#i had no idea what was happening the entire time

[reiding-writing]

cold!reader used to work with VCAC? the idea that she's good with children despite just hating everyone is so funny to me

would you consider writing a fic where the BAUs main witness is a kid and cold reader is the only person to get through to them? and then the kid becomes like super attached and the rest of the team is just like 'hm, strange' because they never expected her to be good with kids? thank you!

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

A family annihilator who's killed three families in two months makes a fatal mistake. He leaves behind a witness, a child, and she's the only one that can help solve the case.

cold!reader ❅ 10.0k ❅ series masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against children, mentions of trauma and ptsd, you do not know how tempted i was to kill this child but i didn’t

The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile chill of the air conditioning.

The conference room is dim, the overhead lights casting a dull glow against the crime scene photos spread across the table. Three families, their faces smiling in old photographs, juxtaposed with the horror of their final moments.

You sit stiffly in your chair, arms crossed, watching as Hotch stands at the head of the table. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders speaks for itself.

The team is silent as he clicks to the next slide on the projector, displaying the most recent crime scene. Blood splatters across beige carpet. A broken picture frame. A child's shoe, left in the doorway.

“This is our unsub's third family in six weeks,” Hotch says, his voice steady but heavy. “All killed in their own homes, in the middle of the night. No signs of forced entry, no clear connection between the families. Each time, he’s managed to evade security cameras and forensic evidence. He’s methodical, careful, and fast.”

“Spree killer tendencies, but controlled,” Spencer interjects from across the table. His fingers drum against the tabletop as he speaks. “He escalates quickly, but there’s no erratic behaviour at the scenes. He’s not disorganised—he knows exactly what he’s doing,”

“Until now,” JJ murmurs. She leans forward, her brows drawn together, eyes fixed on the next image—a little girl. The survivor.

She’s small, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, pressed into the corner of what looks like a hospital bed. A police officer stands nearby, talking to her, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. She looks… empty.

“She got away,” Emily says, glancing at Hotch. “How?”

“The unsub killed her parents and older brother before she managed to escape through a back door,” he explains. “The neighbours called 911 when they heard screaming. By the time officers arrived, the house was quiet, and the suspect was gone. She was found hiding in their backyard shed.”

“A survivor,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “That changes things. This guy has a pattern—he wipes out the entire family unit. That means she wasn’t supposed to make it out alive,”

“Which means he might try again,” Rossi adds grimly.

A beat of silence. The weight of the statement settles over the room like thick fog.

“Local PD has had no luck getting her to talk,” Hotch continues. “She hasn’t said a word about what happened. Refuses to answer questions. She’s traumatised, barely verbal, and right now, she’s under police protection until we can confirm if she has any extended family who can take her in.”

You shift in your seat, already sensing where this is going. A slow dread creeps up your spine as Hotch’s gaze flickers toward you.

“We need to get through to her,” he says. “She’s the only witness we have, and if the unsub left anything behind—a name, a face, a detail—she’s the only one who can give it to us.”

His words hang in the air for a second too long. You feel everyone’s eyes move toward you.

And then Hotch says it.

“I want you to talk to her.”

You inhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Hotch—"

“You have a PhD in Psychology,” he cuts in smoothly, as if he already anticipated your pushback. “And your time in VCAC makes you the most qualified person here to work with child victims.”

The mention of VCAC makes your stomach twist. You fight the urge to grimace.

“I moved to the BAU for a reason,” you remind him, keeping your voice measured. “Children can be… difficult. Especially ones dealing with trauma this severe. She’s not just going to start talking because I ask her to.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “But if anyone can get her to open up, it’s you.”

Silence stretches between you.

You don’t want to do this.

You hate working with kids. Not because you don’t care, but because they feel too much.

They cry, they panic, they cling, and their emotions are messy—unpredictable in ways adults rarely are.

You spent years in VCAC, watching helpless children break apart under the weight of their own trauma, and it wore you down in ways you never admitted.

That’s why you left.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t coddle, you don’t reassure with empty promises, and you don’t have the patience for endless sobs and incomprehensible explanations.

And yet.

You glance at the image of the little girl again. She looks so small. So completely alone.

No one else in this room is going to be able to reach her. And if she doesn’t talk, if she doesn’t tell you what she saw—

The unsub will keep killing.

You exhale slowly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders.

“Fine,” you say finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Hotch nods. “Wheels up in 30.”

The meeting disperses, chairs scraping against the floor as the team gathers their things. You stay seated for a moment, staring at the blurred-out image of the girl on the screen.

A hand brushes against your arm.

You look up to see Spencer standing beside you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You almost say yes, but stop yourself. Instead, you shrug.

“It’s just… not my favourite thing to do,” you admit, voice quieter than usual.

He nods, as if he understands. Maybe he does.

“You’ll be good at it,” he says. No hesitation. No doubt. Just quiet certainty.

For some reason, that makes your chest tighten.

You swallow, push back your chair, and stand.

“Let’s hope so,” you mutter, grabbing your case file.

And then you follow the team out the door.

—

The jet touches down in Minnesota under a dull, overcast sky, the kind that promises rain but never quite delivers. The air outside is biting, cold enough that you pull your coat tighter around you as the team steps off the plane.

The local PD is already waiting for you on the tarmac, their unmarked cars idling, exhaust curling into the frigid air. Hotch exchanges quick introductions, then splits the team without hesitation.

“Rossi—you’re with me at the latest crime scene. JJ, you’ll work with the department’s media liaison to handle the press. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re going to the ME’s office to go over autopsy findings.”

His gaze lands on you. “You’re going to the station to talk to the girl.”

You nod, ignoring the way your stomach tightens at the assignment.

“I’ll go with her,” Spencer says, stepping forward.

Hotch gives him a brief look, then nods. “Keep me updated.”

You don’t say anything as you and Spencer break off from the group, climbing into the backseat of a waiting squad car. The officer driving doesn’t speak much, just gives you a curt nod before pulling out onto the highway.

You spend the drive flipping through the case file, rereading the details you already know.

The survivor’s name is Madelyn Carter. Eight years old. No prior history of abuse or neglect. No suspicious activity leading up to the night of the murders. A completely normal kid—until the night she lost everything.

The police reports are frustratingly sparse. Non-verbal. Unresponsive to questioning. Won’t engage.

You tap your fingers against the file, jaw tight. She’s just a child, but already, you can feel the weight of the challenge ahead of you.

The police station is small, tucked into a sleepy suburban district, the kind of place that probably never sees much worse than drunk and disorderly charges.

But today, it’s buzzing with quiet tension.

You and Spencer are led to a small interview room at the end of the hallway. The walls are a washed-out shade of blue, meant to be calming, but the effect is ruined by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

And there, curled up on a chair too big for her, is Madelyn.

She’s impossibly small, arms wrapped around herself, knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair is tangled at the ends, her clothes a size too big, probably donated by someone at the station. A stuffed rabbit sits limply in her lap, its fur worn and patchy.

She doesn’t look up when you walk in.

The officer standing in the corner—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes—gives you a look that’s equal parts sympathy and frustration.

“She hasn’t said a word since we brought her in,” she murmurs.

You nod, but your focus is on the girl.

You know better than to overwhelm her right away, so you take your time settling into the chair across from her. No sudden movements. No clipped, authoritative tone. Just careful, deliberate quiet.

“Hi, Madelyn,” you say gently.

She doesn’t acknowledge you.

That’s fine. You expected this.

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your posture relaxed as you introduce yourself to her. “I’m a Doctor, I’m going to try and help you,”

Still nothing.

You glance at Spencer, who watches the interaction closely, hands tucked into the pockets of his cardigan.

“That’s a nice bunny,” you say, nodding toward the stuffed animal in her lap.

Madelyn doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flick her eyes toward you. She just tightens her grip on the rabbit, her small fingers curling into its worn fur.

You exhale slowly, adjusting your approach.

“I used to have one kind of like that when I was little,” you continue, keeping your voice soft, conversational. “Mine was a bear, though. His name was Theo. I took him everywhere.”

Nothing.

Not surprising, but frustrating nonetheless.

You lean back slightly in your chair, glancing at Spencer, who watches the exchange with quiet patience.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs under his breath, just for you to hear. “Just be patient,”

You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “She hasn’t said a word, Spencer.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not listening,”

You don’t respond, but his words linger in your mind as you turn back to Madelyn.

