume.

“What is this?”

He waves the sheet in front of your face indignantly and you recognise it instantly as the test you’d taken last week; the red D scrawled in the top corner gives you away and you huff. “How did you even—”

“Seonghwa,” he says, cutting you off. You’d roll your eyes if you thought you’d get away with it right now.

You knew it was a bad idea, really, dating Hongjoong; he may not have been your professor, but he is a professor, so you should’ve figured he’d be in cahoots with your teachers. It’s not like discretion was a massive concern, anyway; your relationship is an open secret among the staff. It’s technically not allowed, but you’re a grad student, an independent adult and your parents donate enough money to the school that neither of you would be in too much trouble if anyone did find out anyway. So you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that, when you turned in a piss-poor exam, Seonghwa had run off tattling to your boyfriend. Dickhead.

“I was just having a bad day,” you say. “I studied, really. I don't know what happened.”

Neither of you believe that, but you push your lips into a pout and do your best to look contrite—to play the sweet, innocent girl your boyfriend loves to ruin.

“Joong…” You try to sound scared but you both know you’re not; there’s nothing he could do to you that you wouldn’t enjoy, after all. You’re just as sick as each other.

Hongjoong chuckles, clicking his tongue. He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s pretending to be conflicted over whether to punish you or not, but he’s not very good at hiding his excitement. The regretful sigh he lets out when he makes his decision is laughably disingenuous. “Bad girl,” he says, shaking his head. “You know I can’t let you get away with this, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to respond but he doesn’t give you time; he shoves you down harshly, bending you over his desk so your ass is sticking up in the air. It’s a familiar position that you’ve found yourself in time and time again since you met him and you body prepares itself automatically; expecting him to spank you, you stick your ass up higher and wait with bated breath for the first blow. It doesn’t come. You crane your head around, confused. “Joong, what—” Oh.

You don’t need to finish the question; standing behind you, next to Hongjoong, is the very man who’d got you in this predicament in the first place— your medieval history professor, Park Seonghwa himself. He tilts his head, smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon.”

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t expected this—when did he even come in, anyway? “Joong—”

“You think we didn’t notice how you look at him?” Your boyfriend asks coolly. It’s only because of the cock in his hand, hard and already leaking, that you’re not worried he’s mad at you; no, he loves this. You should’ve known.

“Is that why you failed?” Seonghwa asks. “Too busy dreaming about me bending you over your desk? You have a boyfriend; an esteemed colleague of mine, in fact.” His tone is chiding and you feel yourself flush.

Hongjoong snorts almost petulantly. “As if she cares about that.”

“No?” Seonghwa asks. “What does she care about, then?”

“Pull her panties down and find out.”

Your cunt throbs painfully at the surety of the demand and the dark look in Seonghwa’s eyes as he obliges without hesitation. He doesn’t ask permission before he touches you—he already has it from the one who matters, after all—but when he pushes your skirt up your back, his hands still momentarily; you smile into the wood as you realise what they’re both looking at—the white, lacy panties sitting snugly across your pert cheeks.

“Well, isn’t that a sight.” Seonghwa’s voice is hoarse and affected as he rubs a hand across the delicate material. You feel yourself tense under his touch, the unfamiliar feeling of his skin on yours, and he gently pinches the soft flesh. “Relax,” he mumbles. “Be good, yeah? I won’t hurt you, I’ll be gentle.”

A sweet sounding lie; you can tell from the heaviness of his hand as it comes to rest on your ass that he has no such intentions. He fingers softly at the lace of your panties, sighing ruefully. “These really are beautiful,” he muses. “I hate to have to take them down like this, but bad students have to learn, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.” You crane your neck to follow your boyfriend’s voice and find him leaning against the wall behind Seonghwa, staring you down with familiarly cold eyes. He cocks an eyebrow when you finally catch his gaze. “Got something to say, precious?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Turn around, then,” he smiles. “I’m just here to watch.”

You turn back, though more so he doesn’t see you roll your eyes than out of a desire to obey him. Seonghwa has carefully shimmied your panties down to the middle of your thighs and the cold air of the office bites at your sensitive pussy.

“Spread your legs,” he says. “Show me how wet you are.“

Blushing furiously, you part your legs, spreading them as far as you can without snapping the panties bunched around your thighs. Seonghwa hums, running a long finger through your wet folds. The touch is unexpected but Hongjoong’s trained you well enough that you manage to stay still despite your surprise. You whine a little when he pulls away and you hear both men chuckle.

“Professor Kim,” Seonghwa says. His voice has a new quality; delicate and flirtatious as he addresses your boyfriend. “Come and taste how wet she is.”

You hear Hongjoong approach the elder and try to move around to see it, but Seonghwa’s firm hand on your neck holds you still. “I don’t think so, bad girl,” he tuts. “Only good little girls get to watch. Keep still.”

“Good call,” Hongjoong purrs. “She’s always loved seeing me with other people. Little pervert would probably start humping the table if she saw me doing this.”

You hear the wet, lewd sounds of Hongjoong sucking at Seonghwa’s finger, lapping up your juices with a noise of pleasure. “Delicious little slut,” he chuckles. “Let’s get her properly disciplined so we can play with her how she wants.”

Somehow you hear the wide grin in Seonghwa’s voice as Hongjoong backs away. “I quite agree.”

His hands rests on your ass again, squeezing it softly. “This is what’s gonna happen, little one. You got a 48 on my exam, didn’t you?”

You’re almost embarrassed to hear the number and you know Hongjoong is too. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, Professor will do,” he says. “You’re not my friend, sweetheart. You’re just a wayward student being put back on the right path.”

Shame courses through you but it would be a lie to say it’s anything but thrilling. “Yes, professor,” you whisper.

He taps your ass appreciatively. “Good girl. So, you got a 48 on my exam. What was the pass mark?”

“60, Professor,” you mumble.

“Now that’s not very hard to achieve, is it Professor Kim?”

“It’s not. The pass marks in my class are higher, in fact.”

You want to roll your eyes at their smug, jovial tones but you’re too aroused now to do anything but anticipate.

“A pathetic score, really.” Seonghwa’s voice is closer than ever and you feel his presence just inches away. “Especially for such a bright young woman. I think you need to learn to separate your head—” he gathers a piece of your hair, gently folding it behind your ear “—and your pussy, hm?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good.“ Something long and thin taps at your bare skin and you recognise it instantly—the wooden ruler Hongjoong keeps in his desk drawer for when he’s feeling particularly on-the-nose about the taboo nature of your relationship.

“I’m going to hit you with this twelve times,” Seonghwa purrs. “For each of the marks you easily could have gotten if you hadn’t been too busy imagining my cock in your mouth. Yeah?”

You nod, feeling yourself pulse. “Yes, Professor.”

“Repeat after me, alright?” The first hit is quick and sharp, spread over your ass and it makes you gasp. Seonghwa chuckles and rubs the reddening flesh before he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to whisper in your ear. “One,” he says. “I’m sorry for being such a slut, Professor.”

You repeat it quietly and he tuts. “Louder than that, love. I’m sure your boyfriend wants to know you’re learning your lesson.”

You oblige, repeating it louder and he makes a noise of satisfaction before the ruler comes down again, this time at the tops of your thighs. “Two,” he says. “I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

“Two, I’m… I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

The next hit lands in the same spot. “Three. I’m sorry for dripping over Professor Kim’s desk just from being spanked.”

You blush in embarrassment; you’d half hoped he wouldn’t notice, but that was a tall order anyway. When it comes to Hongjoong and anything to do with him, you’ve never been subtle.

The next hits follow the same pattern, spread across your ass and thighs with each one making you gasp louder than the last.

“Four. I’m sorry for making Professor Park waste his time disciplining me.”

“Five. I’m sorry for daydreaming about choking on another man’s cock.”

“Six. I’m sorry for being arrogant enough to think I’d get away with such an embarrassing performance.”

The last one hits you right on your dripping pussy, making you scream and he grabs your hair, spinning you around to face him and your boyfriend; your eyes hone in on Hongjoong’s cock, pulsing in his hands before Seonghwa forces your attention back to him. “Twelve,” he growls. “I’m sorry for being such a cockwhore that I’m making Professor Park break his rule about sleeping with students.”

You can’t help but grin as you repeat his words, feeling proud. Of course, you knew from the moment you turned around and saw him standing there what was going to happen, but it’s nice to hear it from him. He smiles, grasping your neck gently. “Did you like that?” He asks. “Getting spanked by your professor while your boyfriend jerks off to it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I liked it.”

“Well, now that you’ve learnt your lesson,” he says, “I think it’s time you got fucked, no?”

You nod and turn to your boyfriend; he tilts his head, nodding towards his hard cock. “You know what to do,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” You sink to your knees, staring up at Seonghwa and sending him a teasing smile before crawling towards Hongjoong. You open your mouth, letting him push his dick inside; after all this time together, he doesn’t need to ease you into it anymore and can go straight to fucking your mouth and you take it diligently, opening your throat the way he’s trained you to. You hear Seonghwa whistle, admiring.

“She sucks cock like a fucking pro,” he laughs; the arousal in his voice is thick and unmistakable. “You’ve trained her well, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong laughs too, patting your head. “I had an excellent student,” he grins. You smile around him at the praise and he curses. “You’re too good at this, babe, Jesus. Gonna cum before I even fuck you.”

He thrusts into your mouth a few more times before pulling out abruptly, shoving you off of him and in an instant Seonghwa’s hands are in your hair as he pulls you to your feet and shoves you back over the desk. You collide painfully with the wood but you barely notice; you’re used to being manhandled by now, and it only makes you more excited.

Large hands you recognise as Seonghwa’s grab your ass cheeks, pulling them apart slowly; the air hits your exposed holes and makes you jump in surprise but you quickly regain your composure. As you still yourself again you feel Hongjoong’s finger running gently across your asshole, almost like he’s inspecting it, before it slides down to toy with your pussy.

“Hm…” Seonghwa’s voice is teasing. “What’s your favourite hole of hers, Professor Kim?”

“What a question,” Hongjoong chuckles and you hear the smile in his voice. His finger prods gently at your rim, making you tense unconsciously and he tuts, lightly slapping the tight little hole. It’s a subtle, painless chastisement but it makes you whine all the same. “Now, now, kitty cat,” he chuckles. “I didn’t train you to squirm, did I?”

“No, sir,” you mumble.

“Good,” he says. “To answer your question, Hwa, I’d have to say her pussy. I love her ass, of course, but nothing compares to the way that little cunt clings to my dick like it’s just begging for a baby.”

“Well that does sound nice.” Seonghwa’s hands leave your ass, returning to your pussy to spread you open. “It looks snug,” he says. “What do you think, little one? Want your professor to breed you?”

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up with the rest of you and you frown in confusion. “I- you mean you, Professor Park?” You ask. It comes out as more of a strangled cry; your head is a mess of arousal and you barely even register what he’s saying to you, let alone comprehend it fully.

He laughs, patting your soft skin gently. “Yes, perhaps I should be more clear. It must be confusing to be bending over in front of two of your teachers.”

Your face burns at the obvious mockery; the degrading, sneering tone of his voice but you say nothing. Seonghwa hums. “So?” He asks sweetly. “You want me in your cunt, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Professor.”

“There’s those manners,” he praises.

He keeps a firm grip on your hips as he slides in from behind; the feeling of his skin against your still burning ass is uncomfortable, but the way his cock is stretching you as he buries himself inside you is the only thing your brain can process right now.

He’s just as big as Hongjoong, maybe a little bigger, but his thrusts are more fluid and controlled; where Hongjoong fucks you like an animal hungry for more, Seonghwa fucks you with precision; with intention. His hands on your hips are firm yet gentle and the way he finds you in your deepest places has your head spinning with euphoria. “Jesus,” he curses. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth to respond, barely getting a whine out before you feel hands in your hair, yanking at it to pull you forward. Hongjoong comes into view on the other side of the desk, his dick somehow still hard as he feeds it into your mouth. “There you go,” he coos. “Keep it hard, baby.”

You nod as best as you can and the friction against his dick makes your boyfriend groan. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking good with cock you could make me cum on accident.”

The feeling of two dicks inside you makes it hard to focus on either one; let alone to begin to process the filthy words they spit down at you. Intesd you close your eyes, letting the tears fall as Hongjoong starts to fuck your throat again; you’re limp against the desk now, held up solely by the wood and by the two men using you to satisfy themselves. “Oh shit,” Hongjoong says, seeing your dazed expression. “Baby’s gone dumb already.” He strokes your hair gently, a small comfort between punishing thrusts. “You okay, little dove?”

You groan in response, unable to do much else; it makes them laugh and Seonghwa pats your ass affectionately. “You’re doing so well,” he says. “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up real nice, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp.

The feeling of Seonghwa’s thrusts growing faster and harder and more desperate is overwhelming; coupled with the sensation of Hongjoong’s cock hitting the back of your throat again and again, it’s almost unbearable. Your fingers claw against the wood, surely leaving marks but you don’t care; you feel unlike you ever have before, stuffed full and used by two of the most attractive men you’ve ever even imagined.

You’re in so deep that you don’t even realise it’s over until the emptiness of your mouth and cunt becomes obvious; you feel cum leaking from your hole, a wet substance dripping down the desk and only when you look closer do you figure out what it is—squirt. You squirted. You squirted all over your boyfriend’s desk with another man’s cock in your pussy and you’ve never been more fucked out and satisfied than you are now.

When you stand up fully your legs, numbed and weakened by their abuse, start to give out but Hongjoong is there in an instant; he catches you in his arms, lowering himself to the ground so he can cradle you in his lap. You’re faintly aware of Seonghwa’s voice and strong hands stroking your hair before he’s gone, and it’s just you and Hongjoong.

“Good girl,” he mutters. “You took that so well.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I only hope your performance in Professor Park’s class improves soon. Otherwise he’ll have to tutor you if you want to keep your spot in his class.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“Uni rules,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant but the knowing smile on his face tells all. “If you fail two exams in a row, that’s what happens.”

You don’t know why he seems so surprised when you turn up in his office a month later with a D-minus and an already leaking pussy. He always knew you were insatiable.

Lucky for you, so are they.

—

comments/reblogs appreciated! i’m not sure im super happy with the ending but we move. let me know your thoughts! love🖤🖤🖤

ateez taglist: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi @tangerineastronaut @fancypeacepersona @aloevendetta (unable to tag: @lemonkait00 @mylovelymito)

february festival taglist: @hohongsan @nopension

[zephyrchama]

You are a sheep.

You have been in the form of a sheep ever since you came to the Devildom. It can be quite inconvenient at times, but life finds a way.

This particular morning, you were awoken in the early hours of the morning by an odd murmur. It was impossible to gauge the time, given the Devildom's eternal night, but something instinctual told you it was too early for whatever nonsense was about to happen.

Fighting your heavy eyelids, you turned your head. Seven demons were sitting on the floor beside your bed, staring at you.

"You're awake!" Leviathan proclaimed.

"I told you the noise would wake them," Lucifer sighed.

"We were being quiet, though," Belphegor remarked.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Asmodeus greeted you.

"Shut it! It's happenin'!" Mammon caused the room to go silent again.

If you've learned anything in the Devildom, it's that even sheep deserve privacy. You dragged yourself into a sitting position and bleated, "what's happening?"

"We're checking the weather," Satan informed you.

"It's a tradition of sorts," Beelzebub explained.

"Can't you do that... literally anywhere else?" The second half of your question got obscured by a yawn, but you were sure you made your point. "What time even is it?"

"It's 6:03," Leviathan said.

"In the morning? Are you guys kidding me?"

As you sighed a grumpy sigh and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, Satan called your name.

"What?"

"Have you checked your shadow?" he asked.

"Huh? What do you mean, checked it?"

"Did you see it?" Belphegor asked.

"My shadow?" There was hardly any light, let alone light strong enough to cast a shadow on your bed. You twisted your neck to look around. "I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"No shadow!" Mammon exclaimed, so loud you almost fell over again.

Lucifer nodded his head, hand placed thoughtfully on chin. "Spring will likely come early this year. I'll inform Diavolo."

Asmodeus launched himself at your spot on the bed. Before you could stop him, he had you lifted in the air. "You're the best!"