She’s still curled up, still silent, but you notice the way her fingers twitch slightly against the rabbit’s ear. It’s a small movement, but it tells you one thing, she’s aware of you.

That’s something.

You decide to change tactics. Instead of talking, you lean forward, resting your arms on the table between you. Then you take out your notepad and a pen, clicking it open.

Madelyn doesn’t look up, but you catch the smallest flicker of movement in her posture—curiosity.

Good.

You start to doodle. Simple things. A flower, a star, little patterns in the margins.

Still nothing from her.

But when you glance up a few minutes later, her eyes are on the notepad.

Just for a second. But she was looking.

You resist the urge to smile. Instead, you gently slide the notepad across the table toward her, placing the pen on top.

“You can draw something, if you want,” you say simply. “You don’t have to, but sometimes it helps.”

Madelyn doesn’t react immediately. But then, slowly—so slowly—her fingers twitch again, and she reaches out.

She doesn’t grab the pen. But she touches it.

Your heart stutters slightly in your chest.

Progress.

You let her take her time. You don’t push, don’t rush. You just watch as her tiny fingers trace the edge of the pen absently.

You glance at Spencer again, and his expression is warm. Encouraging.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice gentle.

“Do you like stories, Madelyn?”

She doesn’t answer.

But after a moment, she nods. Barely. But it’s a nod.

You share a look with Spencer, and for the first time since walking into this room, you feel the smallest spark of hope.

She’s in there.

You just have to find a way to bring her out.

—

You don’t know how long you sit there, watching Madelyn’s fingers trace absent shapes against the edge of the pen. Time moves strangely in moments like this—slow and thick, like wading through molasses.

Spencer stays quiet, offering his presence but not overwhelming the space. You appreciate it more than you’d ever admit.

Madelyn doesn’t speak. But she nods. And she touches the pen.

That’s more than you had ten minutes ago.

So you build on it.

“You like stories,” you say, keeping your voice soft. “What kind of stories?”

No response.

You lean back slightly. “I like mysteries.” A pause. “Not the scary kind, though. More like… puzzles. Things that make you think.”

Nothing at first. But then—so subtle you almost miss it—Madelyn shifts. It’s small, just the faintest movement of her shoulders, but it’s acknowledgment.

Encouraged, you try again.

“I think you might be really good at puzzles,” you say casually. “The way you were looking at my drawings earlier—that was you figuring things out, right?”

She still doesn’t answer, but this time, you catch the way she avoids your gaze, like she’s fighting the urge to react.

She’s engaged. Even if she won’t admit it yet.

So you take another risk.

“Do you want to play a game?”

That gets her attention. Not fully, but her head tilts just slightly—like she’s listening more closely.

You grab the notepad again, flipping to a fresh page.

“It’s really simple,” you tell her. “I draw something, and you guess what it is. If you guess right, it’s your turn to draw something for me.”

You don’t expect an immediate response, so you keep moving. You draw a cat. Just a simple, messy sketch, the kind a kid might do. Then you slide the notepad back toward her and wait.

Silence.

You don’t push.

Then, after an agonising pause—Madelyn reaches for the pen.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you.

But she writes one word in the space beneath your drawing.

Cat.

Something in your chest unclenches.

“Yeah,” you say, voice even softer than before. “It’s a cat.”

Madelyn’s fingers tighten around the pen.

Then—hesitant, almost reluctant—she starts to draw.

It’s shaky, unsure, but after a moment, you recognise it.

A rabbit. Her stuffed animal.

You don’t rush to answer. You let the moment sit, giving her control.

Finally, you say, “Is it your bunny?”

Madelyn nods.

Not small. Not hesitant. A real, full nod.

Your breath catches. Spencer’s posture shifts beside you, like he can feel the significance of it, too.

You’ve got her.

—

It takes another hour before she agrees to talk.

You don’t push her. You keep playing, keep gently pulling her out of the dark space she’s been locked in. She tells you her bunny’s name is Milo, that he’s red because it’s her favourite colour, about things that don’t hurt to answer.

She tells you her friends call her Maddie. You ask if you can. She agrees.

And slowly, carefully, she leans into it.

Finally, when the moment feels right, you set your pen down.

“Maddie,” you say gently. “I need to ask you about what happened that night.”

Immediately, she shrinks in on herself.

You don’t reach for her. Don’t move too fast.

“I know it’s scary,” you continue. “And I know it hurts to think about. But you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.”

Her grip on Milo tightens.

You lean forward slightly. “I want to stop him,” you say. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. But I can’t do that without your help.”

She’s trembling. But she’s listening.

Spencer speaks for the first time in a while, his voice quiet but steady.

“We can do it in a way that’s not so scary,” he tells her. “You don’t have to remember everything at once. We can do it piece by piece, and you can stop whenever you want.”

Maddie hesitates.

Then, after a long, agonising pause—she nods.

You take a slow breath.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Let’s do this together.”

—

The cognitive interview is exhausting. For her, for you, for everyone in the room.

You guide her through it carefully—asking her to picture the house, to focus on what she remembers before things got bad.

She whispers about the TV being on. About how her brother was playing a game on his tablet. About how her dad was in the kitchen, and her mom was upstairs.

Then—the noise.

Something breaking.

Screaming.

Maddie shakes violently, curling in on herself, and you immediately pull back.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “You’re safe. You’re here with us.”

She nods, but her breath is coming too fast, her body trembling too much.

Spencer places a gentle hand on your arm, meeting your gaze. You understand what he’s asking. Back off. Give her a moment.

So you do.

You wait.

Finally, she whispers, “He—he was big,”

You go still.

She’s talking about him.

You nod encouragingly. “Okay. Big. Can you tell me anything else?”

A shaky breath.

“H-he had a… a hat.”

You glance at Spencer, who’s already jotting this down in the case file.

Maddie’s voice is barely audible.

“I think it was red.”

Your heart pounds.

Piece by piece, she tells you more. His height. His clothes. A scar on his arm.

By the time she stops, she’s crying.

You reach forward, gently—so gently—and brush a piece of hair from her face.

“You did so good, Maddie,” you tell her. “So, so good.”

She hiccups, her tiny body wracked with exhaustion.

And then—before you can react—she throws herself into your arms.

You freeze.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t know how to do this.

But right now, this kid trusts you in a way she doesn’t trust anyone else.

So you let her cling.

You let her cry.

And for the first time in a long time—

You don’t pull away.

—

The interview is over, but somehow, it feels like the work is just beginning.

Maddie doesn’t leave your side.

Not even for a second.

You’d thought that once the interview was done, you’d be able to hand her over to someone else—maybe the police, or someone from her extended family who was supposed to arrive soon. But instead, Maddie just… clings.

After the interview, she refuses to let go of your hand. You try to tell her she can go with one of the officers to get something to eat, but her grip tightens.

When you tell her it’s time for you to go back to work, she just looks up at you, her eyes wide with that quiet, vulnerable desperation that makes you want to soften, but you can’t.

Her tiny fingers dig into your sleeve when you stand, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You can’t blame her.

You’ve been the one who’s been there for her, the one who’s gotten her to speak, the one who’s made her feel safe for the first time in days.

But the child is persistent.

Everywhere you go, she follows. To the small break room where the team is gathering, to the bathroom when you briefly step away, back to the conference room where they’ve gathered for a case update.

She’s your shadow now.

And the team notices.

You try not to make it awkward, but it's impossible when she insists on sitting at your side, her tiny body almost engulfed by the chair next to you. Her stuffed bunny sits in her lap, its fur nearly as frayed as her nerves, but she holds it tightly. It’s like her last link to some semblance of safety.

Morgan raises an eyebrow as he walks in. “I thought we were done with the interview?”

“We are,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “She just… she doesn’t want to leave me.”

No one teases you—at least, not directly—but there’s a quiet amusement in the air as they all take in the sight of Madelyn curled up in her oversized chair, the edges of her blanket practically touching the floor, with you sitting across from her.

Hotch is the only one who doesn’t seem particularly surprised. He’s worked with children before—he knows how attachment works, especially after trauma.

But the others? They’re bemused.

JJ glances over at you as she sips her coffee, a smile pulling at her lips. “She seems to have taken quite a liking to you,”

You tilt your head, barely acknowledging her. “I’m just doing my job.”

Maddie, of course, doesn’t let go of you, even as the case discussion begins. She stays glued to your side, her small hand clutching the sleeve of your jacket, her eyes darting from one agent to the next as they go over the details of the unsub’s pattern.

You keep your voice even, answering questions when necessary, but it’s becoming increasingly hard to focus when you feel the weight of her gaze fixed on you, like she’s waiting for something.

Spencer notices.

He’s been watching the whole scene unfold with quiet fascination, his arms crossed, his head slightly tilted, like he’s trying to puzzle out the situation. Finally, when the meeting breaks up, he sidles up next to you as you get ready to leave the conference room.

“She’s really latched onto you, huh?” he says, his voice low, but the smile tugging at his lips is evident.

You glance at him, your expression unreadable. “It’s nothing. Just transference.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push.

Maddie hasn’t let go of you once during the discussion, and now that it’s over, she’s still following you around, pressing close to your side as you move toward the exit.

“Are you hungry, Maddie?” you ask her gently, glancing down at her with a touch of exasperation. “You haven’t eaten, and I’m pretty sure there’s a café close to here.”

Her head nods almost imperceptibly.

Spencer watches, his eyes softening slightly as he observes the quiet bond that’s developed between the two of you. It’s not obvious at first—just the way the girl clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering her to some kind of reality.

“Maybe we can grab lunch,” he suggests, his tone more teasing than anything. “I mean, you’ve earned it. Getting the kid to open up like that? Not easy.”

You roll your eyes, though there's no malice behind it. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“You’re good at it.”

You mutter something under your breath about it not being a permanent situation, but Spencer just chuckles.

He walks with you as you lead Maddie toward the small café a few blocks away. As you cross the threshold of the restaurant, you notice the oddity of the whole situation.

It’s strange to have someone at your side like this. A small, vulnerable child who insists on being with you despite everything that happened.

The waitress gives you an odd look when you request a secluded booth, but she doesn’t say anything. You slide in, Maddie immediately beside you, her fingers still clutching your sleeve.

Spencer orders for everyone, giving Maddie a soft smile as he does. You can’t help but notice the way his expression softens around her.

“She seems to like you,” Spencer comments as you sit, his voice light but carrying a certain warmth.

You cross your arms and shoot him a glance. “What can I say? I’m just a magnet for clingy children.”

Spencer laughs quietly, but it’s warm. “You’re good with her. I think she feels safe around you. And you are good at what you do.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, but there’s something unsettlingly genuine in your voice.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press you. Instead, he changes the subject, discussing the case with you as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

But in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed.

As you eat, Maddie picks at her food, her gaze flickering from you to Spencer and back again. She looks at you with a certain familiarity, like she trusts you completely, like you’re the one person who’s made her feel safe in the whirlwind of everything that happened.

After a while, she speaks.

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your fork stops halfway to your mouth. Spencer looks at you from across the table, just as surprised.

You freeze. How do you explain the whole weird mess that is your and Spencer’s relationship to an eight-year-old? How do you explain the not-together-but-kinda-together situation that doesn’t even make sense to you half the time?

So you side-step the question.

“No, sweetie,” you say, “Not quite.”

Maddie doesn’t seem disappointed by that answer. She just nods, although a little confused.

You glance at Spencer, who’s trying to hide a smile behind his cup of water.

“It’s okay to be curious,” he tells her gently.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your food. “It's just complicated,”

Maddie shrugs, her focus shifting back to her plate. She doesn't press any further, and for a brief moment, you almost feel normal again—just two adults eating lunch with a kid. Like a proxy family.

But normal doesn’t last long. The reality is that she’s still attached to you, and you're still the one she turns to. For now, at least.

And despite all your reservations, there’s a part of you that’s starting to understand why.

—

The evening sets in with an oppressive stillness that mirrors the tension in the air.

Maddie has been tucked into a small cot, an officer stationed outside her door to ensure her safety. She’s asleep now, her face still flushed from the day’s events, her small form curled tightly under the blankets. The moment she closed her eyes, a quiet kind of peace settled in the room, but the unease in your chest hasn’t subsided.

The case isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The team has reconvened, sitting around the large conference table in the BAU’s temporary Minnesota office. The maps, photos, and notes are all spread out before you, the room filled with the usual quiet hum of focus.

They’re all working with urgency now—calculating, piecing together information, and drawing conclusions. But none of them, not even Hotch, seem willing to speak the one truth you’re certain of.

Madelyn is in danger.

It’s only a matter of time before the unsub comes back for her.

“Based on the pattern,” Hotch begins, his voice steady, “we can assume the unsub is going to strike again. He’s methodical. The way he works suggests he’s already been planning this next move. We have a window.”

You listen, but you’re not really hearing him. Your eyes are fixed on the girl’s picture—the innocent smile frozen in time, the eyes full of unspoken fear. She’s just a little girl.

“And our best bet,” Morgan continues, leaning forward as he studies the information in front of him, “is to get her back into her old house. Lure the unsub out with a setup that looks weak—something that’ll convince him to make his move.”

Your stomach churns.

“That’s what we’re doing,” Hotch affirms, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “We need to make sure he’s brought to justice, and we’re running out of time.”

You can feel it—the tension rising in your chest, suffocating you. It’s not just the decision they’re making. It’s the plan. It’s the idea that they’re considering putting Madelyn in danger again.

You can’t stay silent.

“Are you serious?” Your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife. “We’re going to use her as bait?”

There’s an edge in your tone, one you rarely let genuinely show. The room goes still, and all eyes turn toward you.

Hotch looks at you with that ever-steady gaze of his, the kind that’s usually so impenetrable, but you can see the frustration beneath it. “We don’t have many options here. If we can’t draw him out, we risk losing him completely.”

“By using a child?” You repeat the word like it’s a poison, something that doesn’t belong in the same sentence as the word justice. You stand, unable to keep still, the anger making your pulse quicken. “This isn’t some game, Hotch. This is a real little girl. She’s already been through enough. We can’t just—”

“You’re overreacting,” Morgan interjects, his voice quieter now but firm. “We’re not putting her at direct risk. The setup will be controlled, and we’ll have backup in place,”

You shake your head, the words slipping from you before you can stop them. “Controlled? How do you control something like that? How do you control what he does to her when he finds out she’s there?”

Spencer speaks up from across the room, his voice calm but carrying an underlying note of empathy. “We’re not doing this blindly. There’s a risk, yes. But we’re also talking about a chance to stop him, once and for all. This is what we do,”

You turn to him, frustration boiling in your chest. “This is not our mission. She’s not just some tool to help us find a solution to our problems. She’s a child!”

Spencer’s eyes flash for a moment, but he softens his tone, lowering his voice. “I know, but we’re doing this to protect her. We can’t just sit back and wait for him to come to her. That’s not an option anymore,”

The conversation swirls around you, their voices growing distant in your ears as the weight of the decision begins to settle over you.

The plan, the baiting, the manipulation of this little girl’s already broken world—none of it feels right. The thought of putting her in harm’s way, even with all the precautions in place, is enough to make your stomach turn.

But no one is listening to you.

And you know, in the back of your mind, that it’s already decided. They’re going to go through with it.

Hotch gives you one last look, his gaze unreadable but firm. “I understand your concern, but this is the best option we have.”

You hold his gaze for a beat, the frustration still burning in your chest, but you can’t push it anymore.

Instead, you take a breath and step back, your voice tight. “Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”

The rest of the team doesn’t speak up—no one challenges the decision. They all know what needs to be done, even if it isn’t easy. Even if it feels wrong.

And in that moment, you realise just how far this has gone. You’re not just part of the team anymore. You’re now complicit in something that you can’t reconcile with the woman you thought you were.

—

That night, you sit at your desk, staring at the case file in front of you, though you’re not really looking at it. Your thoughts drift back to Madelyn—her fragile, trusting eyes, the way she’s clung to you all day.

You didn’t sign up for this.

Spencer walks past your desk, pausing when he sees the way you’re hunched over the case files.

“You’re really not okay with this, are you?” he asks quietly, his voice soft but knowing.

You don’t answer at first, focusing on the photo of Madelyn. Her smile, her bunny clutched tight in her hands, all of it makes you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I just—I can’t believe we’re doing this to her.”

Spencer’s silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and you don’t expect him to. Finally, he leans in, his tone steady but sympathetic.

“Sometimes, we have to make hard choices,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean we forget who we’re doing it for,”

You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze—a quiet understanding, a recognition of the struggle.

“You’ll be okay,” He hesitates before setting a hand against your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “And so will she,”

—

The silence in the room is almost oppressive. Madelyn has been tucked into her cot for the night, her small body curled into the covers as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

You’ve been avoiding looking at her, because every time you do, the weight of what you’re about to ask her presses down harder on your chest.