Everybody clapped. Leviathan was going on about "the springtime of youth" finally arriving, while Beelzebub said they'd all have to get hot pot one last time before it went out of season. Important context about what just happened was clearly missing, but you've learned that sometimes you need to just go with the flow.

You dangled ragdoll-style from Asmodeus' hands while he did a little dance and wondered if they'd all let you go back to sleep.

You know they won't. Happy Groundhog Day! Looks like irl we've got 6 more weeks of winter.

[woniedarlin]

XO,I'm Yours

pairing: Jungwon x fem! Reader

genre: XO, Kitty au

synopsis: Having a massive crush on Jungwon is tough. Every time he’s around, your brain malfunctions, and instead of acting normal, you… avoid him. He’s calm, chill, and entirely out of your league (at least, that’s what you tell yourself). Enter Kitty, the matchmaker, determined to make things happen. With her “help,” you find yourself in the most awkward yet heart-racing moments with Jungwon.

The worst part? Jungwon is noticing you now. And it’s making everything so much more complicated. But maybe… Kitty’s plan wasn’t so bad after all.

author's note: This was requested by @firstclassjaylee . Thank you for this idea!!! Please let me know the pronouns for the og XO Kitty characters! I wasn’t sure, so if I got them wrong, I’d happily change them immediately. Apologies in advance for not being able to mention all the characters. Happy reading!

caution: This fic contains extreme secondhand embarrassment and an excessive amount of Jungwon-induced butterflies. Read at your own risk!

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n

The plan was simple. Avoid Jungwon at all costs.

It wasn’t that he was mean. That was the problem. Jungwon was nice. The kind of nice that made your stomach do flips and made you feel like an idiot for getting so flustered over someone just existing. So, instead of embarrassing yourself, you settled for admiring him from afar. No eye contact. No unnecessary conversations. Easy.

At least, it was easy...until Kitty found out.

“You have a massive crush on him,” Kitty said one afternoon with her arms crossed.

“No, I don’t.” You knew lying was pointless, but still, you had to try.

Kitty gave you a look. “You walked into a door last week because he was standing near it.”

Your face burned. “That was an accident.”

“Sure,” she said unimpressed. “Look, lucky for you, I happen to be amazing at matchmaking. And I happen to have a plan.”

You blinked. “A plan?”

“Step one: Stop avoiding him.”

You immediately shook your head. “Absolutely not.”

“Too bad because I already started.”

Your stomach dropped. “Kitty. What did you do?”

She just grinned. “You’ll see.”

And just like that, your quiet little crush? It was about to become very complicated.

💌

You should have known Kitty wouldn’t waste any time. The very next day, you find yourself in an unavoidable situation.

It started in the Library. You had just settled in your usual corner, buried in a book, when Kitty slid into the seat across from you.

“What are you—”

“Shh.” She put a finger to her lips. “Just act natural.”

That’s when you saw him.

Jungwon.

He was scanning the shelves a few feet away, oblivious to how your entire body tensed at seeing him. Your brain screamed at you to run, but before you could, Kitty leaned in and whispered, “I told him you needed help with your econ homework.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “You did what?”

And right on cue, Jungwon turned, eyes landing on you.

“Hey,” he said as he was walking over.

Kitty beamed. “Perfect timing! She was saying how she’s completely lost in econ.”

You snapped your head toward her. Liar. You were literally top of the class.

Jungwon pulled out the chair beside you and sat down without hesitation. “I can help.”

You swallowed. Oh no.

Kitty’s grin was way too smug. “Great! I’ll leave you two to it.” Then, before you could protest, she was gone.

Leaving you. Alone. With Jungwon.

You looked down at your phone, noticing a message from Kitty

“You’re welcome ;)’’

💌

You tried to focus on Jungwon's explanation for the first few minutes. Really, you did.

But how were you supposed to concentrate when he was sitting this close?

He leaned over the table, pointing at your textbook, his voice steady as he explained some economic theory. You nodded along, pretending to listen, but in reality, your brain was short-circuiting.

“Does that make sense?” he asked, turning to look at you.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

Your face heated. “I was! Kind of. Maybe.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re bad at lying.”

You groaned, then covered your face. “This is embarrassing.”

“Why?” He tilted his head. “It’s just me.”

Exactly.

It was just him. Just Jungwon, who you had spent months avoiding because he made you feel like a walking disaster. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed amused.

“I don’t bite, you know,” he said. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you blurted out.

He smirked. “So you’ve just been avoiding me for fun?”

You clamped your mouth shut.

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, watching you with a knowing look. “Huh.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” His smirk deepened. “You’re interesting.”

Your stomach did a backflip.

Oh, you were so doomed.

Later that night, Kitty found you in your dorm room, looking too pleased with herself.

“So?” she asked, flopping onto your bed. “How did it go?”

You groaned. “I made a fool of myself.”

Kitty laughed. “Define ‘fool.’”

“I blanked out. He caught me staring. I admitted to avoiding him. And he called me interesting.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait. He called you interesting?”

You nodded miserably.

Kitty squealed. “That’s huge!”

You frowned. “How is that huge?”

“Because Jungwon doesn’t just call people interesting, my dear hopeless friend. You caught his attention.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You think?”

“I know.” Kitty grinned. “And trust me, this is only the beginning.”

You groaned again, flopping face-first onto your pillow.

Kitty just laughed.

After all, the matchmaking had only just begun.

💌

“Okay,” Kitty clapped her hands, grinning as she stared at you. “Today’s the day we level you up.”

You blinked and were confused. “Level me up?”

“Yes! You like Jungwon, but you get all shy and awkward around him,” she pointed out. “So, if you want him to notice you, we must work on your confidence.”

You groaned, already feeling embarrassed. “Kitty, this is so unnecessary.”

Kitty ignored you and stepped forward. “First lesson: Posture! Stand straight, shoulders back. Confidence comes from the way you carry yourself.”

You hesitated before adjusting yourself, trying to mimic the way she stood. “Like this?”

Kitty nodded. “Good. Now, when you see Jungwon, don’t look away all nervous. Hold eye contact. Make him feel like he’s the only person in the room.”

You gulped. “The only person in the room? Kitty, I can’t even look at him for three seconds without feeling like I’m about to pass out.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly why we’re practicing! Here, pretend I’m Jungwon.”

You stared at her. “Kitty, this is weird.”

“Do it!” she urged.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly raised your head, looking her in the eyes. You managed to hold it for two seconds before covering your face. “Nope. I can’t do this.”

Kitty groaned dramatically. “Okay, let’s try something else. Flirting! Sometimes, a little playful teasing can go a long way.”

You hesitated. “Like… what kind of teasing?”

Kitty smirked. “Try complimenting him, but make it sound casual. Like, ‘Wow, Jungwon, you look so good today.’”

You cringed. “That doesn’t sound casual at all.”

“It’s all about the tone!” Kitty explained. “Say it naturally, like you’re just making an observation.”

You sighed and cleared your throat, trying to sound confident. “Wow, Jungwon, you look so good today.”

Kitty immediately burst into laughter. “Why do you sound like a robot?”

You groaned and covered your face again. “I told you I’m bad at this!”

She patted your shoulder. “Okay, okay. Let’s try something easier…Oh! What about smiling? When you see him, could you give him a little smile? Not too big, not too small. Just a hint of a smile.”

You nodded and tried it. Kitty examined you for a second before shaking her head. “No. That looks scary.”

“Kitty!!”

“Okay, okay! Let’s just—oh wait, Jungwon’s coming!” Kitty suddenly grabbed your shoulders.

Your eyes widened in pure panic. “WHAT?!”

“Relax! Just do what we practiced!” she whispered urgently.

Jungwon walked past, glancing at the two of you. You froze utterly, your mind going blank. Then, at the last second, you remembered Kitty’s advice. You quickly straightened your posture and gave him a small smile… except you accidentally bared your teeth like an awkward grimace instead of a confident smile.

Jungwon slowed down slightly, his brows furrowing. “Uh… are you okay?”

‘’Pfft’’ Kitty covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

You, wholly mortified, quickly turned away. “Yes! Totally fine! Just… stretching my face!”

Jungwon blinked, clearly confused, before nodding slowly and walking off.

The moment he was out of sight, you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Kitty, I hate this.”

Kitty finally burst out laughing. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t your best moment, but hey! At least you tried!”

“I just embarrassed myself,” you muttered.

Kitty grinned. “Relax. Slow and steady wins the race. You’ll get there.”

You sighed, not entirely convinced, but Kitty’s encouragement made you feel slightly better. Maybe with time—and much more practice—you’d finally get the confidence you needed.

…Hopefully, before you died of embarrassment first.

💌

After your absolute disaster of a confidence practice session with Kitty, you decided there was only one solution.

Avoid Jungwon.

At all costs.

Your already massive crush on him had now turned into full-blown mortification. Every time you so much as thought about how you awkwardly bared your teeth at him, you wanted to disappear into the earth. So, naturally, when you spotted Jungwon walking down the hallway, you did what any logical person would do.

You grabbed the nearest person and used them as a human shield.

“Minho,” you hissed, ducking behind his tall frame.

Minho barely flinched while sipping on his collagen water. “Oi, what’s this then?” he drawled,

You gripped his shoulders. “I need to hide.”

Minho sighed, already used to your antics. “Lemme guess—Jungwon?”

You nodded frantically.

Minho shook his head but didn’t move. “You know, mate, you can’t keep running forever.”

“Yes, I can,” you whispered.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

“Minho,” Jungwon’s voice suddenly called out, catching your breath.

You peeked over Minho’s shoulder just in time to see Jungwon stopping before him, looking too good for your heart to handle.

Minho, unfazed, nodded in greeting. “Aye, mate. What’s up?”

Jungwon started talking to Minho about something you were too distracted to process. Because while he was addressing Minho, his eyes kept peeking over Minho’s shoulder—straight at you.

You immediately shrank further behind Minho.

Jungwon’s lips twitched slightly. “Hey,” he said, this time directed at you.

Your brain is short-circuited. Oh no. He’s talking to me. Abort mission. Abort mission.

Minho, ever the instigator, casually stepped to the side, exposing you completely.

You had no choice but to face Jungwon. “H-Hi,” you managed weakly.

Jungwon tilted his head slightly. “Are you hiding from me?”

“What? No! Pfft, that’s crazy,” you blurted out and laughed nervously.

Minho smirked and sipped his collagen water. “Yeah, mate, totally crazy.”

You kicked the back of Minho’s shoe.

Jungwon didn’t look entirely convinced but let it slide. “Alright,” he said before flicking his gaze back to Minho.

You thought you were in the clear—until you noticed that Jungwon kept glancing at you even as he continued his conversation with Minho. Every few seconds, his eyes would shift back to you.

It was subtle, but it was enough to make your stomach flip.

Then, as Minho made some joke in his relaxed drawl, Jungwon suddenly interrupted, his eyes locking on yours. “You don’t have to hide, you know,” he said softly.

Your heart stopped.

After thoroughly enjoying the situation, Minho took a long sip of his drink. “Oi, look at that, would ya? Some real tension here.”

You kicked him again.

Jungwon only smiled slightly before looking away as if he hadn’t just destroyed your ability to function.

And just like that, your plan to avoid him had backfired entirely.

You were so doomed.

💌

The sound of typing and the flick of pages turning was the soundtrack of your days lately. You had been buried in textbooks for what felt like forever. The stress had accumulated, leaving you exhausted. Your face was pale, and dark bags were under your eyes from the sleepless nights, but you couldn’t stop. You had to push through. A vast project was coming up, and you couldn’t afford to fail.

You propped your head up with one hand, barely able to keep your eyes open as you glanced over your notes. The words blurred, your mind already foggy from overworking. Before you knew it, your head dropped onto the table with a soft thud.

“Ugh…,” you mumbled as you fought to stay awake.

The door creaked open, and you heard the familiar sound of footsteps entering. Kitty’s voice followed soon after. “Hey, are you still at it?”

Jungwon’s calm tone responded, “She’s been studying for hours now. I don’t think she’s taking breaks.”

You groaned, too tired to even lift your head. The sounds of them approaching grew closer until you felt the soft pressure of someone standing beside you. You sighed and tried to sit up, but the weight of your exhaustion made it hard.

As you lifted your head, you saw Kitty’s shocked expression first. She gasped, her hand coming up to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! You look like you haven’t slept in days! Your face… it’s—”

You blinked slowly, too tired to defend yourself. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, attempting to give a smile, but it came out weak and crooked.

Kitty’s eyes softened with concern. “You need to take a break. Look at those bags under your eyes. Are you even eating right?”

Before you could reply, you heard Jungwon’s voice. “There’s nothing wrong with your face,” he said unbothered. He bent down to your level. “You’re still pretty, even with all that stress.”

The compliment caught you off guard. You couldn’t help but blush despite how exhausted you were. “W-well, thank you…” you stammered, a little embarrassed.

Kitty rolled her eyes playfully. “See, Jungwon knows what to say! But seriously, you need to rest.” She crossed her arms, and her frown replaced her concern. “This is way too much. You’re going to burn yourself out at this rate.”

Jungwon nodded slightly. “Kitty’s right. You won’t get far if you can’t even stay awake.”

You sighed, both too tired and too embarrassed to argue. “I… I need to finish this.”

Kitty leaned closer and whispered as if sharing a secret, “How about I help you get this done faster? You can relax, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

You blinked slowly, still too drained to think straight. “Are you sure?”

She smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. You need to close your eyes for a bit.”

Jungwon shot you a small and reassuring smile. “Take a break, okay? You don’t want to make yourself sick over this.”

You hesitated momentarily before nodding, grateful for their support even if you still felt guilty. You slid down in your chair, resting your head against the backrest and briefly closing your eyes.

Kitty moved to your side, pulling out her phone to check her messages. Jungwon stayed silent nearby, giving you an almost protective glance as you rested.

“Good. Now, take a nap. No more studying for the rest of the day,” Kitty said with a smile as she gave you the space to rest.

You breathed a sigh of relief and closed your eyes, hoping the rest would help ease the weight of the world you’d been carrying.

💌

You sat quietly on a chair, Minho beside you, applying your skincare. He had been your skincare mentor for a while, helping you with all the little tricks you needed. “Alright, make sure you really press it in,” Minho said, gently patting the moisturizer into your skin.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever do it as well as you,” you murmured. “But thanks for teaching me.”

Minho smiled. “Of course. You’re a fast learner,” he said, dabbing the cream across your cheek. “Maybe you should start your skincare vlog or something.”

You chuckled softly, “I’d probably mess it up on camera.”

Minho shook his head and let out a grin. “You’d be perfect. Trust me.”

You both laughed; the room felt safe. There was no pressure, no expectations, just good company. Then the door creaked open, and you looked up. Jungwon stepped in, looking casual, but something about his presence made the atmosphere feel different…tense, almost.

Minho waved at him, still oblivious to the sudden shift. “Hey, Jungwon! Just helping out with her skincare. You should join us.”

You froze for a moment, catching Jungwon’s eyes. Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly looked away, too shy to hold his eyes for long.

Jungwon’s lips twitched in an almost a frown. “I’m good,” he said; his eyes were focused on you and Minho, how you both were laughing and talking comfortably.

Minho, clearly unaware of the undercurrent between the three of you, laughed again. “You sure? I think I’m pretty much a skincare pro now.” He gently patted your cheek again, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

You noticed Jungwon kept looking at your face, then back to Minho’s hand. There was a slight tension in his posture now. His arms were still crossed, and his eyes had narrowed just a little. “I think she’s got it covered,” Jungwon’s voice a little colder. “You’re always helping her with something.”

You looked down, trying to avoid his gaze as his words were uncomfortably in the air. Your heart beat faster than usual, and you were too shy to respond. Why was it that whenever Jungwon was around, you lost all ability to act normal?

Minho didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “What can I say? I’m just a helpful guy,” he replied with a wink.

Jungwon’s eyes flickered between the two of you. He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer. “Well, maybe she doesn’t need that much help,” he said, a little irritated. His tone wasn’t even harsh.