You know that this is necessary. You know that this is the only way to stop the unsub and give her a chance at safety. But that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong.

The plan is set. Tomorrow, they’ll use her as bait. And you, the one person she trusts in the world, are expected to stand by and watch.

It doesn’t matter that you’ll be there to protect her. It doesn’t matter that you’ll be the one closest to her. The thought of her being used like this leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of logic can cleanse.

But there’s no getting around it. The team has made their decision.

So you sit at the edge of her cot, trying to steady the storm of conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You’re the one who has to make her understand, and that terrifies you.

Maddie is lying on her side, her bunny tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks so small in the dim light, so fragile, and it hurts to see her like this.

The trauma she’s endured is still written on her face, though the interview was a step forward. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready for what’s about to happen. None of you are.

“Maddie?” you say softly, your voice quieter than usual. She doesn’t respond at first, her wide eyes flicking from her bunny to you. She’s so still, almost as though she’s bracing herself for something worse.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” you coax gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment, but then she turns, her face a mask of anxiety and exhaustion.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold her gaze. “I need to tell you something important. Do you remember what I told you earlier, about keeping you safe?”

She nods, her lips trembling. “You’re gonna stay with me?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, like she’s afraid of hearing the wrong answer.

Your heart aches. You can feel the weight of what you’re about to say hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But you can’t lie to her. Not now. She deserves the truth. Even if it breaks you to say it.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you promise, trying to keep your voice steady. “But tomorrow… tomorrow’s going to be a little different.”

She furrows her brow, her small hands twisting the edges of her blanket. “How?”

You take a slow breath, carefully choosing your words. “Tomorrow, we’re going to do something to make sure that bad man never comes back. Something that will keep you safe. But it’s going to be a little scary, and I need you to trust me, okay?”

She looks up at you, eyes wide with apprehension. You can see her processing, the fear bubbling under the surface, trying to break through. But she doesn’t pull away. She stays there, watching you, waiting for the rest of it.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you continue. “We’re going to go to your old house, the place where all this happened, and we’re going to make it look like it did before. We’re going to have people watching from close by, and I’ll be right outside. The whole time, okay?”

Her lips tremble again, and you can see that she’s struggling to understand. The idea of going back to that house—where so much horror happened—is almost too much for her to process. You don’t blame her. You’d feel the same way.

“I won’t leave you,” you say again, making sure she hears the sincerity in your voice. “You’ll be safe, Maddie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The trust in her eyes is palpable, but the fear is too. Her small body stiffens for a moment, and she looks down at her bunny like it’s the only thing holding her together. “What if… what if I’m scared?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

You lean in, your heart breaking just a little more. “It’s okay to be scared, But we’ll make all the scary things go away.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you almost feel like you’re breaking. The responsibility is too much, the pressure too great. You want so badly to pull her out of this situation, to find another way. But you can’t. You have to do this, not just for her, but for everyone who’s been affected by this unsub.

Madelyn bites her lip, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “You promise?”

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “I promise.”

She looks at you for a long moment, as if weighing your words, trying to decide if she can trust you. And then, just as you’re starting to doubt yourself, she nods, barely perceptible. “Okay. I trust you.”

The words settle between you both, and for a moment, you feel the quiet weight of the promise you just made. This isn’t just a case anymore. It’s her. It’s her safety, her future, and you’re the one who has to make sure she’s protected.

“Good girl,” you say softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re so brave, Maddie. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes flicker up to you again, and this time, there’s a faint smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “I’m not scared if you’re with me.”

That’s the moment you realise: she’s not just trusting you to keep her safe. She’s trusting you to give her back a sense of control over her own life, something she hasn’t had since the night her family was taken from her. And you can’t let her down. Not now, not ever.

“I’ll be with you,” you repeat. “Every step of the way.”

And as you watch her settle back into the covers, her bunny tucked tightly under her arm, you make a silent vow to yourself that no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what you have to do, you will keep that promise.

Because no one else is going to.

Not like you will.

—

The air inside the old house is heavy with tension, each creak of the floorboards under the team’s feet amplified in the stillness.

The plan is simple. Madelyn is placed in the house, under the guise of a minimal police presence, to lure the unsub into taking the bait.

Everything has been carefully orchestrated, right down to the smallest detail. Outside, the team is positioned in hidden locations, all eyes on the house. They’re watching for any signs that the unsub is approaching, but you know they’re all thinking the same thing—you hope this works.

You’ve spent the entire day getting Maddie ready, talking her through the steps again, reassuring her that this is the right thing to do, that she’ll be okay. And, despite your own misgivings, you’re trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

You’ve promised her that you would stay by her side, and you have to see that promise through.

The door to the house is left slightly ajar, a weak police presence positioned just inside. You take your position on the floor below Maddie’s bedroom, staying close, but not so close as to be obvious. Your heartbeat is a loud thrum in your ears as the time ticks by, every minute stretching into what feels like an eternity. The silence inside the house feels like a storm waiting to break.

Then, it happens.

The motion sensor outside the house triggers, and you hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone breaching the perimeter. Your stomach lurches. The unsub is here.

It’s go-time.

The team moves in quickly, and in that same instant, you spring into action, your focus singular. Your only thought is Maddie. The unsub can be handled by the others. They’ve got it covered. But you can’t take your eyes off the one person you promised to protect. You know exactly where she is, and you don’t even hesitate to run toward her.

—

You burst into her room, your heart pounding. The light is dim, casting long shadows across the space. Maddie is standing by the window, looking outside with wide, fearful eyes. The moment she hears the door open, she turns to you, her face a mixture of confusion and terror.

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see the fear etched into her small features, the tremor in her hands as she holds the bunny close.

Without thinking, you move towards her in two quick steps. You scoop her up in your arms, holding her tight to your chest, pressing her small form into you as though you can shield her from all the horrors in the world. The weight of her trust feels heavier than ever.

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice as steady as you can make it, though it cracks just a little. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m right here. See? I told you you’d be okay.”

She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shirt. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. In this moment, she’s not just the scared little girl caught in a nightmare. She’s the child who trusted you with her safety—and that trust is all that matters.

You stroke her hair gently, trying to soothe her with the rhythm of your hand.

Your heart is racing, but you can’t afford to let that show. She’s looking up at you now, her wide eyes full of questions, full of fear that you can’t quite banish. But she trusts you. That’s enough.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you say again, even though you can’t promise it. You hold her tighter, wanting to shield her from everything outside this room, from the danger lurking just beyond the walls. You’re not thinking of the unsub anymore—only of Maddie. She’s the only thing that matters.

For a moment, everything else fades away. The outside world is a blur of movement and sound, but you are anchored in this small, dimly lit room with this little girl in your arms.

You don’t hear the team’s voices anymore, don’t hear the chase or the shouting, don’t hear anything except Maddie’s breathing against your chest. She’s calm now, her body still trembling but no longer with fear—more from the shock, the exhaustion of the night.

It’s a strange thing, the weight of her small body in your arms. There’s something deeply instinctive about it, something that stirs in you like an echo from a past you thought you’d finally buried alongside your Professor.

In this moment, holding her like this, you can’t help but think of what might have been. If you’d had that child, if you’d stayed.

What would it have been like? To raise a child of your own? To care for someone who needed you as much as she does?

The thought catches you off guard. It’s a brief moment of reflection, one that passes as quickly as it comes, but the weight of it lingers, like the fading scent of something once held close. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it, but it’s the first time it’s felt so… real.

You quickly push the thought aside, focusing again on Maddie’s presence. Not now.

This isn’t about you. It’s about her. Always her.

“Hey,” you murmur, pulling her back slightly to look into her eyes. “You did great. You were so brave. You’re okay. It’s over now.”

Her eyes are wide, still searching your face for reassurance, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. You know that she’s still processing everything, still trying to make sense of the danger, of the chaos, of everything she’s been through in the past few days. But she’s safe now. She’s in your arms, and you’ll keep her safe for as long as it takes.

“Do you trust me?” you ask softly, even though you already know the answer.

Maddie nods, her small hand clutching tighter onto her bunny.

“Good,” you say, giving her a small but sincere smile. “Then we’ll get through this together.”

—

The storm has passed. The danger is over. Madelyn is safe. The unsub is in custody, and the team is in the clear. You’ve done your job. You’ve kept her safe, just as you promised.

But now comes the hardest part.

Her grandparents are here, having arrived just after the house was secured, the paperwork signed, and the chaos of the operation settled.

They’re older, frail but warm, and there’s a visible relief on their faces when they see their granddaughter—safe, unharmed, and sound, despite everything she’s been through.

They approach her cautiously, with a tenderness that is obvious in their every move, but it’s clear that Madelyn isn’t ready to leave yet.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to you, staring down at her hands, her bunny still clutched tightly in her grip. Her eyes flicker toward the door every now and then, but she doesn’t look up.

She can hear the voices outside—her grandparents—her family—but she’s frozen. The transition from being with you, the one person she’s come to rely on, to a completely new environment is more than she’s ready for.

You move closer, kneeling beside her. Her head doesn’t turn, but you can tell she knows you’re there. The silence between you is comfortable, not awkward, but weighted with the realisation that this is the end of the road for you both. This is where you have to let her go.

“Maddie,” you say softly, your voice a little hoarse from the long hours. “Your grandparents are here. They’re going to take you home. You’ll be safe with them.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see her shoulders tense, just a little. Her fingers flex against her bunny’s fur, as if trying to hold onto some sense of control, some last shred of the familiar. She’s scared. You understand that, even though she’s made it through the worst of it, she’s still just a little girl. And little girls need security. They need the things they’ve trusted, and right now, that’s you.

“I know it’s hard,” you continue, gently brushing her hair back. “But you’re going to be okay now. You’re going to be with your family. You’re not alone anymore.”

Madelyn stays quiet, but this time, she finally turns her head to look at you. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable, and it’s all you can do to hold back the swell of emotion threatening to break free. She’s asking with just a look—Can I stay? Can you keep me safe?

But you can’t. You’ve done what you promised. You can’t be her protector forever, and you both know it. She needs her family now, the people who can be there for her in ways you can’t.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” you say, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but. “But you’ve got your grandparents now. They love you, and they’re going to take care of you. You’ll be safe with them, just like I promised you.”

Maddie looks down at her bunny again, as if deciding whether to give it up. For a long moment, she just holds it, her fingers tracing the worn fabric. You don’t push her. She needs to come to this decision herself, in her own time. But eventually, she looks up at you, and her face is as serious as it’s ever been.

“I want you to have him,” she says quietly. “He keeps me safe. Maybe he can keep you safe too.”

Your throat tightens at the simple, honest offer. The bunny—her constant companion, the thing that has been with her through every terrifying moment, every flash of panic—is now being entrusted to you. You can feel the weight of it, of the trust in her small hands as she holds it out to you.

For a brief moment, you hesitate. You weren’t expecting this. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to accept anything from her, to make it feel like a goodbye, like this was the end. But the way she’s looking at you—her eyes filled with the kind of vulnerability that only a child could show—it’s a gift. A gesture of complete trust.

You reach out, slowly, your fingers brushing against hers as she places the stuffed animal into your hands. You don’t say anything at first. You don’t need to. The weight of the moment says it all.

“I’ll look after him,” you say finally, your voice soft. “I promise,”

Maddie gives a small nod, her lip trembling slightly, but she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t need to. She knows she’s safe now. She knows that the danger is over, even though it’s going to take a long time for her to truly feel like it. But she trusts you. That’s what matters most.

Her grandparents step forward now, gentle and patient. Her grandmother reaches out, her hand trembling slightly, but Madelyn doesn’t move. She looks up at you one last time, and it’s like she’s asking you for permission. You nod, brushing a hand over her hair one last time, offering her the comfort and security she’s going to need in the days to come.

“You’re going to be okay, Maddie,” you repeat, knowing it’s true. You’ve done everything you could for her, and now it’s time to let go.

Madelyn doesn’t look back as her grandparents gently lead her out of the room. She doesn’t cry, though you’re sure the tears will come later. For now, she’s holding herself together, with the knowledge that she’s safe, and that she’s going to be okay.

—

The hum of the office is soothing in its familiar monotony. You step inside, the heavy weight of the case finally lifting from your shoulders. It’s strange—part of you feels relief, the other part feels like an echo of something left behind. Something you didn’t quite expect to feel, but there it is, nestled in your chest, quietly tugging at you.

You take a deep breath and walk to your desk, setting down your bag and the files you’ve been carrying all day. Then, without really thinking about it, you place the stuffed animal on the corner of your desk, the soft bunny now a permanent fixture in the workspace that’s been both home and battlefield for so long.

It’s a small thing, but it’s a thing that means something. And as soon as you set it down, you feel a soft exhale escape your lips. A sense of finality, of closure, as if everything has settled into place.

The case is over. Madelyn is safe. But something about this—about the stuffed animal—feels like a piece of you that will always remain in that small room with her, in the moment when you promised to keep her safe.

You don’t realise Spencer is watching you until you hear his soft voice.

“She gave it to you,” he says, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

You glance over at him, momentarily surprised. His gaze is soft, understanding, and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You glance back at the bunny and then back at Spencer. It’s an odd feeling—the way he’s looking at you, almost as if he sees more than just the case, more than just the professional side of you. He sees the part of you that changed over the past 36 hours.

“She did,” you say, your voice low, not quite sure what to say after that. It’s true, but you hadn’t really thought it through. You hadn’t thought about what this moment would mean.

“You didn’t have to take it,” Spencer offers gently, taking a step closer. “But I think it’s... a good thing. That you did.”

You swallow, unsure how to process the mix of emotions stirring in your chest. It’s strange, this feeling. The feeling of having kept a promise, of having kept someone safe. You’ve done this kind of work before, but never like this. Never with this kind of personal connection.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thick with something you can’t quite put into words.

Spencer steps closer, his posture relaxed, yet there’s an unspoken care in his movements. He looks at you—softly, steadily—and you feel the warmth of his presence settle around you. He reaches a hand out, his fingers brushing over the edge of your waist. It’s a gesture that’s comforting, gentle, not pushing, just there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid of breaking the moment. His touch is subtle, yet you can feel the tenderness in his gesture.

You nod, but the answer feels incomplete. How do you explain that you're fine, but also changed? How do you explain that the girl who clung to you, who trusted you with her safety, left something inside you that you hadn’t expected to find?

“I’m fine,” you say finally, because it’s easier to say than to explain.

Spencer doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for more details. He just gives a soft nod, his fingers still lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back slightly. He doesn’t push. He’s always been good at giving space when needed.

“Want me to take you home?” he asks, his voice gentle. “Or… we could just go somewhere. Get some food. Something to relax.”

The offer is simple, but you can tell that it’s more than that. It’s his way of letting you know he’s there for you, not out of obligation, but because he wants to be. Because he sees you in a way that not many people do.

The soft affection in his voice, the quiet care in his words—it’s enough to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt in the past.

You glance at him, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. For a moment, the world outside the office fades, and it’s just the two of you. He’s standing there, so patient, so steady, and the weight of the last 36 hours begins to feel a little less heavy with him around.

“That’s be nice,” you say finally, surprising yourself with the answer. You don’t know why, but you do. You could go home, retreat into the silence of your apartment, but there’s something about the idea of being with him—of having someone there, someone who understands, someone who’s seen the way you’ve changed—that feels better.

Spencer smiles, a quiet relief crossing his face. He steps forward, offering you a hand, and you take it without hesitation. His fingers close around yours, warm and comforting. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like a promise, like something new is beginning.

“Let’s go then,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

[rosiecosy]

ghosted˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(ot13 x reader) — fluff

a/n — fun fact ! i was inspired to write this fic after i watched smile 2 w my friends. we defo should've watched tangled AHAHAHAH

you should’ve known this was a bad idea.

the night had started off so well—everyone piled into the living room with pillows and blankets, a ridiculous amount of snacks spread across the table. seungcheol had promised a chill movie night, so you let your guard down, thinking it’d be harmless fun.

you were wrong.

"okay, next movie!" seokmin announces, holding up the remote.

"let’s watch something fun this time," you mumble sleepily, snuggling into a blanket.

jeonghan hums. "or… we could watch a horror movie."

you sit up immediately. "no."

"yes," he grins.

"hyung, she’s gonna cry," seungkwan points out, already looking at you like you’re a wounded animal.

"which is exactly why we should watch it," jeonghan says. "she gets all cute and clingy when she’s scared."

"i do not," you argue, even though you know you totally do.