You flinched slightly, but you didn’t say anything. You just sat there, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

Minho noticed the shift. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop making her feel like a project,” he teased, though it was clear he was a little confused by Jungwon’s sudden change in attitude. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

You bit your lip, feeling the awkward silence settle over the room. Jungwon didn’t respond immediately; they just looked at you for a beat longer than necessary. Then he exhaled and glanced at the door. “You should probably get some rest,” Jungwon said softer now. “It’s late.”

You nodded quickly. Unsure of what to say. “Right, I’ll—uh, I’ll head to bed.”

Minho, still oblivious, smiled. “Get some sleep. We’ll finish up tomorrow.”

You nodded again, glancing briefly at Jungwon as you left. Jungwon’s voice stopped you before you could walk out. “You’re… you’re fine, right?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated. “I’m fine,” you replied quietly while avoiding his gaze.

He nodded, then gave you an unreadable smile. “Okay,” he said before turning back to Minho.

You walked out of the room quickly,

Was that… jealousy?

That’s impossible.

💌

“You have to wear this,” Kitty declared, holding up a dress that made your stomach tense.

“Kitty, no.”

“Kitty, yes.”

You glared at her through the mirror, but she just grinned as she shoved the outfit into your hands. “Trust me,” she said. “Jungwon won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

You swallowed hard at the thought. Jungwon. Seeing you. In this.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t dressed up before, but this outfit felt… different. More intentional. It's more like you were trying to get his attention.

Which, okay, you were, but still—

Kitty snapped her fingers in front of your face. “No overthinking! Just wear it. Come on, it’s a party! You’re supposed to look hot.”

You groaned but ultimately let her win (not that you ever had a choice).

By the time you were ready, you were nervous to the point that you needed to go to the restroom for a second. Your reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. Kitty had curled your hair and given you subtle but effective makeup; the outfit made you feel… good.

“You look amazing,” Kitty whispered and squeezed your shoulders. “Now go show Jungwon what he’s missing.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. You felt a little bit braver as you followed her out.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. You weren’t even inside for a full minute before you felt the weight of someone’s eyes on you.

And when you turned—

There he was.

Jungwon.

Standing across the room, eyes locked on you with a similar unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you blurred, and all you could focus on was how his eyes slowly traveled over you before he looked away.

Kitty, standing beside you, definitely noticed.

“Oh,” she whispered and nudged you with her elbow. “He so noticed.”

You felt your face heat up.

Jungwon, however, had turned away, disappearing into the crowd before you could react.

The party was energetic, but you barely registered anything. Kitty had practically forced you into this dress, hyping you up, fixing your hair, and making you promise you wouldn’t shrink away if Jungwon talked to you.

But here he was—talking to you—and you were about two seconds from running.

“You look different.”

You looked up at him with your fingers gripping your cup tighter.

“What?”

His gaze was enough to make you feel self-conscious.

“You don’t usually dress like this,” he said.

You swallowed. “Oh. Yeah. Kitty—”

“Makes sense.”

Your brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Jungwon took a sip of his drink and then met your gaze again.

“It means you look pretty.”

If that makes sense, your brain wholly short-circuited, and you felt like your stomach was twisting again.

You needed to escape.

But the second you tried to move, a gentle hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t run away,” Jungwon said softly.

You froze.

His grip wasn’t tight or forceful—just enough to hold you there, to make you look at him.

“You always do that,” he murmured.

Your throat went dry.

Jungwon tilted his head slightly, “You’re always avoiding me,” he continued, “but then you’re always looking.”

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon let out a chuckle. Then, most casually, like he wasn’t wholly messing with your heart, he said—

“You don’t have to run. I don’t mind if you stay.”

You weren’t used to this—at least not with him.

“Hey,” Jungwon’s voice was quiet, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You were processing his words slowly. You had been avoiding him for so long, not because you didn’t like him, but because the thought of being close to him made your heart skip beats. And now, here he was, standing so close,

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, shifting your gaze anywhere but him. The more you looked at him, the more your stomach flipped.

Jungwon’s hand fell to his side. He gave you a little space, but not enough to make you feel like he was giving up. You could tell that he wasn’t the type to give up easily. “I didn’t mean to crowd you,” he continued, understanding. “I… wanted to hang out, y’know?”

You nodded slowly, still unsure how to move past the awkward tension that had settled between you two. It was strange, feeling so seen yet so exposed. “Okay.” You took a deep breath. “I… I’m not good with all of this yet.”

Jungwon smiled at that. He didn’t push, didn’t pressure. Instead, he took a small step back, keeping a respectful distance but maintaining that comforting presence. “I get it,” he said. “But if you ever want to talk or hang out, I’m here. No rush.” He let the words hang in the air. He is willing to wait until you are ready.

You finally allowed your eyes to meet his, “Thanks,” you whispered, feeling a warmth in your chest that wasn’t just from the proximity but from the simple kindness he showed you. He wasn’t asking for more than your comfort, making everything more manageable.

“You know,” Jungwon added, “you don’t have to hide behind Minho all the time.”

You stiffened at that, but he didn’t look at you teasingly. He was stating a fact.

Your heart fluttered.

“Well, he’s taller than me,” you mumbled, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

Jungwon chuckled.

And for once, the thought of being close to Jungwon didn’t make your heart race in fear. It made it race in something else.

Something a little more hopeful.

💌

The group had decided to take a little break from basically everything that happened, and everyone was now scattered across the dorm’s common area. Kitty and Minho were sitting on the couch, though something was different. Minho had his arm casually draped over the back of the sofa, and Kitty leaned slightly toward him, her attention entirely on whatever they were discussing.

You couldn’t help but watch, caught up in the dynamic between them. It was so apparent that they were getting close. Too close, really. You glanced at them for a few seconds longer than you probably should have, a little uncomfortable with how natural they looked together, especially considering the little tension between them.

You shook your head and sighed. “Those two should just get together already,” you muttered. “It’s painful to watch.” You didn’t even realize you had said it aloud until Jungwon, standing nearby, chuckled softly.

“You seem to be invested in their situation. ”

You froze and blushed immediately. “What? No! I—” You stammered. “It’s awkward, you know? With everything going on with Yuri and all that. It’d be easier if they just figured it out.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Sounds like you’re a little too invested,” his smirk growing.

You looked away quickly. “I’m not. I think… it’s obvious, don’t you think?”

Jungwon leaned back. “Hm. Interesting. You know, Kitty might take that as a challenge. She likes playing matchmaker.” He paused, glancing at the two on the couch before returning to you. “But then again, maybe it’s you who should be matched with someone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you shot a look at him, trying to keep your cool. “What are you talking about?” You weren’t sure if you were ready for whatever joke or comment he was about to make.

With a shrug. “I don’t know… It’d be painful to watch you and me, right?”

You were trying to make sense of his words. Was he joking? Was he serious?

Before you could respond, Jungwon gave you a playful smile. “Well, maybe not. We’re not so bad, right?” His eyes seemed to challenge you to call him out on it.

You couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” you said quickly. Your thoughts felt muddled, and your stomach flipped in a way you weren’t quite ready to admit.

Jungwon leaned closer just a little. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s happening between you and… well, someone, someday.”

The way he said that last part made your heart flutter, and before you could think too much about it, you quickly stood up, awkwardly brushing past him to talk to Dae. You couldn’t handle being near him anymore, not with his strange comment.

💌

It had been one of those nights where everything felt like it was building up to something. The group had decided to sneak out, and of course, Kitty had the whole thing planned out. Again. She was determined to get you and Jungwon alone for a little confession moment, even if it meant dragging everyone else into a mini adventure. The plan was simple: sneak out to the park for a midnight stroll.

The group managed to sneak out without much trouble, or so they thought. Kitty was already ahead, while Minho, Q, Dae, and Yuri followed, all too eager to escape their studies. You padded behind them. But suddenly, just as you were about to turn the corner toward the door, you heard footsteps approaching from the hallway.

“Someone’s coming!” you hissed and panic started rising in your chest. You froze, unsure of what to do, until a pair of warm hands quickly grabbed you from behind, pulling you into the nearest room and closing the door softly.

You looked up to see Jungwon standing there. His gaze was serious momentarily before it softened into that usual mischievous smile. “Close call,” he whispered.

You sighed in relief but your heart was still pounding from the adrenaline. “I didn’t think it would be this hard to sneak out,” you muttered.

Jungwon stepped closer, and the space between you grew smaller. “Kitty really knows how to get us into trouble, doesn’t she?” he smiled gently.

You laughed nervously. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. I don’t know how she does it.” You couldn’t help but glance down. “I should probably—” you began to mumble but Jungwon interrupted you

“You don’t have to run away this time,” he murmured and you felt his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You can stay with me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the words, and before you could even process their whole meaning, Jungwon leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most gentle kiss you’d ever experienced. The world seemed to stop for a moment.

You stood there, frozen, your eyes wide in shock as Jungwon pulled back slightly, but only enough to look at you with a tender look, “You were going to say something, right?” Jungwon whispered

You were unable to form words. You couldn’t find anything to say except for the obvious truth that had been sitting in your chest for so long. “I… I’ve liked you for a while,” you finally admitted in a whisper. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t think you’d… feel the same.”

Jungwon smiled and leaned his forehead against yours. “I feel the same,” he said softly. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you… but I guess this is as good a time as any.”

You smiled as you leaned into him, both chuckling in silence. For the first time, it felt like the weight had been lifted, and everything had finally fallen into place.

💌

The next day, you and Jungwon walked through campus hand in hand. You didn’t care about the curious glances or whispers around you. Everything felt so natural now. Jungwon’s thumb gently brushed against your hand, and you couldn’t help but smile at the small but significant change in your relationship.

As you turned the corner, you spotted Kitty and Q sitting at their usual spot by the fountain. They looked up at you two simultaneously, eyes widening in shock as they saw your hands intertwined. Kitty’s face immediately broke into a smile, while Q’s jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my god!” Kitty squealed with her voice a few octaves higher than usual as she stood up quickly. “It’s official! You two are—?”

You giggled and nodded. “Yep, it’s real. Took us a while, but we finally figured it out.”

Q was still in shock and blinked a few times before recovering. “Wait, is this the part where you two act all coy about it?” he teased.

Jungwon chuckled and shrugged slightly as he looked down at you with an affectionate gaze. “Guess so,” he said casually. “But it feels good. Finally.”

Kitty, her excitement never waning, jumped up and clapped her hands together. “I knew it! I knew you two would be perfect for each other. I mean, come on, how could you not be?”

You smiled as you felt a little shy under all their attention. “Yeah, well, it’s thanks to Kitty here,” you said, turning toward her with a grateful look. “She practically forced us to get our act together.”

Kitty just shrugged. “Hey, someone had to step in. You two were taking forever.”

You then decided to have a little fun with Q. Turning to him with a smirk; you said, “Oh, and by the way, Q, now that we’re all on the same page… maybe it’s time you and Jin finally get together.”

Kitty gasped, and Q’s face immediately turned beet red. “I—what? No! That’s—no!” he sputtered

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’ve noticed that too. You and Jin make a good pair,” he said honestly.

Q looked like he was about to explode, “I hate him!” he said. “You better not tell Jin I said that.”

You chuckled at his reaction. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t say a thing… for now.”

Still practically bouncing with excitement, Kitty turned to Jungwon with a warm smile. “Okay, I’ll take the credit for this one,” she said with a wink. “But I’m happy you two finally figured it out.”

Jungwon gave Kitty a genuine look, squeezing your hand as he thanked her. “Honestly, thank you, Kitty. You really did help us get here.”

Kitty’s face softened and she laughed lightly. “Of course! I’m just happy to see you two so happy together.”

At that moment, everything felt perfect. You were with Jungwon and were surrounded by friends who were happy for you. It felt like the start of something new and beautiful, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for everything that had led up to this moment. “Alright, alright,” you said, leaning into Jungwon as you all settled back down to enjoy the rest of the day. “Let’s just say that Kitty’s matchmaking skills are unmatched.”

Kitty shot you a wink. “Told you.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was finally falling into place.

[weekendviking]

Oh fuck yeah.

One time I was on a remote exploration drilling and field mapping job in the Yilgarn Craton in West Australia (Kimberlites! Diamonds! Archaen Banded Iron Formations!), and with just me, the driller, and two offsiders, so all hands on deck, all the time, both due to the work, and just the extreme environment and living difficulties in a desert camp, several hundred km from Paraburdoo, the nearest town. Not uber remote, but definitely outback, and if you fuck up, dying is extremely possible.

Anyway, in the first week, the driller suggested that we could even the workload by bringing out a friend of his who was an experienced camp cook, and at face value, this seemed like a good idea, and within the budget for the job, freeing us up from some of the camp domestic tasks to concentrate more on the drilling for them, and on the core logging for me, and my field mapping work (not required, but I did it anyway because I was suspicious the Joint Venture partners had falsified their data, which they had, but that's a different story!)

However, new drill team staffer was not doing well. Yes, she could do the work, but was clearly mentally in a bad state, and even though the Driller was trying to keep a lid on it, we could all see that she was in severe distress.

It came to a head after another week or so, when, as was my schedule, I'd go out and do the field mapping work in the mornings when it was cool, come back to camp around 11 to catch an early lunch, and then head down to the drilling site to log the core in the afternoons when it was too hot to be running around the hills.

Pull up to camp, Cook is sitting at the table under the awning, slightly slumped. I get out, walk up, and she's bleeding from the back of both wrists. The Back, mind, across the veins, not the arteries, so oozing badly but Not Actually Going To Die Soon. She was clearly embarrassed to be discovered in this state by 'The Whitecollar Guy', and produced a poor excuse of having cut herself prepping the days meals, and I didn't gainsay that, as one is clearly not going to further stress or question someone partway through a suicide attempt, just deal gently with them and help them. I pulled my field medkit from the car, and started to prep to treat the cuts, with both of us doing the 'We know You know I know this was a suicide attempt but lets just put that aside and not talk about it' dance, but she did at this point say 'Oh, I'm hepatitis positive' so at that point I Paused Bigtime and gloved up properly, (and also mentally 'Then why the fuck are you allowed to be the (admittedly tiny company) company cook' was running through my brain).

Treated the cuts, got her cleaned up and had a quiet chat, then got on the radio to the drill site and got the driller down to camp, and had a quiet chat with him, to whit 'Ok, I don't know what you were thinking but you need to get her safely off site and back to Perth and to a good facility because she's clearly going through it bad'

Turned out that she was his partner, and had been having difficulty getting clean off intravenous drug use (hence the Hepatitis positive) and he'd thought 'If I get her out in the bush where she can't get the shit maybe that will help her dry up'. So the poor lass was going through a hard cold turkey withdrawal while stuck in a tent and caravan camp in the middle of fucking nowhere while having to do a Job on a lax, but still corporate, work site. Don't do that, guys.

We had her offsite and on a plane back to Perth that evening. I hope she recovered, but I never did hear any further news.

Aspencore

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV

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Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough though because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

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That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

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It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

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The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

Alex kept her voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

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Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

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The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　

You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　

Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[angstywaifu]

No Strings Attached - Garrick Tavis

Request: reader is fwb with Garrick you could even include some spice and they start to fall for each other but they’re not exclusive so one night she sees him talking to another girl and she feels extremely hurt seeing it. then she decides to ice him out and branch out to hang out with other people and he sees her talk to another guy and gets really jealous and feels very possessive. and then they get into a massive angsty fight Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Unprotected Sex (P in V). Angst and fighting. Jealousy.

Masterlist | Support Me

“Cmon sweetheart, just one more. For me.” Garrick whispers in my ear as his fingers dig into my hips as he guides me up and down on his length.

As per usual, Garrick was determined to get another one out of me. This would be the fourth? No, fifth? Fuck, I had no idea. My brain all foggy from the amount of times he’d pulled another orgasm from me. He was addicted to pulling them from me, and I was addicted to the way he made me felt.

The familiar knot in my stomach tightens again as I dig my nails into his shoulder as my lead lulls forward. Garrick notices the shift, grabbing tightly onto my waist as he holds me up, slamming his hips into mine hard and fast. I barely had time to process what was coming as I shatter in his arms, my whole weight resting in Garrick’s hands as I go limp. Eyes rolling back into my head, mouth open in a silent moan as my legs tremble either side of his. I feel Garrick shudder beneath me, his thrusts faltering as he comes undone beneath me.