"yes, you do," woozi says, not even looking up from his phone.

the vote is cast. the horror movie wins.

—

forty minutes later, you’re regretting everything.

the movie is terrifying. every shadow in the room suddenly feels like it’s moving, and even though you know you’re safe, your brain is convinced that something is about to grab you from behind.

you cling to the closest person—who happens to be wonwoo. he doesn’t seem to mind, just lets you grip his arm like your life depends on it.

"you’re shaking," he murmurs, barely audible over the tense music playing on screen.

"shut up," you whisper back, too scared to move.

the worst part? jeonghan notices.

"aww, are you scared?" he teases, nudging your side.

you don’t respond. mostly because you’re trying not to scream.

then—

a sudden jumpscare.

you do scream.

the entire dorm explodes into chaos.

mingyu yells and throws his popcorn into the air. hoshi launches himself over the back of the couch. seokmin and seungkwan are shriek-laughing, rolling onto the floor.

and you?

you bolt.

without thinking, you make a break for it, dashing out of the living room and into the safety of your room. you don’t stop until you’ve thrown yourself into bed, yanking the blanket over your head.

silence.

then—footsteps.

your door creaks open.

"…she actually ran away," vernon says, amused.

"i told you guys she’d freak out," joshua sighs.

"hey, you okay?" seungcheol’s voice is gentle.

"no," you whine from under the blanket.

a weight dips the bed. then another. then several. before you can even react, the members are piling in, shoving and squishing themselves onto your bed.

"what are you doing?" you ask, peeking out.

"staying with you," dino grins.

"we broke her, so now we have to fix her," minghao deadpans.

"we should’ve just watched tangled," woozi mutters, clearly blaming jeonghan for all of this.

you huff but don’t argue. as much as you hate to admit it, having them all here makes you feel better.

"…fine," you mumble. "but if any of you snore, i’m kicking you out."

"no promises," hoshi laughs, already making himself comfortable.

you sigh, knowing you’re not getting rid of them anytime soon. but as you drift off, squished between your thirteen brothers, you decide that maybe this sleepover wasn’t so bad after all.

[fireinmoonshot]

strawberry danishes | joaquin torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquin Torres has a crush on the cute girl that comes to the coffee shop he frequents. Little does he know, you've been crushing on him too. He's never regretted eating a strawberry danish more than the day you finally come up to him and start a conversation. Warnings: TW for food/coffee etc. Word Count: 2.7k A/N: I saw Captain America: Brave New World last Friday and honestly I spent the entire time staring at Joaquin. I've loved him since TFATWS but I loved seeing more of him in this movie and I immediately wanted to write for him after but I was away for the weekend without my laptop, so literally as soon as I was home I knew I needed to start working on something for him. This was inspired by the song Coffee Cake by Benson Boone. I really hope you enjoy and please let me know if you guys want me to write more for Joaquin!

Joaquin Torres knew your coffee order before he even knew your name.

It wasn’t in a creepy way – he wasn’t stalking you or anything. The two of you just happened to frequent the same coffee shop. Whenever Joaquin was home, he had a routine of stopping by a local cafe by the park near his apartment for a coffee and a pastry after his morning run. The small cafe obviously had a place in your morning routine too.

The first time he saw you he couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous you were, and it wasn’t just the fact that the sun was shining through the window beside you, coating you in the warm, golden light. He was a fairly confident person but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to approach you that day and talk to you.

He told himself that he’d do it the next time he saw you, but the next time you were in and out of the cafe so quickly he barely even saw you from his spot across the room, his mouth full of a bite of blueberry danish. 

Then, work called him away and he was gone for weeks. Any time he made himself a coffee over the next few weeks, he thought of you. He was fully aware that it was probably incredibly creepy of him to be doing so – he didn’t know the first thing about you, and you had no idea who he was – but he had a crush. He had to admit that to himself.

When he was back home, he looked forward to his morning coffee more than anything simply because of the chance that he might see you. Luck happened to be in his favour, too, as when he walked in and joined the line to order, you had lined up behind him. He had no idea, of course, until he’d ordered and stepped off to the side. The poor boy had almost choked on air itself when he turned to see you ordering after him. 

“Just an iced chocolate to-go, please,” you said.

It was the first time Joaquin had heard your voice and he was pretty certain that it was the actual sound of angels coming down from the heavens. He had to force himself to look away from you so he didn’t get caught staring. He was so stuck in his own head, focused on your beauty, that he didn’t even hear the barista calling his name and order out for collection. 

He felt a slight tap on his shoulder and looked down to see you looking up at him. 

“Hey,” Joaquin managed, his voice a little breathless. Oh, this was so embarrassing. The first thing he can think to say to you when you initiate a conversation with him and it’s hey? 

You pointed towards the counter. “I think that’s your order. The barista keeps looking at you when he’s calling out Joaquin.” 

Joaquin cleared his throat. “Oh, right. Thanks.” He chuckled awkwardly and moved to grab his coffee, planning to turn around afterwards and introduce himself properly. By the way, the name is Torres. Joaquin Torres. And what would your name be? Something beautiful, I’m sure. 

It was probably for the best that by the time he turned around – oblivious to the death stare the barista was giving him, irritated at having to shout his name out multiple times  – you had moved across the room to take a seat at a table by the window. Now it would just look weird if he was to walk all the way over to you and introduce himself. You’d excused yourself from the conversation. 

Disappointed, Joaquin took a sip of his coffee and forced himself out of the cafe, berating himself in his thoughts the whole way. It was only when he’d gotten back to his apartment that he realised he’d left behind the pastry that he’d ordered alongside his coffee. 

More time passed and Joaquin had been working so often he hadn’t had any time to get back to the cafe. He started to wonder if possibly this was all just nothing more than a silly crush on a passer-by. That maybe, you weren’t destined to say anything more than the words that you’d shared at the cafe that day a month ago. 

Joaquin wasn’t going to stop going by his favourite cafe though. If you spoke to him, of course he’d speak back to you. But he wasn’t going to go out of his way to talk to someone that clearly wasn’t as interested in him as he was in you, judging on your past interaction. 

He settled down at a table by the window, placing the plate containing his strawberry danish down in front of him. It wasn’t long before the staff brought over the coffee he’d ordered and he could dig into his danish without being interrupted. He’d missed these mornings while he’d been working. There wasn’t much else that filled him quite like the peace he had when he was in the cafe. 

He wasn’t watching the door when you walked into the cafe and went to order. He was too preoccupied with his danish, taking a rather large bite of it and almost moaning at the taste of it. There was nothing as good as a danish from this place, he was sure of it.

He was still too busy eating the danish to notice you walking over to his table, a plate of your own in your hands. It was only when he noticed someone stood beside the table that he looked up, swallowing the mouthful of danish – and luckily not choking on it as his eyes settled on you. He’d assumed it might have been another member of staff, maybe they’d given him the wrong coffee, but he had not expected you.

“You’re in my seat,” you said simply, looking down at the man and trying so hardly not to smile at the sight of him, sitting there looking up at you with wide eyes and sugar all around his mouth and even on the tip of his nose. 

Joaquin was lost for words and it took him a moment to find something to say. “You can sit here! I didn’t realise this was your seat. Do you want me to move? Hang on, let me just get this sugar off my hands and I’ll–”

“Hey, it’s fine. Really,” you smiled, pulling the chair out on the opposite side of the table and moving to sit down “You can stay here. Actually, I’ve kind of been waiting to have an excuse to talk to you, so thanks for sitting in my seat. Joaquin, right?”

He stared at you for a moment. “How do you know my name?” He didn’t even know your name, so how was it possible that you knew his? Unless you’d asked the barista about him… wait… you’d been waiting for an excuse to talk to him? Was his brain short circuiting? Was he dreaming? Surely he was dreaming. Under the table, he pinched the skin of his arm between his fingers… nope… not dreaming…

“Last time I saw you in here, you were spacing out and the barista was calling your name. I had to tell you that your order was being called,” you said, a little sheepishly. “I guess you don’t remember that.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all… he was cute, sure, but if he didn’t remember that, he clearly wasn’t as interested in you as you were in him.

Recognition sparked in Joaquin’s mind. “Oh, I do remember that! I wasn’t spacing out, I was just distracted by y– by something.” Admitting he was distracted by you was probably not the best way to start your first proper conversation. “But that makes sense now. I don’t know your name, though. I guess you listen more carefully when they call your order out.”