He gathers me in his arms rolling us to the side as he lays my head down on my pillow, whimpering at the loss of him as he removes himself from me. I barely register him cleaning me up and tucking me into bed as I fall victim to my exhaustion and fall asleep.

The next day it’s back to normal. Everyone none the wiser to how Garrick and I had spent most of our night as we walk the halls the next day. Which is how I wanted it. Garrick and I were just friends. Friends who hooked up a few times a week. An arrangement that worked for both of us since it had started last year. No strings attached, no feelings and no exclusivity. Though neither of us had hooked up with anyone else despite this.

”Quinn and I are having a girls night in her room, did you want to come?” Imogen asks me as we leave the gym, both of us in desperate need of a shower after the training session we had just done.

I turn my head to look at her and tell her I’m in, but two figures behind her across the courtyard near the Rotunda catch my eyes. Imogen turns to look, both of us watching Garrick as he leans up against the wall talking to girl in second wing. I watch as he raises a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I don’t miss the way she tips her head downwards slightly, and I’d bet any money she’s blushing. I instantly see red. Wanting to march over there and pull her away from him, tell her to stay away. I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t want to do that. We were just friends. Friends who slept together. Nothing more. Why the hell did I feel like this?

”Sorry, I’ve got plans.” I tell her in the most monotone voice I’ve heard leave my lips as I turn and make my way to the dorms.

Another year done and over. Thank god. I’d been craving a drink since seeing Garrick talking to that girl two weeks ago. Since then I’d been avoiding him, which was pretty easy considering we’d all been sent away for War Games for five days and we were in different Wings. But since that night I’d opted to hanging out with my squad, mainly Imogen and Quinn. Something I knew Garrick had noticed as Imogen had told me Garrick had asked about me after I’d walked off when he’d approached our group at challenges. Even now I can feel his eyes on me across the room. It was not like me to ignore him like this, but I honestly couldn’t trust me feelings.

Movement next to me pulls me from my thoughts, one of the first year repeats sitting next to me. I remembered him from the start of the year. The scattering of freckles across his face had always stood out to me. He’d been apart of our squad till he hadn’t been chosen at Threshing. Which was a shame, from what Quinn and Imogen had told me he was one of the best in our squad.

”How was war games?” He asks me as he fills up his cup from one of the pitchers from the middle of the table.

”Tiring as usual. There’s only one time of year I will ever have thoughts on wanting to be back here, and that’s war games.” I tell him with a smile as he fills up my now empty cup.

We fall into conversation easily, laughing and telling stories and jokes. Something I had missed during the last week. And it was nice to be talking to someone new. Something to take my mind off what had happened. Though it’s not long before my mind wanders back as a tall looming figure hovers behind me, casting a shadow over me and onto the cadet I now know as Sawyer. I watch as his eyes widen as he looks behind me. A look I associated very well with Garrick.

”We need to talk.” He growls out from behind me.

I can practically feel the anger rolling off him against my back. I can see how worried Sawyer looks. Yeah, he was pissed.

”What do you want to talk about?” I toss over my shoulder before chugging the rest of my drink, definitely needing more alcohol in my system to deal with whatever was about to happen.

”In private.”

I turn and look at him. Yep. He was pissed. His eyes are narrowed at me, his jaw ticking from the strain of clenching it. Great. I tear my gaze from his, standing and pushing past him as I head towards the door, leaving Sawyer behind. I push through the door leading into the rotunda, barely making it a few steps before Garrick grabs my arm.

”What the hell was that?” He snaps, gesturing back towards the dining hall.

”Really? I could be asking you the same about you and the cadet a few weeks back in the courtyard.” I snap back as I gesture towards the door leading towards the courtyard.

His brow furrows as he looks towards where I point. “What are you talking about?”

Anger flares with in me. “That blonde who you had in the courtyard a few nights before War Games started. Tucking her hair behind her ear as she blushed and giggled at you.”

”So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me.” He drawls in a monotone voice.

”I haven’t been ignoring you. We’ve been away at War Games if you hadn’t noticed.” I retort as I walk a few steps away, needing to clear my head of the anger that was raging through me.

”Says the one who has walked away whenever I’ve joined the group and has been mysteriously absent from my bed.” He states as he walks over and steps in front of me.

”What do you want Garrick? Want me to confess that even though this isn’t technically exclusive that I’m a little jealous you start showing interest in another girl for the first time since this started happening? That maybe I realised I need to put some space between us and put effort into my other friends or find some new ones?” My voice echoing around the empty rotunda as I glare up at him.

”Please he didn’t want to be your friend.” He scoffs at me.

”Well I wouldn’t know because you couldn’t resist playing possessive guard dog after I start talking to a guy that isn’t you!” My voice cracks at the end, a tear rolling down my cheek that Garrick’s hazel eyes track.

”Trust me, there’s only one things guys want from girls in here.” Garrick looming over me as he takes a step towards me.

I scoff and shake my head at me. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that. Hope she can warm your bed till she also figures that out.”

”Sweethe-”

”Don’t. You don’t get to call me that anymore.” I snap at him before turning and storming back into the rowdy dining hall, wiping away another tear that rolls down my cheek.

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Your dark Quinn is DELICIOUS! May we have more!?

I can't get the gif of Quinn out of my mind from the awards last season. The one where hesfixining his tie? Can we get some outfit picking? Quinn approving and disapproving of the reader's dresses for the upcoming awards show?

Please,make my dreams come true? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Nonnie...I went down a very slutty rabbithole with this one. If you (or anyone else) don't want 1,500 words of smut right out the gate. Ignore this one. If you'd like a redo, let me know, please!

It goes without saying: dark sexual themes throughout, just....dark everything. There's too much to list. 18+ Rated A for Adult, lol. Y'all know the drill!

"Darling, I need you to show me what you're planning on wearing next weekend," Quinn spoke, giving you a sideways glance as you passed by him in the living room. You stopped when he spoke to you, giving him your full and undivided attention anytime he spoke to you. He'd beckon you to come closer to the sofa where he sat, instructing you to sit and straddle his hips before he'd continue. His hands found the curve of your hips like a magnet, fingers clawing at them gently, while your hands rested on the top of his shoulders.

"Do you have an idea of what you want to show me?" He pressed, bouncing you with his leg a couple times so you slid closer to his chest.

"I have several I think you'd like," you smiled, keeping your hands where they were, but wanting to play with his hair. Your eyes remained on his, knowing he didn't like when they wandered.

Quinn breathed deep the smell of your shampoo as he leaned up into you to place a kiss to your exposed collarbone. His hands trailed from your shorts, up under the hem of your tank-top, to tease your taut nipples with the soft pads of his thumbs. Your sharps gasps brought a smirk to his lips while he continued to dot your skin with his affections, careful not to leave a mark anywhere it might be seen by a prying camera.

"Someone's a little needy this morning," he teased, working fast circles on your left bud while your hips grinded against him. You could feel your heartbeat pounding between your legs, just wanting to beg him to touch you but you knew he wouldn't. It was a treat that he was even letting you tease yourself through the friction of your cloth shorts. You could already feel the fabric grow cool from your arousal.

"What are you doing, princess?" He hummed, feeling you try to push deeper into his hips; struggling to press your clit on something that would give you the stimulation you craved.

Your answer to his question was simply a moan, as his tongue took over for his finger. His hot breath and spit against your sensitive button sent a fresh wave of tingles coursing through your body, Your pussy ached for the feeling of a touch that wasn't your own, of something you couldn't anticipate the sensation of.

"Answer me, sweetheart, or you'll be grounded."

/Grounded./ Quinn's definition of the word meant no orgasms, either by your own doing or his, no matter how much you begged, promised, or cried. He'd get you just to the point of release, time-after-time, just to leave you in tears while he walked away, making you think he was going to lift your punishment when in reality it only made it worse. You had only been "grounded" once, and it had been the worst week you could remember. You had never felt more desperate, more needy, or touch starved than the week he kept you waiting. But god, when he finally let you come, you felt weightless for an hour afterwards.

"I want you to touch me, please," you replied, breathlessly following his one and only warning, stopping your movements while he spoke.

Quinn's tone deepened, "Do you want me to touch you, or do you want to get off?"

"Both," you answered immediately, your chest heaving.

He just grinned at your answer, that devious smirk that drove you equally as crazy as it frightened you.

"Get up, princess," he ordered, withdrawing his hands from your body, leaving you stunned and fearful you had answered incorrectly. "Now."

Without needing another push, you pulled yourself off of him and stood beside him, trying so hard to be patient.

"In my lap, sweetheart."

Swallowing hard, you did as you were told, and soon found yourself between his thighs, your hands resting on either side of him.

"You're such a good girl, doing as you're told so quickly," he growled deeply into your ear. "I don't like having to tell you twice. Thank you for not making me do that."

"You're-- welcome," you choked out, finding yourself nervous for whatever was about to happen. You mind was fuzzy with wants and unspoken desires, making it harder to focus on the present.

Quinn's breathy laugher sent goosebumps across your skin as his right hand roamed. "I like to reward good girls."

His fingers slipped under the band of your shorts and painfully slow, inched across your bare skin until he discovered just how wet you were for him. You never disappointed him on that front, and he loved being surprised with just how intense it was. There were few things that topped how his fingers felt when you craved him so badly, they were a second to his tongue, of course. Your back arched against him as he traced the outline of your lips so lightly you had to focus to feel it. He was playing with you, but it didn't matter: you were getting what you had asked for, and if you played your cards right, he'd complete both of your wants at once.

"You get so wet so fast, princess. I hardly even touched you. Tsk, tsk, tsk," his tongue ticked against the back of his teeth. "Such a desperate little thing you are, aren't you?"

"Yes!" You moaned as he slipped his index into you, the sound of your wet sex popping in the quietness of his apartment while he buried his finger into you as deep as the angle would allow him. You were tightening against him, pushing into each thrust with quickening desperation.

Having given you a taste of what you could expect later, Quinn withdrew his finger, slick with your fluids, and took to rapidly stroking your plump clit. Your moans grew deeper, and more consistent with each wave of pleasure that washed over you.

"You sound so beautiful, sweetheart." He whispered, nuzzling into your neck as you continued to grind against his hand. You tried to grasp at the cushions for something to hold on to, but you just couldn't get your fingers around enough of it to do any good. Instead, your right hand would find the top of his, as he continued to play with you; your fingers sliding down his.

"Maybe I should make you get yourself off?" Quinn teased, feeling your hand press against his.

"Please, no," you begged, eyes closed in complete bliss.

"But you seem so eager to help. Do you want to feel how wet you are?"

Quinn slipped his hand from beneath yours and forced you to touch yourself, his fingers instructing where and how fast. You already knew you were past the point of being a dripping mess, and you couldn't deny how good it felt to have him show you how to pleasure yourself. Your moans continued, short and high-pitched as his pressure grew against your clit with that of your own fingers.

"That's enough," he hushed, making you take your hand away reluctantly. "That's for me to do."

The next time his fingers would separate your aching slit, your legs would involuntarily spread wider, as you pushed back against the pleasure. Every sensation felt so heightened, so intense, while you teetered on the edge of numbness. Quinn was grinning as he nipped at your shoulder, wanting to leave the darkest hickey on your shoulder yet he had to restrain himself. His fingers switched between rolling your clit under his fingertips to seeing how far he could bury his fingers inside of you.

"How good do you taste?" He asked, ordering you to clean off your fingers of your own arousal. "Good?"

"Yes," you replied, after sucking your fingers clean on demand.

"I can't wait to taste you," he murmured, his hum of his voice shooting like a vibration between your legs, a fresh supply of that slick nectar coating his fingers. "Ah, fuck.'

Quinn hissed against his tightening cock pressing against the zipper of his pants. Each time you thrusted against his touch, it teased him and you could feel him press up into you. He was hard, making you want to ask him if he'd fuck you right there.

"Do you feel what you do to me?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Upon the praise, Quinn buried two fingers deep into you, for the final push to get you to come when he said so. You were close; you had been since touching yourself. Your mouth was growing dry, having to constantly gasp for air against the throaty moans he was causing you to expel. You wanted to come, yet you didn't want to have his fingers be gone from your body.

"Are you going to come hard for me, sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh," you nodded, mouth open and eyes rolled back as you met his thrusts. His beautiful fingers lost inside your wetness just made you quicken your pace. He knew you were desperate to come, and he was nearing letting you finally let go. Just a few more minutes under his control was all he selfishly wanted and he'd get it, too.

"You've made such a mess."

"I know, I'm sorry," you whined, absolutely pathetic and lost in his touches.

"What do you want?"

"I want to come," you cried out.

"What else?" He dared you to say what you wanted later.

"I want-- I want to--," you were struggling to speak in complete sentences, and for good reason. Quinn had two fingers, knuckle-deep inside of you, pressing you to do what you were told. "I want to feel myself tighten around your cock, daddy!"

You were drooling as Quinn smirked behind you. Your hips were pushing against his erection harder now, causing Quinn to have to issue you a warning.

"Careful, princess. Not so hard; I'm not inside of you yet." His voice was low as he bit your ear. "Eager little daddy's girl, hm?"

"Yes!" You gasped, feeling Quinn's fingers slip back to your sensitive clit. You didn't know how much longer you could hold on.

Feeling you had deserved to finally have your release, Quinn brought his left hand to your throat and squeezed just enough to heighten the last few moments of pleasure. "You've done so well for me, baby. You've made daddy so proud. Would you like to come now?"

"Yes-- Yes, daddy, please! Please!"

With his lips right next to your ear, he breathed that phrase you had been craving, "Come for me, princess."

Your ears were ringing, legs were Jell-o, and your whole body was tingling as you were finally granted the extended orgasm you had begged for. Your moans were loud, but sounded so sweet to Quinn. He loved how your voice sounded at this stage, your fingers clawing at his skin, and you going limp against him as wave after wave of bliss flooded every one of your senses.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered again, holding you tightly against his chest, your back still to him. Your head had fallen back against the sofa, as you struggled to catch your breath. The room was spinning but you felt so good that it didn't matter.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Quinn asked softly, giving you as much time as you needed to find yourself again. He had all day, and he was kind enough to let you use as much as was necessary.

"Mhm," you mumbled, your voice sleepy. "Thank-- thank you."

"But of course," he said, a smile in his tone. "Take your time. There's no rush, but I'm going to take my fingers away, alright?"

You bit your lip and nodded; your hips jerked feeling his fingers withdraw from your over-stimulated petals. However, you quickly melted back into a feeling of weightlessness as Quinn's arms snaked around your waist, holding you tightly and keeping you right against him.

"Still okay?"

"Mhm."

Smiling, Quinn tightened his hold on your, nuzzling against your bare shoulder. "How about I get you cleaned up and you play dress-up for me, hm?"

You would nod again, and he'd let you get away with not using your words when he asked you a question. Quinn believed in a free pass every once in a while.

"Alright, swing your legs over, princess, and I'll carry you."

"I can--," you mumbled, still sleepy but you'd be interrupted.

"You can't walk, don't lie to me. I can see you're still shaking. You'd fall down if you tried to stand, and I won't have that. Legs. Don't make me ask again, sweetheart."

Swinging them to the left, this would be the first time seeing his face since he told you to get up and turn around. Your hair had fallen down from the messy bun it had been in, sweat had your skin glowing, and your bottom lip was red from how many times you had rolled it between your teeth. Quinn pulled your shirt back down before placing one last kiss to your exposed neck. He always led with his tongue. Your eyes would roll closed, feeling your core tense up in eager anticipation all over again.

"Just one last little tease, baby," he whispered. "There will be time for more later."

Hiding your face in the curve of his neck as he stood to his feet, you'd find yourself smiling at the thought.

- - -

The bath had been so relaxing.

Quinn had washed your face while the water filled, and made sure you didn't have to lift a finger for anything. All he had asked, was that you sipped at the glass of water he had given you. Everything he did was calculated, unhurried, and almost painfully soft. Even has he washed your hair, his fingers were careful never to pull through a snag. You were his little doll, and the most delicate of treatment would be afforded to you every time.

"Do you need anything else?" He asked, kneeling down to be level with you. You hadn't bounced back as quickly as he thought you would have, so he was keeping a close eye on you just to be sure. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I think so," you replied, eyes searching his face for a hint of what could be the reason for him still asking the same question so many times. He always checked in, but this seemed different. "Is something wrong?"

He smiled, "That's for me to worry about."

You remained quiet. You felt okay other than you were just physically drained.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly, knowing you had a bad habit of forgetting meals.

Your guilty eyes fell from his face in an instant and you knew you'd have to answer for it. "Toast."

"Sweetheart, you can't live solely on toast."

"I know, but--" You went to bite down on your lip again, but you stopped yourself, just like you stopped yourself from saying something that would get you in trouble. "I'm sorry. I'll be better."

Quinn's hand found the side of your jaw, holding it to keep your gaze where he wanted it. "Thank you." His smile was minimal but spoke volumes, mostly that of how pleased he was at how well you knew your place and what he expected of you. When he called you a good girl, it was because you really were one.

"You stay here and relax a little more, and I'm going to make you something for lunch. Ah--," he stopped, putting his thumb to your lips to keep your mouth closed. "I'll come get you when I'm done. Do you understand?"

With his thumb tracing your lips, you'd give a nod to his question.

His smile deepened as he pulled your face to his for a kiss, making you work for it as the water sloshed about with you having to struggle to meet him. "That was mean of me," he lamented, finally letting you slide back into the warm comfort of the water. "You should be resting."

Quinn would kiss the top of your head before getting to his feet and leaving the room. However, before completely exiting, he'd turn to look at you, his eyes dark, "I expect you to be where I left you when I come back, princess. Towels and floors best still be dry."

"I promise."

"Thank you," he said, finally disappearing from your line of sight.

The water was still steaming hot, but you knew he wouldn't forget you, and leave you to sit in cold water. Having a moment in your own thoughts, you remember what he had asked of you. The NHL Awards were next weekend and you needed some black-tie-level dress to wear. You knew you had several such gowns hanging in Quinn's closet, you just weren't sure which one would be the one he'd pick. Mentally, you'd flip through each of them, deciding which ones you'd reach for, and which you'd pass on when asked to finally try them on. At the moment, you knew of five you knew he'd show interest in. One he hadn't seen yet.

Twenty minutes later, Quinn would return to the bathroom, and was pleased to find you sipping from your glass and just as promised.

"Ready to get out?"

"Yes, please."

- - -

Quinn laughed, setting down the bowl of lemon and herb pasta in front of you. "Do you want me to feed you?" You couldn't tell if he was being serious or actually joking with you. His laugh should have given it away, but the sheer nature of it all seemed very honest.

"I can manage," you replied softly, hopeful he wouldn't take offense. "Thank you."

"I know you can, just having a bit of fun," he winked, though a part of him did wonder how that would go if he told you that you just had to sit there while he brought food to your mouth. A thought for another day, perhaps. "I want you to let me know how you feel in a little bit."

"I will," you reassured. "I'm okay, Quinny."

Quinn turned his head, his brows raised. "That's for me to decide."

You adverted your eyes from his face, focused now on the marble veins of the island. You knew you had just spoken out of place and now you feared the consequences. You could hear his footsteps move back towards you, and through your peripheral you could see him headed to come up behind you.

"Do you think I don't know when there's something wrong with you, hm?"

Quinn's finger traced the curve of your spine through the black silk, slip dress he had chosen for you following your bath. You shuddered against his touch, eyes closing unsure of what he was going to do next.

"You do, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way."

His fingers continued to inch upwards, following your neck until the digits were buried deep in your freshly dried hair, coiling around it tightly. He had a fistful when he pulled you backwards, your eyes snapping open when you felt like you were going to fall off of the kitchen stool. You would be looking at the ceiling when Quinn stepped into your view, still gripping your hair by the roots.

"Have I ever been wrong?"

"No," you yelped, the nape of your neck more sensitive than you could remember. "You know better than I do! I'm stupid, I'm sorry."

Quinn's fingers let go in an instant, allowing you to pull yourself back up and catching your breath. He stepped around to your right, taking the empty seat beside you.

"Look at me," he ordered, causing you to turn your whole body to face him. "Never say anything like that about yourself, princess. You're not stupid. I don't like hearing you put yourself down, especially when it's incorrect. Understood?

"Yes," you replied quickly, trying to steady your breathing, but it was turning into a struggle.

Quinn's hand would touch your thigh and move upwards, stopping when his wrist reached the hem. "You're never stupid," he reiterated.

You sniffled, as you nodded at his statement. He knew you were sorry so you refrained from uttering the constant apology.

"What am I going to do with you?" He mumbled, looking you over as you continued to face him. Quinn reached forward for your silverware then the white ceramic bowl, his left hand still gripping your upper thigh.

With a perfect piece of bowtie pasta perched on the tines of the fork, Quinn instructed you to open your mouth. He'd feed you the whole bowl, one piece at a time.

- - -

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as you thumbed through the hangers, looking for the dresses you had in mind for the following weekend. He finally felt confident that you were well enough to entertain his private little show. You were barefoot, wearing only the silk slip dress, and your hair was pulled back in a large, black hairbow. While on your tiptoes, he gazed at the curve of your calves, upwards to your full thighs and bum. So many places for his hands to hold, but he'd restrain himself from telling you to come over. He'd get the opportunity soon enough.

You decided to pull first the dress that he hadn't yet seen -- start strong right out the gate. It was black, floor-length and off the shoulder with long sleeves, with a single, thigh-high slit on the left side. No sparkles, no lace, just the dull satin to hug your body. Minimal but stunning.

Quinn would watch you let the slip dress fall from your body to a minimal pile on the floor as you stepped into the gown, pulling it up over your hips before it pulled your cleavage into place. You'd get the zipper up as far as your could on your own before he finally spoke to you.

"Come here."

As instructed, you'd saunter over, the slight train dragging behind you as you made your way across the room. And when told to turn around, you'd do so. Quinn's warm fingertips touched your back gently as he pulled the zipper up the remainder of the way.

"I like this one. Face me again." As you turned, his hands felt your curves until you were once against standing in front of him. "Set this one aside. I want to see something else before I decide."

He'd give you a nod to return to the closet and pick another for his viewing pleasure. The next one was similar, only it fully covered your chest while the entire back was out. Quinn wasn't as pleased with this one as he had the first.

"It's alright, but the first one suited you more. Put it back on for me."

Again, you'd find yourself walking back across the room, your heart beat quickening as you remembered just how much trying on anything for him made you wet. Any time you had taken photos for him while he was away turned you on so much that it made it easy to record a little something extra for him with nearly no effort. This was proving to be no different.

With the dress back on, you'd return to his side but this time he wouldn't complete the zipper. Instead Quinn would rise to his feet, a look in his eyes like he was plotting something.

"Over the bed, princess."

There it was. This was the "later" he had mentioned before carrying you off to the bath.

Doing as you were told, you bent over the bed, your arms outstretched in front of you, face down into the duvet, as you knew what that meant. You tried to contain your breathing, hiding that you were anxiously awaiting his next move. Quinn's hands gripped the curves of your hips as he pressed himself into you, forcing your legs wider apart with his foot. Your stomach tightened as you found yourself aching for his touch again. Slowly, the fabric of the dress was inched up until you were exposed in front of him.

"You deserve this," he said, the sound of a smirk in his tone. The smack he'd give to your ass stung like a hot iron but you couldn't lie -- it had felt good. "Did you like that?"

"Yes," you giggled, getting a rise out of Quinn.

"Oh, did you now?" While he was talking to you, you hadn't heard the sounds of him removing his pants, but what you felt next had you clawing at the sheets.

"Can you take all of me, princess?" He asked, teasing the head of his cock against your throbbing sex.

"Yes!" You cried out, your eagerness getting the better of you again, making Quinn laugh softly. "Please!"

He'd enter your awaiting folds in one, full thrust, pushing you deeper into the mattress. You'd moan into the blankets but the sound was hardly muted. With one hand, Quinn braced himself, while the fingers of his other slipped beneath the folds of the dress to flick your sensitive clit. Like before, you'd push back into him, feeling the pleasure strike you all at once. Each stroke he blessed you with was met with a deep thrust in tandem. All you could do was grab at the blanket beneath you and gasp for air between moans.

Adrenaline was making your hearing fade, but you could hear him enter you again, and again -- the bed thumping against the wall slightly. Everything felt so good: his cock plunging deep into you, his soft fingers teasing you devilishly, keeping you so close to the edge of ruin.

"You're so pretty, darling -- say it back. Tell me you're pretty."

You were so lost in the multitude of sensations rattling your cage that you almost didn't hear Quinn talking to you. You swallowed hard, gasping for air to help you form the words he wanted you to say.

"I'm pretty!"

"Mhmmmm, and you're prettiest when you're get so wet for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy!"

"That's right. You're doing so well for me, but I think you can do better."

Upon issuing you the challenge, Quinn's pace quickened, and you were all but biting at the sheets. Slick fingers caressed your clit with such pressure you nearly forgot to breathe. Just when you thought you'd hit your limit, Quinn demanded more from you, more patience, more self-control.

"There you go," he purred. "Hold on until I tell you not to."

You wanted to scream. Your brain was pudding, but that release was so close, one thought and you'd explode. He was railing you so hard into the mattress you had to constantly keep grabbing new fistfuls of the duvet to hold your place. You were on your tiptoes, cramps threatening to buckle your legs. It was so much to handle.

"Just a little more, princess. You can do it. Wait for me."

Had you been biting your lip, you would have tasted blood. Every muscle keeping you upright was at its limit, but you had to do what you were told. The last few minutes felt like an eternity. You were nearing the point of overstimulation.

"Now, princess, tell me what you want." His voice was strained, trying to hold himself together.

"Come in me, daddy! Please!"

His release shot into you before you were finished uttering the words.

Eyes rolled in your head when he finally granted you your reward for being so good, "Let go, darling. Come for me."

Your back arched, pushing yourself down on him one more time before he pulled out, leaving himself dripping down your leg. "That's a good girl," he finished, leaving a kiss between your shoulder blades after you had collapsed into the bed. You would have slumped to the floor in a heap had Quinn not pulled you into his embrace on the bed. You couldn't find your breath at first.

"You're alright, breathe. Breathe with me, sweetheart."

You were crashing, reduced to a girl puddle in a black gown.

"I definitely want you to wear that dress. I'll be sure to fuck you in it afterwards, so you can just be a desperate mess for me the whole night, remembering what I've already done to you in it. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, daddy," you whispered, throat sore from gasping for air so many times.

"Thank you, princess." Quinn said, his arm tightening around you, as you went limp. You were exhausted and in need of another bath. For now, he'd just hold you while you had a little nap. You had earned that and much more.

[writingonleaves]

to not know who i am, but still know that i'm good long as you're here with me - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x original female character

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, nothing much else i can think of!

inspired by + title: i like me better by lauv

word count: 6.4k

author's note: hello everyone!! i feel like i've been in such a rut lately but i'm glad i managed to write this one out! this is for the lovely @wyattjohnston for her winter fic exchange 2k25. demi, thank you as always for your hard work in putting this together and i hope you enjoy. sorry that it's a few days late! to everyone, please let me know what you think!!

*****

When Maia Flaherty left her usual lunchtime coffee run with a number from one very Jack Hughes, she didn’t really quite know what to think. 

“No pressure,” he had said with an easy smile. “I just think you’re pretty and the glare you gave that couple that was making out at the table next to you sold it for me.”

As she stares out on her train ride home, she’s deep in thought. This might be just a one date thing and then they find out they have nothing in common and they move on. But she knows herself. She doesn’t fall fast, but when she falls, she falls hard. What if she ends up falling harder than him, setting herself up for heartbreak. But she knows that’s also unfair to him, especially because she doesn’t know him. She appreciates his boldness in asking her out, but she doesn’t understand how he can be so confident and sure that he wants to go on a date with her. To be fair, maybe he’s only looking for something casual, to which she has even less of an idea of how to handle it, because she has never done casual and doesn’t think she could do it. 

As she’s walking the streets back to her place in West Village, she thinks about how to approach this. Knowing her, she’s too curious to not text him and she probably will think on it over the weekend. But, should she protect herself and go into this as just meeting a friend or go into this romantically? She admits that he is cute and she was the slightest bit charmed by him, but she knows that she knows nothing else about him. She takes the time to look up some of his highlights of his career (he had dropped his Instagram handle to her “just so you know I’m a real person”) and she knows that he’s good. Almost annoyingly good. As a University of Minnesota alum, she’s familiar enough with hockey as a whole. She stalks his Instagram and doesn’t find anything much besides posts with family, friends and teammates. Pretty average. But she’s still weary. 

Monday morning rolls around, and on her train to work, she takes a deep breath, clicking on his contact and copy and pasting what she had written last night. 

hi!!! it’s maia from the cafe. if the offer still stands, i’d love to go out on that date 

Not even a minute later, and she gets a response. 

what a wonderful text to get on a Monday morning

the offer absolutely still stands. what’s your schedule looking like this week?

not around during regular people work hours so monday-friday 9-5 won’t work

my weekend is pretty empty atm but idk if that works for you? i’m assuming you have games this week

no games this weekend, for once. all weeknight games.

lucky timing

lucky indeed. you around Saturday for lunch?

works for me!

you’re in jersey right? i can come out to you if that’s easier

are you kidding me?

i’m not gonna make you come out to me, especially because I’m the one who asked you out

where are you in the city? I’ll come to you

She smiles to herself.

I’m in west village, but i can meet you anywhere 

i’ll do some research after practice and get back to you?

sure

i also can suggest some places as well!! 

appreciate it. i got it though. i’m the one who asked so I feel like it’d be unfair to ask you to plan

Huh, she thinks, being surprised again. She doesn’t have much to compare to, but she can’t remember a single date she’s been on where she hasn’t been the one planning.

okay lmk if you need my help! no rush we have a whole week 

(Jack has a break in a morning practice and he’s just staring at his phone with the biggest smile on his face. His teammates are all making fun of him, but he pays them no mind. It’s not new for them to poke fun at him for texting girls, but he knows, he just knows that this one is different. 

He also kinda likes the idea of “we.”)

kinda wish we didn’t

oh?

saturday is so far away 

you’ll survive

She gets into the office just then and her phone is forgotten as she’s thrown into spreadsheets and meetings. It isn’t until 4 p.m. where she has the mental energy and time to look at his responses. The last text he had sent was two hours ago.  

i found a place. well, a couple

i asked some of my friends who know the city better than I do

*screenshot of list in Notes app*

i tried to find places in different parts of Manhattan, mostly in West Village. i don’t know where exactly in that area you are and how easy or hard it is for you to get wherever

sorry, just realized I’m spamming you and you’re probably working

I’m so sorry i left you hanging work was literally insane until now

honestly all of these places sound wonderful

i’ve been to a couple of them before so tell your friends they have good taste

any one in particular you like?

you choose

since you’re planning it after all 

lol

i really don’t want you having to travel that far

i literally live in nyc so if I want to see any of my friends who don’t live by me I have to travel far

and you’re literally coming from jersey

i’ll be fine with any choice you make

seriously 

He chooses one of her favorite Greek food joints about 10 blocks from where she is and she tries to put it away in her mind. She still has this whole week to go. She’s known for years that she gets overwhelmed and stressed if she thinks ahead occasionally, and this is definitely one of those times. 

(There’s a game on Wednesday night, and her best friend and roommate Carrie urges her to put it on TV in the background while they’re eating dinner. Carrie knows next to nothing about hockey, so Maia tries to explain it to her. But most of the time, she’s quiet and her eyes are zeroed in on 86. Or trying to, because everyone skates so fucking fast. He scores a goal and assists another, and she knows that that’s literally his job, but she can’t help but feel something watching him skate around so confidently. 

She’s always respected the skill it takes to play hockey. Skating is hard. But the hockey attitude wasn’t always something that she loved. She understands that she’s projecting a lot of unwarranted judgement. But she doesn't think it’s all based on lies.