“I try my best,” you admitted, before introducing yourself to him properly. It was hard not to admit the fact that Joaquin was probably the cutest guy you’d ever seen, especially with the sugar on his face. “You, uh… you have some sugar on your face by the way. Here and here.” You motioned to the spots on your own face so he could tell where to wipe.

His eyes widened again as he grabbed for the napkin and started to wipe the sugar off.

“So, what were you distracted by that day?” You attempted to change the subject.

“Uhhhh…” Joaquin thought for a moment. “You know what? I actually can’t remember. It’s been a while, lots has happened between then and now, I guess.” He laughed a little. “Anyway, let’s not skip over what you said when you sat down – you’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to me? I’d like to know more about that, actually.”

He watched, intrigued and entirely enthralled by you, as you became slightly shy at his words. Like the ones you’d said had been spoken on accident and that you’d been hoping he wasn’t going to bring them up again. But if there was one thing you’d learn about Joaquin, it was that he was always going to bring up the things you thought you could forget.

“Okay, well… I’ve noticed you in the cafe a few times over the last few months and I figured we must both come here pretty often in the mornings for me to see you so often. And… well…” You trailed off, your eyes falling to the plate in front of you.

Joaquin leant forward. “You can’t just leave me on a cliffhanger.”

“I thought you were cute!” You admitted, probably a little louder than you should’ve. “I thought you were cute and I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you ever since I first saw you. But you haven’t been in here for a while and the last time I saw you, I chickened out of having an actual conversation with you and ran away.”

It took every part of your strength not to get up and leave the table straight away out of sheer embarrassment. Admitting to a total stranger that you thought they were cute was not the kind of thing that you usually did. But something kept drawing you to Joaquin and today you’d just been given the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

You couldn’t meet his eyes for a while, meaning you missed the look of shock on his face and the way his face gradually broke out into a smile of disbelief. You thought he was cute? He thought you were cute! Luck had somehow been on his side today.

“You think I’m cute?” Joaquin replied, a smirk on his lips and the confidence he’d been missing over the last few months whenever he was around you returning immediately. 

Your eyes flickered up to his, surprised to see that he actually seemed to be happy about it. “Well, yeah…” 

Joaquin couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face. “I swear I’m not just saying this, but I’ve been trying to get the confidence to talk to you, too. I’m a confident guy but for some reason, every time I’ve seen you in here I suddenly become the least confident man on earth.” 

You didn’t doubt his words. They seemed completely truthful and you knew right away that Joaquin was not the kind of guy to lie to you. He was inherently honest. 

“I haven’t been in here for a while cause of work,” Joaquin continued. “I’m in the Air Force. Means I’m not home too often, so I make the most of it when I am.” He decided to leave out the part about him practically being an Avenger. That was something he could ease you into. He had a feeling that dropping the whole Oh yeah, by the way I’m also the new Falcon would scare you off more than intrigue you.

“Well, that explains why I haven’t seen you lately,” you nodded. “So, you just come here for breakfast when you’re in town?”

He nodded. “I have a bit of a routine of a coffee and a danish after my morning run. I’m pretty glad that I do now, especially since you came to talk to me today. Even if I had sugar all over my face and embarrassed the hell outta myself when you did.” 

Joaquin was pretty sure he was never going to live that down. It was certainly something that Sam Wilson was never going to hear about or he would tease him about it for the rest of his life, he was sure of that. 

You laughed. “Okay, but the sugar on your face was actually kind of cute, and if I knew you better I would have just wiped it off for you instead of embarrassing you by telling you so you had to do it yourself.”

“Why don’t we get to know each other better then?” Joaquin saw his chance and took it. “Let me take you out on a date, somewhere that isn’t this coffee shop and somewhere I won’t eat something that covers my face in sugar. What do you say?”

He was pretty confident that you were going to say yes, especially when he saw your lips curl into a smile. He could almost see the cogs turning in your mind as you tried to figure out what to say to answer him. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise I’m not some kind of creep – and yes, I’m well aware that is exactly what someone who is a creep would say – but I’m really not,” he laughed. “All I am is a guy who’s been crushing on the cute girl who keeps coming into my coffee shop and trying to convince myself to talk to her.”

“Okay, okay – fine, I’ll go on a proper date with you,” you agreed, unable to keep it in any longer. Watching him try and convince you was so incredibly endearing but you couldn’t keep him waiting when he was clearly so eager to take you out.

Joaquin grinned. “So… can I pick you up at 7, then?”

“Tonight?” 

“You got other plans?”

You shook your head. “No, I just didn’t expect you to be so quick with it.”

“Well, with my job, I could be gone tomorrow and I feel like we’ve already wasted enough time, don’t you? I mean… we’ve both liked each other for months without knowing a single thing about each other apart from our coffee orders. I’d like to change that,” he admitted.

“All right,” you agreed with a nod. “You’ll pick me up at 7. But right now, I am going to eat this pastry that’s been sitting here in front of me the whole time and I’ll let you finish your danish cause after all, you did steal my seat and I did come here to eat some breakfast.”

Joaquin chuckled and picked up his danish again. “You promise to tell me if I get sugar all over my face again?”

“Maybe,” you grin. “Like I said, you looked pretty cute with sugar all over your face.”

He shook his head and took a bite of his danish. He’d thought he wasn’t going to live this down if Sam ever found out about it, but he hadn’t counted on you being one to keep reminding him about it. But… you found it cute, so Joaquin was pretty sure he could live with that… hearing you calling him cute. 

You smiled to yourself as you watched him bite into the danish and end up with sugar on his face again. It wasn’t everywhere like it had been before but it was on the corner of his mouth. 

He looked over at you. “I have sugar on my face again, don’t I?”

“You trying to get me to tell you that I think you’re cute again, Joaquin?” 

“Can you blame a guy for liking the fact that a pretty girl thinks he’s cute?”

Smiling, you reached over and swiped your finger over the corner of his mouth, removing the sugar from it. You almost laughed at the way Joaquin froze and the look of shock on his face. He was pretty sure he’d just died and gone to heaven, actually. 

“You just had a little bit of sugar there,” you hummed, picking your own danish up.

Joaquin let out a long, shaky breath. Who knew a strawberry danish could be so dangerous?

[kawaiikenna]