As the minutes wind down in the game, she zones out. She really doesn’t understand how or why this literal superstar of the sport just approached her and after knowing literally nothing about her, asked her out. This shit doesn’t happen to her. She also knows the usual crowd that hockey players go for. She’s not blonde. She’s not a model. She’s not anything like that. 

What does he want from her?)

*****

She wakes up Saturday morning a bit groggy, thanks to the glasses of wine her and Carrie had the night before. She goes through her morning routine, but decides to forgo the coffee and make a smoothie instead. She usually likes to sip on her coffee for hours rather than down it all in one go. And she knows if she downs it, she’ll start shaking. 

She doesn’t need to be shaking today. 

Carrie stumbles out when Maia just leaves the bathroom and offers to make a smoothie for her. With a yawn, Carrie nods as she slides past her to go into the bathroom. 

It’s 9:48 a.m. They’re meeting right at noon, so she has a bit of time. Her phone buzzes right after she finishes cleaning the blender. 

good morning! see you soon

She just sends back a couple of emojis, before scrolling around on her social media accounts, sipping on her smoothie. It’s just the waiting now that’s making her more nervous. 

She already knows what she’s gonna wear. An olive green sweater she bought recently that she’s been loving, black leggings, brown booties and earrings that she got years ago when she studied abroad. She’s leaving her hair down and putting some light makeup on. Nothing crazy. This is literally lunch. And she’s not gonna overthink for a boy. 

Carrie proves to be a good distraction, simultaneously hyping her up, assuring her and talking about other things to keep her head level. She walks to the subway station and goes on the train, airpods in. This is all routine. The way there is no stranger to her, often meeting up with her brother for dinner around the area. 

She checks the time. On time. 

She approaches the restaurant’s front at 11:57 and decides to walk in and grab a table. She stops in her tracks when she sees that he’s already there, in the corner by the window that she usually loves to sit at. He’s wearing a gray sweater and blue jeans, a baseball cap flipped backwards on his head. She waves off the hostess and heads in his direction. 

He looks up from his phone and immediately locks it, standing up. She smiles in greeting and he comes around to grab her bag as she shrugs off her jacket. She thanks him softly, to which he just smiles back at. As she’s sitting down, he pours out some water.

“You didn’t get lost getting here?” She jokes. 

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not that directionally challenged. Just not used to it.”

“That’s what you get for living in Jersey.”

“Oh. So that’s how we’re gonna play this?”

And that just sets the tone for the rest of the date. It’s…surprisingly easy. The follow up question immediately is if she’s from the city, to which she snorts and says “absolutely not,” but she’s been living here for over two years now. She grew up in Buffalo, she says, and went to college at University of Minnesota, to which he, of course, widens his eyes. “You went to Minnesota, and you’re not a hockey fan?” She rolls her eyes. “When did I say I’m not a hockey fan?” She talks about how yes, she went to a couple of games when she was there and they were always fun, but she wasn’t necessarily an avid fan. 

He talks about growing up in Toronto even though he was born in Orlando and then going to Michigan and how hockey was literally just his life from a young age, especially with parents who were also involved, as well as an older and a younger brother growing up to play too. Sure, she knows all of this (she couldn’t help herself and did enough research), but it is nice and different to hear from him directly. She does slip for a second and makes fun of his private school upbringing (“It tracks.”) but the shocked delight on his face lets her know that he doesn’t take offense. 

As they order the food and it comes and they start eating, she lets herself be charmed. She didn’t expect him to be so…normal. Normal in the way that she often forgot that he was one of the best hockey players in the country. Normal in the way that parts of him remind her of her closest guy friends. But then he would mention something about his career or just a random detail in his life that would make her remember. 

She notices that he also is very aware of how much he talks. It’s natural for her to ask more questions, because that’s just how she’s wired, but he turns questions back to her that excite her or make her laugh, and then she goes on a minor tangent. It’s very back and forth. Balanced. 

She’s having a really good time. 

She expected him to be more…straight-forward in terms of flirting, due to how he asked her out, but he’s not. He seems a bit nervous at times even, chuckling adorably and avoiding eye contact, but then he says something that’s so just so incredibly confident that makes her flustered or let out a scoff of disbelief. 

Before they know it, they’re done eating. She protests when he immediately grabs the check and pulls out his card, to which he just playfully glares at her for. She does relent and thanks him, and she’ll never forget the boyish smile he gave her. 

They’re both on the same page, not wanting their time together to end quite yet, lingering to leave. And then she suggests grabbing a coffee from a place around the corner and walking to a nearby park. She teases him, asking if he’ll get cold to which he scoffs at (“I’m basically a Canadian and I live at the rink. I’ll be fine. Will you?” She laughs. “I was born and raised in Buffalo. Don’t worry about me.”) 

They grab coffee (to which she puts her foot down and pays and he lets her), him a black coffee and her an iced chai, and she leads them leisurely to a nearby park. It’s a little chilly, but it’s not windy which is good, and they find an empty bench and sit down, their conversation and battering just coming so incredibly easy. Even to the point where sometimes, she’s not necessarily calling him out, but she’s challenging some of his thoughts. She’s not shattering his confidence at all, but definitely subtly giving him a reality check and just being honest.

And not even purposefully. It’s just how she is.

(He really appreciates it, actually. It’s been awhile since someone who he’s just met isn’t afraid to challenge him off the rink. He loves the attention and always has, and she’s giving that to him, but there’s also something innate in her that’s so grounded and in turns, grounds him.)

But it’s also different. It’s different when he randomly throws out a compliment here and there, saying how he loves her laugh and how cute she is. The way he’s paying attention to everything she’s saying. The way he just can’t help but chuckle almost incredulously because she’s so much more than he imagined, even though he’s the one who asked her out. 

Before they know it, it’s almost 4 and they’ve been chatting the whole time. Yet somehow, it still feels like they could keep going. She walks him to the nearest subway station since it’s on her way home. She gives him a farewell hug and he follows his gut and kisses her on the cheek, promising to text her. She smiles one more time before turning to walk back to her apartment.

When she gets back to her place, Carrie’s there and ready for a recap. She says everything she can remember them talking about, which is a lot, while Carrie just listens carefully. Throughout it, she’s trying to downplay it, probably for self-preservation purposes, looking back. Carrie lets her dwell on it occasionally, but also interrupts when needed to try to assure her friend that she’s a catch and there’s a reason he asked her out in the first place and she can’t play herself down like that. 

What she knows for a fact at this point is that she likes spending time with him, and she does have romantic feelings for him. Everything else? She has no idea. She has no idea if they’d pair together well. She has no idea what he wants from this. She has no idea how he actually feels about her, because he could’ve just thrown out those compliments because he’s naturally flirty. It wouldn’t surprise her. And god, she can’t help but let her mind wander into his career and being in the spotlight and how that just affects…everything.

She just doesn’t know. 

(Meanwhile, he returns to an empty place, Luke out with some friends for the night. He can’t stop smiling, replaying the whole day in his head. She’s just so much more than he expected, able to keep up with his quips, often beating them. She laughs and smiles so freely. She’s so damn smart. She’s beautiful. 

He’s had his fair share of hookups and casual things, but this? This is different. It’s scary, he thinks, that he’s this invested after one date. It’s unfamiliar territory, and there’s so much more he wants to know about her. 

He needs to know everything he can about her. Before she figures out that she’s way too good for him.)

*****

Four weeks pass, and they haven’t seen each other. There have been some sporadic texts here and there, but with the chaos of both their jobs and then Thanksgiving, it hasn’t accounted to more than that. 

(She’s trying to get over it and let it pass. He wants anything but that)

On an early December evening, Maia’s just finished cleaning up the dishes when she gets a call. When she sees his name, she blinks. She clicks accept.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Jack.”

She can’t help but chuckle a bit. “Yeah, I know. What’s up?”

“How are you? How was your Thanksgiving?”

“I’m doing okay. Thanksgiving was good! I got to go back home for a few days. How about you? Did you even have a break?”

“Not really. I had some family come to watch some games though, so that was nice.”

“I’m sure it was,” she hums. 

“Listen-I…I know it’s been awhile.”

“Almost a month.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out guiltily. “I-I’m really sorry about that. I’ve…the season’s just been so crazy and, yeah. I’ve been meaning to reach out sooner, but just, like. Yeah. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replies automatically. “I get it. Your schedule is crazy. I feel like you have a game every other day.”

“You’ve been keeping up?” He teases lightly. 

She rolls her eyes. “A bit more than I used to, sure. But that really doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughs a bit, before settling down into a serious tone. “If you have time, or if you even want to, because I totally understand why you wouldn’t, I’d love to go out again. I just, I had a really good time with you last time. Again, I know I…if you say no, I get it.”

It’s silent for a couple of seconds, but she knows her answer. “I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she smiles to herself at his surprised tone. “You surprised?”

“A bit. I mean, I kinda fell off the face of the planet. I would understand if you didn’t want to see me again.”

“Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“When are you free?”

He sighs. “This week? Not much, unfortunately. I’m only around for dinner tomorrow and Friday, and then I’m gone for a few days on a stretch of away games.”

“Wanna do tomorrow?”

“You around?”

She snorts. “I’m not as busy as you are, Mr. NHL. I’m free most weeknights.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Okay, yeah. Tomorrow night’s perfect. I’ll actually be in the city in the afternoon to meet up with a friend so I’ll just stay and meet you around there.”

“Oh good. I don’t have to pretend I want to go to Jersey.”

“This again?”

She laughs. “I can choose this time. Do you know where you’re meeting your friend?

“Yeah. I have his address. Hang on, I’ll send it to you.” Seconds later, her phone buzzes and she briefly looks at the location on Google Maps. 

“Oh. Battery Park. That’s close to where I am. You must really like this friend if you’re willing to travel that far. It’s a pretty long way from Newark.”

“Right? That’s what I told him. So, tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah. I can figure out a place and I’ll let you know tomorrow morning the latest if that works? What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything you like.”

“Jack.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay, okay. How does ramen sound?”

“Perfect. I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll text you,”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

Tomorrow comes, this time at a lowkey but busy ramen place where they’re sat side by side and their knees are touching. Jack’s hair is out this time, and the waves are falling across his forehead and she just loves the way it looks. He notices the two rings she’s wearing as one quickly catches a light in the restaurant. They continue on from the last time they talked but this time, swimming the surface of deeper conversations. 

She talks about her constant doubts about her job and how she sometimes just wants to pick up and movs somewhere else and start new. He talks about how he knows he’s good at hockey and knows this is the only path for him, but how he recognizes that outsiders look and sometimes see a sell-out or someone who doesn’t work hard. But he’s learned to just put his head down and play and to do it well. That’s something she can also relate to. 

She talks about how her relationship with her older brother is one that she’s found to be very grateful for, especially because they’re so far apart in age. A lot of who she is is based on his personality. He talks about being the middle child and being close in age to his brothers, and how competition was always just built into every activity they did. He’s realized, especially as he’s gotten older, how much he appreciates his brothers and having all three of them being in the same league, with Luke on the same team, and going through similar experiences but also completely different trajectories. 

(Somewhere, they both take a few sake shots and Maia’s not quite drunk, but buzzing, her laughter more free and her face redder).

Even semi-intoxicated, she decides not to ask the questions she really wants to yet that focus around them and what they are, unclear of where they stand. They’re sitting so close to each other and she relishes in it, wanting more. When she runs a hand through her hair to push it back, she notices his eyes flickering at that action, which means…nothing. She has to break away eye contact sometimes because he’s just staring at her so intensely. 

No wonder he has girls wanting him left and right, she thinks. She’s kind of no better. 

Towards the end of the night (he paid again and she only let him after he said he would let her pay next time. Next time), they plan out vaguely when they’ll see each other next. He’s away for the next week or so, and she just shrugs. She gets it. It would be naive of her to think she can change it. “I’ll let you know the second I land,” he says, and she just nods. She then jokes that maybe their next date could be skating, and he rolls his eyes, though he takes it into consideration. When he asks if she’s serious, she snorts, “I mean, sure. But you’re not gonna have to teach me how, if that’s what you’re going for.” He laughs. Loudly.

When they part ways, he hugs her tightly and for a long time. She breathes him in subtly, her eyes fluttering shut when she feels him press a lingering kiss on her forehead. 

Maybe that’s when she should’ve asked. Because that act was way too intimate to feel friendly. But she didn’t, and she watched him walk away, chuckling as he turned around to shoot her a parting wink. 

She went to sleep that night, somehow, with so many thoughts circling around her mind)

*****

Maia has an idea of when he’s landing, so she’s not surprised when she gets a call on a Thursday night.

He seems a bit out of breath, and she asks him if everything’s okay. Everything’s fine, he says. He just landed back in Newark and is heading home. He cuts to the chase, and asks if she’s around the next night. She blinks, because she knows he has a game. He clarifies. Is she around after the game? (“Or for the game,” he adds quickly. “If you want to come, I can get you tickets.”) While she’s flattered, she knows that’s crossing a line at this point and she politely turns down his offer. But yeah, she says. I’m around after. What’s up? He asks if he can take her out on a date. And she knows her answer (it’s obviously yes) but she says only if she’s allowed to go to him in Jersey. He protests immediately, but she shuts him up (“Both of our dates have been way closer to where I am. It’s only fair, Maia.”) 

It’s gonna be a late night date, since the game (assuming no overtime) won’t end until at least 10:00. He’s not sure what he has in store, but she’s okay with not knowing. The only thing he assures her of is that he’ll drive her back into the city afterwards. Traffic should be light, so she doesn’t fight him. 

(That should’ve been another hint that this was something worth pursuing. She has a hard time letting go of control of plans, especially with people she hasn’t known for awhile.

She trusts him already)

When he hangs up, she thinks for a second. He had told her during their last date that he would let her know the second he landed. 

And he did. 

Huh.

*****  

The next night, she’s nervous. 

Dinner’s already been eaten. She caught the first period of his game, but had to leave to catch her trains to meet him. With encouraging words from Carrie paired with some hype up music, she’s on her way.

When she steps out of the station on this abnormally warm December night, she immediately sees him leaning against his car. His hair is damp from the shower he probably just took, and he’s sporting a peacoat over a sweater and blue jeans. 

He perks up when he sees her and she practically skips over to him. She smiles and pulls him into a hug, and she feels him press a light kiss in her hair. 

“Hey.” She says softly. 

“Hi,” he mutters in her hair, pulling away to lean down and place a kiss on her cheek. “It’s good to see you.” He opens the door for her as she slides in, and she’s thankful that she followed her instincts and dressed comfortably in her beloved Minnesota sweatshirt, stifling a yawn as she thanked him. She puts on her seatbelt and leans back, watching him climb in. 

He turns to her, “Wanna aux?”

“Are you sure?” She asks, already fiddling around to connect her Apple carplay. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He chuckles, looking behind him to pull onto the road. 

She shrugs. “What kind of music do you want?”

“Whatever you want.”

She snorts. “You don’t mean that.” She scrolls through her playlists and debates on which one to do. “I saw that you guys lost. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he replies automatically and she catches his eye and gives him a look of doubt. He corrects himself. “Okay, it’s frustrating, but none of that right now. I wanna hear about you. How’s your week been? Did that thing with your boss get resolved?”

She blinks. Right. She had mentioned that briefly when he called her earlier in the week. “Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I don’t know. You gotta learn which battles to fight, you know? This one is one I don’t have to win.”

He nods with a soft hum, stopping at a red light. “Do you like milkshakes?”

She chuckles a bit at the change of topic. “I don’t mind them.”

“Wanna get some right now?”

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“No,” he admits. “Because I want one.”

“That can’t be on the diet plan you athletes have going on.” 

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. Worth it though.”

“Do they have oreo or cookies and cream?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.” He grins, and she takes a couple seconds just to watch it. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Thanks for coming out to Jersey at 10 pm.”

She chuckles. His heart drops to his stomach. “I had nothing else to do on a Friday night.”

He snorts. “Yeah, okay. I don’t believe that.”

“Really?”

He shrugs.

She leans back into her seat. “I don’t have the energy to hang out with people every night. Respect to the people who do. That’s just never been me. I can sit for hours and not talk to anyone.”

“You’re an introvert, then.”

“Is that surprising?”

He takes a second to think about it. “Yes, one, because you always talk about your friends so I know you have a lot. And two, because we literally talked for four hours on our first date.”

She shrugs, looking straight ahead of her to get the courage to respond. “There’s very few people in my life who I can talk with for hours.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky, then.”

She looks back over to him, watching as he shoots her a quick smile before he focuses back on the road. “How’s your week been?”

“The usual. Practices and games and travelling in the west coast, so I’m a little jetlagged, which isn’t great.”

“I didn’t realize that you guys play games like, every other day. Which is dumb, because like, it makes sense, but that just sounds exhausting. What am I saying though? It’s literally your job.”

He laughs softly and she tries to ignore the warmth spreading across her skin. “It can be tiring, for sure. But yeah, I love it, you know? Wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Just then, they pull into this small, unassuming diner and roll right through the drive-thru. He orders a chocolate milkshake and she gets an oreo one, and before he can think about it, she forces her credit card in his hand. He laughs and relents, and they pull out and are back on the road quickly. She sips on her milkshake and smiles to herself, not even asking where he’s driving them to next. 

(She thinks they could be anywhere and she’d still want to keep talking to him forever. He thinks that practically every worry in his life could fade away if he could look at her smile for the rest of his life)

He rolls up to one of his favorite views in Jersey of midtown Manhattan, finding an alcove and backing his car into it. Hamilton Park. They both get out and all she can do is stand there and admire the stunning view, milkshake in hand. She’s literally breathless. The last time she remembers feeling like this is when she saw the Pantheon for the first time nearing midnight with her brother when they were in Rome in 2022. She doesn’t notice him unlocking the trunk and setting up the backseat with blankets and pillows until he softly calls her name. 

(When her eyes met his, the glow of Manhattan in her eyes, he swears to this day that his heart skipped a beat. He was hers already then)

They settle into the makeshift couch, not quite touching but really freaking close. 

“It’s beautiful,” she says softly, just looking at the view. 

He hums, his eyes flickering between the view he knows too well and the girl who makes him feel better about who he is simply for just being around. It sure is. 

She lets herself admire the view silently for a minute or so more, before she can’t take it anymore. “Jack?” She asks, still looking out. 

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” 

Wrong answer, if the unimpressed expression on her face is any indication. She nudges her knee with his. “Come on. You know exactly what I mean. What are we doing? What are we?” 

He shrugs, trying to ignore the frogs in his stomach. He should’ve known she was gonna bring it up first. She’s too smart not to. “I-I like you. Wouldn’t have chased after you if I didn’t. You-you’re amazing, you know that? I don’t think you realize how much you can just stay on someone’s mind. I know this is only our third date, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life and I like who I am when I’m around you.” 

She swallows, pausing to sip her milkshake and wiggling into the blankets. He thinks she’s adorable. “I haven’t liked someone in so long. I thought I forgot what it felt like. But then you asked me out and I see a text from you or hear you through my phone or see you on TV, and I’m like oh. I think I remember what it feels like now. It feels like this.” 

He has to take a second because oh, maybe her dreams of becoming an author aren’t just words. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She swallows again. “But I, I can’t do casual. I never have. I really, really wish I could

sometimes. So if that’s what you want, I can’t do it.” 

“What makes you think I want casual?” 

She snorts, “Because you’re a hot and talented hockey player? You can’t blame me for making the assumption.” 

“You think I’m hot?” 

Maia smacks him in the stomach. Jack laughs. She takes a breath. It’s now or never. “I just, I know you have girls in your DMs and your comments and everywhere else that are prettier and maybe could give you more of what you’re looking for or something that’s not…me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

She lets out a small noise and smiles slightly. “Thanks. But, I-I know that you have so many options. I won’t be hurt if I’m not the one you choose.”

He taps her knee so she’s paying attention and listening to his next words. “I-I’ve done casual before. I don’t think I can do that with you.” 

“You can’t? Why not?” 

“Well, A, because you don’t want to, which leads to B, I don’t want to. Not with you.” It’s his turn to swallow now as he looks at the skyline. “I really, really like you, Maia.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“All in?” 

“All in.”

“You completely sure?” She interlaces her hand in with his and raises his knuckles up to her lips. He’s utterly floored. But he’s nervous. And she can sense it. 

“Yes. I just…it’s, I’m not trying to backtrack. I mean, you’ve already seen some of it. Like, during the season, it’s intense. Game every two or three days, practice pretty much everyday, stretches of roadies and being away. I feel like, not that I doubt you or us or anything, but that’s not, I won’t be around as much as I should be. How is that fair to you?”

“Yeah, I mean, yeah. I figured that from the first day. I get it. Well, as much as I can get it. I’m sure it’s gonna be tough. I know it will be.” She squeezes his hand, leaning on his shoulder. “If you’re willing to try, then so am I.”

“You’re too good for me.”

She scoffs, grinning as he places a kiss on her temple. She places her milkshake by her side, summoning up some courage. She adjusts herself so that she’s fully facing him, and he just watches her intensely. With her white BU crewneck, a blanket around her shoulders, hair falling just past her shoulders, and the soft smile on her face, his mind goes quiet. Peaceful.  

She kisses him first. Innocently and softly, before pulling back to gauge his reaction.

He responds quickly, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips against hers again. They’re both smiling into the kiss and everything feels calm. He wraps a hand around her waist as she maneuvers her hands around his neck, playing with his hair. She’s so lost in him that she doesn’t really realize that she moves herself so that she hovers over his lap, knees on either side of his hips. He has his hands placed on her lower back.

He lets out a low groan, “Baby.”

Her brain short circuits, both at the nickname (she’s always flinched at it before, but she loves the way he says it) and the timbre of his voice, but she has enough sense to pull away. They’re both breathing heavily. “Sorry,” she breathes out, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. She closes her eyes. She needs a second. 

“Don’t be,” he says, bringing her face back up to his and brushing his thumbs on her cheek. “God, you’re so beautiful. I’ve been wanting to do that since the minute I saw you.”

She chuckles, sliding off of him and settling into his side, staring out at the skyline again. “You’ve had plenty of chances.”

“I kinda knew if I kissed you before knowing what we were, it would be more heartbreaking if you rejected me.”

“If I rejected you?” 

“Yes.”

“In what world would I have rejected you?”

“I don’t know. But I’m glad it’s not this world.”

She keeps herself from rolling her eyes, and just leans up to kiss him on the cheek. Because, you know, she can do that now. 

(That night, staring out at the stunning skyline of a city she has grown to love, with the warmth of the blankets over her legs and over her shoulder, a boy she was very quickly growing to care for deeply pressed by her side, telling her he feels the same way, she felt lifted. Free.

Unstoppable)

(When he drops her home, it’s 1:18 a.m. and she doesn’t want to get out of the car. With the way his hand has been attached to her thigh, it seems like he doesn’t want her to get out either. But he has an 11 am practice tomorrow and he just had a game. He’s exhausted. 

He kisses her once, twice, a third time before letting her go. As soon as she steps through the lobby of her apartment building and out of view, his grin practically splits his face. He smiles all the way home)

[chocochiffonnn]

Cookies & Promises

➸ Pairing: Idol BF! Nishimura Riki x Reader

➸ Word Count: 1.5k words

➸ Synopsis: Baking and a clingy boyfriend who rarely got to see you— combining the two creates a chaos, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

➸ Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, some curse words, riki is sososososo clingy here, riki and niki used interchangeably. enjoy reading guys!

➸ Songs to play as you listen!

Junny - Promise

Johnny Stimson - Casual

New West - Lovely

Taylor Swift - Say Don't Go

Enhypen - XO

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Nishimura Riki always found a way to touch you.

It hardly mattered when the occasion was odd, or the crowd was rowdy and bustling. Subtly, Niki just somehow always found a way to come to contact with your skin.

Perhaps it is because his love language revolves around it Though he hates the idea of over the top physical affection in public, he truly does revel and thrive in the subject once the two of you are alone.

Like this very moment right now.

A particular Saturday night, after the two of you had gone for early dinner, you decided make some cookies as a dessert. Riki had gone over to your house, as he'd often do when he wasn't out doing idol business, practicing, or training.

Which is, in all honesty— is rare.

Thus, the reason for him lazing around your house all day and sharing nothing but movies, games, food, and laughter the last couple of hours. This particular night, however, was the first time you got to see each other again after a week of him being away.

And following this event, you supposed you wouldn't see him again for as long as a month or so as they are to be in tour.

It explains the reason why as you prepped the ingredients needed for the cookies and scurried around the kitchen, Niki had you in a back hug the entire time.

It didn't help the fact that his head was on your shoulder, too. Peppering soft and gentle kisses around your nape, neck, collarbone, and cheeks, occasionally.

"Riki, baby, can you let go for a bit? It's hard baking these cookies." You reason, as you set a carton of milk atop the table. Niki only hums, pulling you closer to his chest.

"Why?" He mumbles, low and gentle against your ear.

"What do you mean, why? You're like a clingy little koala! I might not get anything done at this rate!" Truth be told, you did love it when Niki was needy like this, acting like such a baby when in front of the cameras, he was but a "tough boy".

"I can help you with that..." Niki suggests, swaying the two of you side to side. You giggled, "Yes, you will! If only you let go of me and—"

All of a sudden, Niki turns you around and envelops you with his arms once more. It comfortably tightened around your neck, and you came to catch a whiff of his perfume you can recognize miles away.

"Baby, why do you want me to let go so bad? Do you not miss me?"

Niki says, as if you were dismissing him. His tone was rather teasing, "W-what? Of course I do!"

"Then it's okay if I cling to you while you bake?"

With a slight groan, you reluctantly agreed to his antics and turn around. Baking cookies had always been a simple task, which is bound to get tedious now as a Nishimura Riki now clings to you like a little koala bear.

Your ingredients were all complete and arranged, you grabbed a bowl to put the dry ingredients first, and a separate ones for the wet ingredients. All the while, Niki would do just about anything and everything to get you to pay attention to him.

Poking your cheek repeatedly, "Hey! Shh. Stop that." You turn to look at him, to which he only grins.

Then, taking one of the ingredients, "Where's the egg?"

Niki taps you in the shoulder, turns around, and with full confidence— he just... Acts like he's pooping, as mysteriously, and egg comes out of his hands. "Look, I lay eggs now."

He must think he must be so funny because right after, he started stomping his feet, snickering, and laughing so hard over his own joke.

You took the egg from him with a laugh in sake of entertaining him, and cracking the egg into the bowl.

Then, he'd make silly faces as you kneaded the dough.

"Imagine if the dough had a face, this is what it would be making right now."

Niki goes in front of you over the kitchen table, making silly little faces every time your hands came to contact with the cookie dough. He'd obnoxiously widen his eyes, puff his nose and ears, stick his tongue out.

One of his goofy faces made you cringe and laugh loudly, to which Niki smiled, "Heck yeah!"

Then, once you put the cookie dough in the oven, he'd stand in front of it and randomly start breakdancing in the middle of nowhere, pulling out his moves which would normally attract you. Now, it just made you shit in laughter.

"What are you doing?" You say, crossing your arms as Niki b-boyed. "I'm dancing for you, obviously!" He pants, doing flips and stumbling right after.

Thud.

"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" You quickly come over to him, kneeling in front of his fallen figure, inspecting his leg which had fallen down. Niki didn't speak for a few seconds until, all of a sudden, he tackled you down the ground.

In a very tight, and heavy bear hug.

Hell, this boy put all his strength and weight upon you, encaging you with his legs, and keeping you impossibly close. You could hardly breath!

"Riki! Let me go!" You squirm under his hold, Riki only snorts, "I tricked you there baby! Ha! Take this!"

Riki suddenly started tickling you, and you felt like a worm under his hold. You were thrashing uncontrollably, laughing so immensely as he tickled, and tickled, and tickled.

'S-stop! Nooo!" You manage to mutter in between laughter, and he soon stops, opting to embrace you in the cold, hard apartment floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He says, rolling your bodies around like sausages.

Gosh. At times, it hardly felt like you were taking care of a boyfriend, but rather, it felt like you had a child! Nishimura Riki is ridiculously mischievous and childish that sometimes, it felt like you're going to go insane!

The oven timer ticks, and Niki finally lets you out of his grasp. You take the cookies out of the oven, let them to cool as you grabbed some of the ice cream from the freezer.

Niki merely observes as you prepared him a bowl of cookies and vanilla ice cream, smiling when you hand him the bowl. You grabbed your own, and the two of you head back to the couch to laze around for the rest of the night and enjoy the rest of the night with him by your side.

"You baked these cookies so good, damn." Niki says as the two of you faced each other at the couch, eating away the ice cream and cookies combination. You smile and mumble a small thank you, opting to not tease him for annoying you so much as the cookies did taste good.

Once the two of you were finished, you settled your bowls at the coffee table and heaved a sigh, "I won't be seeing you tomorrow anymore, yeah?" you randomly brought up out of the blue, a wave of reality washing over you.

It didn't really matter where Niki had gone to, even if it's a country away, miles away, even just a neighborhood away. At the end of the day, you always missed your annoying little boyfriend terribly.

Niki sensed your sudden change of mood, pulling you closer and placing you atop his lap. He wraps both of your arms around his neck as you lazily hunched over and embraced him.

Niki pats your back in comfort, "I'm still seeing you in the morning, baby, don't worry." He assures, though, you can sense by the tone of his voice that he too, is disappointed.

"I'll miss you."

"I'l miss you too, baby."

You pull back from his embrace, holding his face within your hands. You lovingly caressed it, memorizing every detail and tracing it as if it was his last day on earth. Maybe it is to be, for a month or so, at least.

Niki only hums into your touch, closing his eyes and warming into your feather fingers further. His long fingers roamed around your back, caressing it, too.

"It won't take long, I promise..." He mumbles, opening his eyes and holding one of your hands. You only nodded.

You knew Niki found enjoyment in what he was doing. Performing in front of big crowds, making his name known along with his hyungs— it's all really a matter of accepting the fact that your very clingy boyfriend just had to be away for so long.

But then again, Niki always keeps his promise. Even if it is to be a year away, a decade away, even a millennia, you knew that Nishimura Riki always holds true to what he says.

And you know that by the end of each day, he'll always come back home to you, over shared ice-creams and cookies, over shared laughters and assurance.

And most of all, over a shared lifetime with his one and only girlfriend.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ END *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

[gatheringbones]

[“In the dungeon, the dominatrix was a paragon of high-femme adornment, training submissive men in the supposedly organic wisdom of her gender. In reality, I was trying on this kind of glamour and ultrafemininity for the first time.

Two things helped me to fall in love with mani-pedis and skin creams and click-clacking around in dramatically slanted stilettos in my 20s, despite rejecting these sartorial amusments growing up. One was that I was making cash money to do it, which was much more motivating than the Seventeen magazines and peer pressures of my adolescence. Second, I was surrounded by beautiful naked women encouraging me to develop my own style. Most of my colleagues were much more experienced with makeup, hair, lingerie, jewelry, heels, nails, lotion, and perfume, much more confident in products, styling, shapes, and colors than I was. Some of them were sweetly excited about my ineptitude, eagerly turning me into a doll they could experiment on. I smelled the sizzle of flat irons as they tugged at my hair from behind, I squeezed eyelash glue nervously along the rinds of falsies as they timed me, I sat on the cold linoleum and snapped their garters into place every day for weeks until I could do it with my eyes closed. As their hands and tools stroked my body, conditioning me in more ways than one, I felt an ASMR buzz all over. If I felt objectified, it was as an exalted precious object, like a car being tuned up under my hood, my exteriors waxed until I shined.

A colleague turned to me out of the blue one day, snapping, “What is your skin care routine?” When I sheepishly replied that I had none, she marched me into the bathroom, sternly showing me how to cleanse, moisturize, and always wear sunscreen. I have done this every single day since. That’s all it took for me to learn to care for myself in this way. A little feminine superiority.

If this sounds familiar, it should. Despite being assigned female at birth, I was just as enchanted as any dude could have been by confident pros guiding me into a realm of prettiness, and I needed every bit as much coaching. I would get femme trained by my colleagues, and minutes later I would lead clients into session rooms and train them to be femme too.

I’m hardly the first person to observe that drag is drag no matter your resting gender, your genitals, your orientation, your motivation. Not to put too fine a point on it, but most sex workers know we are drag artists. Much in the same way that pro wrestlers exaggerate their own masculinity, the dominatrix is a femme maximalist entertainer. The fact that a cis woman can feel like a drag queen speaks to the performative nature of gender expression, of both drag as an art and cross-dressing as a fetish. By and large, my cross-dressing clients didn’t want to be women. They wanted to be bimbos! They embodied their own ideas of insatiable sluts and campy cartoons. Maximalist girls, exaggerated girls, megawatt girls. They wanted satin corsets, jewel tones, iridescent glitter, fishnets, freesia body spray. They spoke like Betty Boop and did their best to stiffly dance along to Prince songs. They saw this glamour as sparkling dynamite to bust them out of the prison of their toxic masculinity, even if just for a few hours, even if only superficially.

I didn’t find these fantasies a reminder of the awful pressures of girliness I had initially rejected; gender-bending in the dungeon showed me that I had been positioned to see femme all wrong. The bimbo is an archetype, a shimmering human invention waiting to be embodied by anyone who cares to summon her. It’s the choice to play with gender as an adult, as opposed to a lifetime of imposed messaging about what kind of gender you can and can’t be, that generates the erotic pleasures of cross-dressing.

I enjoyed being bullied into girliness by my fellow pro-dommes, so I empathized with our clients, regardless of the gender trajectory that led us to femme power play. All of the qualities that we expressed as feminine—from soft clothes to luscious scents to sucking cock—had belonged to all of us the whole time. I get why a cis dominatrix wouldn’t want to participate in forced feminization. I also get why many trans people, trans women in particular, find the existence of transvestitism to be so painful. When you have to fight so hard every day for the fundamental dignity and civil rights of your gender, it can be agonizing to see someone treat that gender as frivolous. Cross-dressing clients were often annoyingly reductive, like young adults on rumspringa, gorging themselves on the sugar high of femininity after being denied it for so long. It was clear to me that some of these fetishists liked cross-dressing sessions because it happened to be the variation on humiliation that their submissive tendencies had alighted on, emasculation being one of a hundred ways of having your social status lowered by a dominatrix. Others would have liked to wear dresses and bubblegum-flavored lip gloss more often, including in situations where they weren’t necessarily aroused. Still others weren’t actually cross-dressers at all, but closeted or crypto-transgender women. The kinky space was the only one they knew where they could be themselves using what they saw as a safe, private, and limited method. Some of them would transition eventually, and some would keep that part of themselves compartmentalized their entire lives. All three of these categories of person deserve the space to explore their gender expression through erotic fantasy.

Some cross-dressing fetishists are cis. Some trans women are butch. Some drag artists are straight. There’s no one way to do or be any of these things, and while we can experiment with identity through art and erotics, we shouldn’t conflate persona with personhood. Most importantly, trans people of all kinds deserve an existence that is both sexually liberated and not constantly sexualized. I would love to report that we have reached the point in the gender revolution where cross-dressing is redundant because there is nothing to cross. But erotics are still a viable way for us to explore who we really are, or would like to be.”]

tina horn, from why are people into that? a cultural investigation of kink, 2024

[balladofboothill]

Joe burrow x EMT

note : wrote this purely off kissing a tree with your car brownies and 10hrs of shitty sleep

warnings : brief talk of medical stuff, the q word, couple sex jokes and very short

Like any medical household, the q word is banned (quiet)

"Why the fuck is it so quiet here" Ja'marr comes busting in through the doorway, disturbing the much needed peace of the household, joe shushed him right away as the last time he said the q word he got a stuffed animal thrown his way, "we never speak of the q word here" Joe says quietly as Ja'marr gives him a look as if he has four heads.

Joe asks the strangest questions

"What happens if someone's dick snaps off during sex?" Joe asks, randomly at 4am, "uhhhhh, I don't know, why?" You ask, "dunno just wondering" Joe answered with this strange look in his eye, still slightly confused at why he's asking this, another time while eating dinner he asked what would happen if someone stuck a carrot in their eyes.

Med truck sex.

JK! But he did ask if that was possible while he was watching you load it. "Could you ride me on that stretcher?" Joe asks in a bland tone for the question he just asked. "Joe baby, great idea but I'd like to keep my job." You answered to him, clearly joking upset

Thinks it's the coolest thing that he now has a personal nurse for when he's sick

Man flu is the worst thing to ever happen to men, Joe is 100% down for the count, acting like he's gonna puke his lungs out, "nurse can you please give me some cough meds" Joe begged as best he could between the coughs, "yeah here." You said as you hand him the cough meds, "this isn't what I expected to be using my schooling for" you though to yourself, praying you don't get sick next

If his friends get injured while they're doing guy things he'll text you a picture and ask what to do

A text pings during your lunch break of a photo that Joe sent, it's of a pretty sizable open cut with a fishing hook stuck in it, Joe had taken a couple high school friends fishing at your family's pond earlier before your shift, texting back "don't remove the hook, cut the line and go to the ER", a couple hours later you receive a photo of the stitched up cut

any EMT is awful to watch football with

Watching a random college game after a long shift with Joe should have been relaxing until you get bored and start commentating the injuries that can happen, "during my first week I saw a player snap his entire latissimus dorsi" you commentate as Joe looks in slight horror

Thank you for reading :) please reblog to support writers!!<3

[4ranghaes]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ bnd with pregnant!reader

ot5 bnd x reader [fluff, afab!reader, pregnant!reader]

a/n - i just felt a bit weird writing woonhak, considering he’s younger than me idk,, hope you still enjoy!!!

sungho🎀 [4 months along]

“wait! wait, wait,” he said quickly, slamming the car door on his side before running round and opening your own.

you chuckled, “thank you, ba–”

“here,” he said, taking your hand, placing his other hand on your back as he helped you out the car.

“sungho,” you sighed, as he rushed to grab your bag and lock the car before ushering you inside, “sungho!”

he stopped, turning to you. he’d just reached the front door of your house, key in his hand as he stopped.

“you need to stop fussing over me,” you laughed, “i’m fine. i’m barely even showing yet!”

sungho sighed, placing his hand protectively on your back as the two of you walked inside, “i know. i’m sorry, i just– i already worried about everything when you were just you! now it’s you and our baby, in one person?! everyday i think i’m going to combust when i think about it.”

you collapsed on the sofa, your body tired and achey. even if you weren’t showing, pregnancy was still doing a number on your body. you laughed at your husband’s words, beckoning him to your side, “i need you to be normal, for my own sanity. and i need you to calm down, for your own health.”

he nodded, leaning on your shoulder, wrapping his arm round your waist, “i’ll try.” he sighed in contentment, his thumb rubbing gently on your stomach, “that was a good scan today.”

you nodded, placing your hand over his, “i love hearing their heartbeat.”

sungho grinned, looking to you and nodding, “i know, makes it feel real that there’s a little person in there! i can’t believe it.” he quietened down again quickly, massaging your legs he knew were aching, kissing your forehead softly. “son or daughter?”

you chuckled, placing your hands over your stomach and humming, “i have no idea.”

“come on,” sungho jeered, “mum’s instinct?”

you smiled, butterflies erupting at the sound of being called mum for the first time, “the instinct is that they’re beautiful and loved, no matter what.”

“yeah…” your husband hummed, “but a daughter would be lovely, right?”

you giggled, nodding as you played with his hair, “and you’d spoil her completely, i’m sure.”

riwoo 🦦🍡 [3 months along]

“was that a dream?”

you hummed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before snuggling into your husband’s chest, “what?”

“last night,” he said, staring at the ceiling. he glanced at you, a small smile on his face as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. “i could swear i had a dream that you told me you were pregnant.”

you giggled, “hmm, i wonder why.”

riwoo chuckled, “i can’t believe it. i feel like i need to do something… tell someone? buy something?”

you laughed, “just hold on. i think we should wait until 20 weeks to tell people. that’s what they suggest, anyway.”

“sounds good,” he nodded, sighing with contentment, “wow. i mean, before the years over we’re gonna have a baby. at christmas! oh wow. do you think it’s gonna be a boy or a girl?”

you giggled, closing your eyes from sleepiness, “i don’t know, sanghyuk.”

“i need to research,” he hummed, stroking your hair, “i don’t know anything about pregnancy or babies.”

“did you know they can already hear?” you smiled, rolling onto your back and placing your hand on your stomach. nothing was showing, but just the idea was exciting. riwoo looked shocked, scooting down the bed and resting his head on your chest, his hand on your lower stomach.

“they can hear me?” he smiled, stroking the skin softly.

“yeah,” you said, stroking riwoo’s hair, “go on, say something. i’ve done it a couple times.”

“okay,” he chuckled, humming for a moment as he swiped his hand over your stomach, “hey baby. i– i don’t know anything about you yet. haven’t even seen a scan. but i’m your dad. um… i guess you’ll get to know me pretty well. i’m excited to meet you, in 7 months. it feels long, but i’m sure it’ll go by quickly, and then you can celebrate christmas with me and your mum. speaking of your mum… you’re inside her now, so she’ll take good care of you. but i hope you treat her well too, don’t make her too ill. um… i don’t really know what else to say so i’ll say bye for now but i’ll speak to you again soon, okay? i’ll play you one of my songs too! feel free to kick or whatever to respond if you like it–”

“five months.”

“hmm?”

“usually you don’t feel the baby kick until five months,” you smiled, stroking your husband’s hair back as he turned his face to look at your face now, instead of your stomach.

he frowned, “that’s so long.”

“come on, we have to get up now,” you groaned, stretching before sitting up.

“okay,” riwoo sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and leaping out of bed, “i’ll start the coffee— oh.”

you grumbled, glaring at him, “don’t rub it in.”

jaehyun🪻🐕 [6 months along]

“hiya pretty girl,” he said, bursting into a smile as you wandered into the living room.

you glared at your husband, “don’t patronise me.”

“i’m not,” jaehyun laughed, “come on, sit down, i’ll rub your feet.”

“you will?” you asked, almost tearing up in gratitude.

“of course!” he exclaimed, voice soft like a melody as he helped you onto the sofa before pulling your legs up so they were resting in his lap.

“sorry i was grumpy,” you said sheepishly, as he started massaging your soft-covered feet and legging-covered calves.

“it’s okay,” he beamed, “be as grumpy with me as you want, my girl! you’re carrying my baby.”

one of his hands trailed up to rest on the bottom of your rounded stomach. you smiled, placing your hand over his before dragging it upwards to where your daughter’s little feet were kicking repetitively.

“woah, harsh!” he gasped over-dramatically, rubbing the spot with his thumb.

jaehyun was good at leaving you to your own devices during pregnancy, knowing that too much worrying and fussiness would be overbearing for your already over-loaded body and mind, but sometimes you didn’t mind a bit of fuss.

“do you want anything particular for dinner?” he asked, moving back to massaging your feet.

you hummed, “no, i don’t have anything in mind. you can choose.”

“okay,” he said suspiciously, “but i’ll check with you first, yeah? i want you to eat.”

you smiled, nodding and going back to your phone.

“oh check your emails, by the way,” he said, barely even looking at you as he spoke, “i ordered some things for the nursery.”

you clicked on the app, eyes widening at the confirmation email you’d received that morning. “some things?! jaehyun, this is the whole nursery!”

“well we needed to get it done, right?” he shrugged.

“oh thank you,” you cooed, removing your legs from his lap and instead cuddling into his side, “how did you know i was stressing about that last night?”

“you wrote it on a post-it note to remind yourself, and then forgot to put it up,” he chuckled, kissing your forehead, “no need to worry anymore, though.”

you sighed, pregnancy brain ruining your ability to even think anymore, “thank you, love.”

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he smiled down at you, “and hey, why don’t we go clothes shopping soon? hmm? you know we’re gonna love that.”

you smiled, nodding as jaehyun pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “you’re the best.”

taesan 🎸🐈‍⬛ [7 months along]

“dongmin, have you seen my tape?”

“woah,” he smirked, sitting up on the bed as he ogled you in the doorway.

“what?” you sighed.

you were stood wearing nothing but a crop top that only covered your boobs nowadays, with booty shorts, and your hair which had finally had a wash after a week was put away messily.

“you look gorgeous,” he blinked, face unwavering as you rolled your eyes.

“please,” you scoffed, practically waddling over to your husband.

he smiled, “no, i’m serious. i don’t think i’ve ever been more turned on. god you’re sexy.”

“oh my god keep it in your pants! i’m already pregnant,” you rolled your eyes, standing in front of him, “now can you answer my question?”

“your tape? oh the belly supporter one? yeah, it’s in the dresser,” he hummed, “i’ll get it, you sit down.”

he swapped your positions so you were sat on the edge of the bed and he wandered over to grab the tape, coming and helping you stand back up to put it in position.

“how could you possibly find me sexy right now?” you laughed, looking at yourself in the mirror as you planned where to put the tape to support your body the most.

“cause you’re all mine,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder as he stood behind you, “and everyone knows it. and you’re so cool, you’re carrying a person, our person.”

you smiled, taesan’s hands snaking round your waist and resting on your stomach as his head rested on your shoulder.

“sorry i find cool and powerful women so sexy,” he shrugged.

“wow you’re such a feminist,” you laughed, taesan shaking his head as he chuckled. “speaking of, how’s the nursery coming along?”

“nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, princess,” he hummed, kissing your shoulder as he went and grabbed his laptop off the bed, “in two weeks it’ll be done, and we’ll be fully ready for our little guy. okay?”

you nodded, smiling as taesan continued to stand behind you, admiring you in the mirror. you basked in the moment for a while longer, sighing in contentment as you leaned against his body.

“fuck,” you cursed under your breath, seeing a large wet spot appear on your crop top.

“fuck,” taesan murmured, “i need to get you pregnant more often.”

you glared at him, “not helping.”

leehan🪸🐠 [5 months along - warning: mentions of like,, being able to see the baby move? some people find that gross so i wanted to leave a warning😭]

“y/n?”

“up here!” you called from the bedroom, as leehan came through the front door after work.

you heard your husband sprinting up the stairs, two at a time as he usually did, appearing in the bedroom doorway with a goofy smile on his face.

“hey, how was your— woah.”

he stopped his question, looking at your rounded stomach which was seemingly moving beneath the skin.

“this is so freaky,” you chuckled, “i mean, interesting. but weird, right?”

“that is so cool,” he said, quickly coming to the side of the bed and kneeling down, peering closely at the skin.

you laughed, “she’s really in there, huh?”

“hey, baby,” leehan spoke, poking your stomach gently, “why you wriggling so much? you uncomfortable?”

you chuckled at his words, stroking the hair on the back of his head as he resting his chin on the mattress.

“wah,” he spoke, placing a hand flat on your stomach, letting it be moved by your unborn child, “wah. hi baby, it’s daddy. remember me?”

“i hope so, considering you speak to her twice a day,” you laughed.

he smiled, kissing his fingers and pressing it to the skin. he continued to blink, in a quiet fascination of your baby, and of you, for carrying her inside you.

“is it uncomfortable?”

“no,” you shook your head, “feels weird though. i couldn’t even describe it if i wanted to.”

he nodded thoughtfully, “how long has she been doing this?”

“all afternoon,” you said, before adding sheepishly, “i phoned the doctor at first. they were a bit pissed at me, i think, cause it turns out it’s absolutely nothing to worry about. but i just thought this movement seemed excessive, right?!”

“yeah, they’re a dick,” leehan said, voice almost emotionless, “you’re just worried for your baby, you’re being a good mum.”

you smiled, “thanks, love. anyway, they said she’s probably just moving position, but it’s early enough that they’re confident she’ll move back before it’s time to come out.”

“she’s just an acrobat, hmm?”

“or a dancer, maybe?” you smiled, leehan looking at you shyly before looking back to your stomach.

“i want to name her sua,” he said, suddenly.

“sua?” you repeated, “as in… water themed?”

he nodded, “either that or i name her after a fish, so it’s up to you.”

you laughed, leaning over and kissing his head, “sua sounds perfect.”