Hey look at that, I finally finished the fic I was writing for this! 😅 Here’s the link to the AO3 posting. :3

~~~

It had been a joke at first. Something that she would tell at parties and gatherings to spark interest or further conversations. It was something that she hadn’t thought about anymore than just a hobby. It wasn’t supposed to turn into something like this. How did she even know the people to actually make this happen? In all honesty Jazz should still be at home, studying for finals and making sure her thesis is watertight before submitting it.

Yes, that is exactly what she should be doing. Not going through customs on her way to Paris! And even more so, she should not be on a plane with the rest of the sharpshooters on their way to the god damned Olympics! And yet here she is, on a plane about to taxi down the runway, to then fly to Paris, France, to compete in the Olympics.

“Jazz?” A worried voice breaks her out of her own thoughts.

She looks over to see one of her teammates, Lucy, staring at her with concern plainly written all over her face. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Oh, um, no. I was just worried about you because you seemed like you were having a really deep dissociative episode there. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I know that competitions can be really stressful and nerve wracking.” Lucy rambles. The seatbelt light turns off and Jazz unbuckles herself. “Sorry, I guess I’m nervous myself. I tend to ramble a lot when I’m nervous.”

“It’s alright.” Jazz offers with an understanding smile on her face. “I can understand why you’re nervous. Would you like to talk about something else instead? We should probably stay awake for a little longer otherwise jetlag will come for us.”

Lucy’s eyes lit up. She leans in closer, nearly hanging out of her little seat cubby and halfway across the walkway. Her eyes glint in a way that Jazz has seen in countless others. Some juicy gossip was about to be traded. Jazz leans in just a bit, showing her interest in whatever Lucy was about to share.

“Did you hear that one of the Wayne boys is competing in the Olympics as well?” A huge grin spreads across Lucy’s face.

“Wayne?” Jazz questions. She knows that she’s heard the name before but can’t quite put her finger on it. “I feel like I should know that name but tell me anyway.”

Lucy gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I know you know who the Wayne’s are. It’s nearly impossible to not know who the Wayne’s are!”

“Lucy, I think you’ve forgotten that I’ve lived my entire life in a city that was completely cut off from the rest of the world. We only got outside connection back a little after my 20th birthday.” Jazz rolls her eyes in a playful fashion. A lot of people who know her forget about this little known fact. “I’ve only been attending my college in person for a year. Please forgive me if I haven’t been able to keep up on the gossip and know ‘who’s who’ in the celebrity world. Now, are you going to tell me who the Wayne’s are?”

Oh boy. Jazz would later come to regret that but it did help pass the time as their flight neared Paris.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jazz had to say that she was not impressed at the accommodations provided for the Olympians. Sleeping or otherwise. Who the hell thought that it was a grand idea to make all of the athletes sleep on the equivalent of padded cardboard boxes? The closets provided were nothing more than dollar store wire racks held together by bits of plastic and hope. Only staying together out of sheer spite. Now, she’s one for keeping things as green as possible and for companies to reduce their carbon footprint, but when it starts to impact the living quality of people, that’s when it should be stopped.

Don’t even get her started on the food situation. Jazz bets that if Sam was here instead, she would be absolutely elated. Considering that nearly 78% of the food options were vegetarian. Which is all good and well, but if you expected athletes who expended quite a few thousand calories with the sheer amount of exercise and activity that they do daily. Now, if done right, a vegetarian, or even vegan, lifestyle can greatly benefit athletes. But if thrown into this lifestyle without the proper precautions, evaluations or accommodations, it could lead to devastating outcomes.

She had her own dietary restrictions that no one would be able to cater to. Luckily she had a little brother with connections that could get her the ecto necessary for her to continue functioning properly. Which then brought up the whole ‘how are metas handled in the Olympics?’ debate. One that Jazz politely listened to but didn’t contribute a lot to. Seeing as she was still technically a non-sentient being by the government’s standards. Even if they didn’t actually know that’s how they classified her. Enough about that though, she was going on a mental rant about the food provided to them.

Not to mention that the athletes that don’t need to eat calorie dense meals were given the same options as those that did need it. Was it healthy? Yes actually, it was very healthy. Was it what she was expecting? No, not at all. She wasn’t enjoying it in the slightest either. Jazz had built up this amazing expectation of what kinds of international and local cuisine was going to be offered only for those expectations to be completely and utterly crushed. At least the chocolate muffins were good.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That had to have been the longest boat ride Jazz had ever been on. Sure it hadn’t poured rain the entire time but it was enough to be annoying. Her face hurt quite a bit from how much smiling she did while on the boat. It wasn’t a pleasant kind of pain either, more of the ‘forced customer service smile’ pain. And sure it was a really cool experience that Jazz would be able to tell her future children as well as future nieces and nephews. She really wasn’t sure how some of these athletes could do this kind of thing multiple years. At least the Olympics weren’t something that happened yearly. And even if they did, Jazz was very firmly not going to go again. Even if they asked nicely.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It wasn’t until the morning of the 27th that Jazz was finally able to catch her first glimpse of the elusive ‘Wayne boy’ that was supposedly competing in the men’s team gymnastics. He was tall but still wasn’t quite as tall as she is. Though with black hair and icy blue eyes, he looked like he could be related to herself and Danny. He was slim but extremely fit, which made sense since gymnastics was a very demanding sport.

Richard Grayson was the perfect picture of a billionaire’s son, adoptive or otherwise. Rich enough to pull people in, charming enough to keep people engaged, and yet still horrendously shallow. Jazz rolled her eyes and kept going past Richard and his posse of onlookers to go get some breakfast. She thought that that would be the last she saw of him.

How sorely was she wrong.

The gymnastics were one of the first events held that day. They also took the longest since they weren’t a single event but several mashed together under one name. Jazz had tried to spend her time practicing at the ranges they were provided with but was instead dragged away to watch some of the other events. Lucy was currently holding her hostage and forcing her to watch as the men’s gymnastics team did their routines. You could tell exactly when a fangirl spotted Mr. Grayson by the screaming and cheers and frenzied ‘I love you Dick!’s that would ring out across the stadium. And every time Jazz would roll her eyes. She was used to working with people that had pHDs, sometimes even multiple. People that knew how she thought and could actually understand and keep up with her when she talked. All of which Richard Grayson could not do so why would she be interested?

Jazz is ripped from her thoughts by Lucy shaking her fairly violently. “Oh, oh no, oh no!!! Jazz, Jazz! He’s looking over here! The Dick Grayson is actually looking over here! Directly at us!” Lucy squealed in fevered delight, a dreamy look on her face.

“That’s nice Lucy.” Jazz looks up to see that Team USA were starting to gather up and head out, presumably for a late lunch or early dinner. “Why don’t you go over and talk to him? I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.”

Lucy gasps and clutches at Jazz’s arm. “No! He’s like, famous and his family is stupid rich and how could I even compare to that?”

Jazz shrugs. “My little brother is dating an heiress. Of course, she also goes against everything, or at least tries to, her mom tries to get her to be. I’m pretty sure she’s had extensive education in politeness, manners and pretty much every form of etiquette you can possibly think of.” Jazz says as she discreetly maneuvers herself and Lucy through the crowds and towards one Mr. Grayson. How Lucy hadn’t noticed yet was a mystery though. “Sam is a lovely young lady though. Never grew out of her gothic phase and now lives it like any other lifestyle. She’s vegetarian and incredibly involved in animals’ rights. If anything, you’d think that she’s just like any other 19 year old.”

“Ok, but-” Was all Lucy could get out before she noticed just how close they were to the competition floor with Richard only a few meters away from them, surrounded by teammates and coaches. “Holy shit, he’s so close.” She whispers with wide eyes as she stops dead in her tracks.

“Mhm, and you’re going to go talk to him. Because if I have to listen to you sigh dreamily over him one more time I think I’ll be sleeping in Jessica’s room on the floor.” Jazz hums before pushing Lucy just those few feet closer to the barrier.

She leans over the railing and waves to Grayson. It takes a moment, but she’s actually able to catch his attention. He says something to the teammate he’d been talking to before walking over to them. Lucy squeals again and clutches even tighter to Jazz’s arm. At this rate she’s going to make herself pass out.

“Hey there ladies. What can I do for you?” Richard says, his tone is suave and Jazz will admit that he has a very nice voice to listen to. An easy, wide smile graces his lips.

Jazz leans on the railing with her arms folded under her. “My friend here thinks you are absolutely amazing and so cute and handsome.” She points to Lucy.

Lucy then comes back from her starstruck state just enough to blush bright red and smack Jazz on her arm. “Shut up!” Lucy hisses before giving the gymnast a nervous smile.

Jazz raises a brow at Lucy. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard. And let’s be honest, I could repeat much worse.” Jazz throws her friend a sly smile.

Lucy buries her head in her hands. Mumble jumbled curses are the only things Jazz can hear from her extremely fluster teammate. She smiles and laughs a bit. This is what she gets for non-stop chattering about the man in front of them. Another good natured laugh startles her a bit and she glances back down at the gymnast.

“Thank you, I appreciate it, but I think red heads are a personal favorite of mine.” He winks at Jazz and she’s not entirely sure how she feels about this. She can still feel it as her face flushes though.

Lucy’s head shoots up out of her hands. Initially, Jazz thinks that she’s hurt from being so thoroughly rejected. Realization dawns on her just a moment too late. Instead of tears, Lucy has a nearly manic grin on her face and a teasing glint in her eyes. She grips the railing and leans as far forward as she can to get just that much closer to the gymnast.

“Jazz is single. She says that you’re not her type but I’ve seen her staring at your wonderful, glorious ass. If you want I can drag her to the-” Lucy blurts before Jazz is able to pounce on her. She slaps a hand over her teammate’s mouth, effectively shutting her up.

“Well would you look at the time!” Jazz says, a bit of embarrassed desperation making her voice a much higher pitch than it usually is. Jazz tries to get Lucy to back up and away from the railing. It does not work all that well but she tries anyway. “We need to get going for our warm ups Lucy!”

Jazz is able to get them two steps away from the railing when Lucy is able to get free from Jazz. She runs back to the railing where Richard is still standing, looking up at their antics with a genuine smile. She grips the railing as Jazz tries her damnedest to pull her away.

“We’re having dinner at 6:30 tonight! I’ll make sure she’s there!” Lucy shouts with a manic smile on her face.

“I’ll make sure to be there too!” Richard shouts back. “I’ll see you then Jazz!”

Jazz is finally able to get her friend away from the railing. Sure, she had to use a bit of her liminal strength, but she did it. Jazz didn’t put her down until they were out of the stadium and on their way to the shooting range.

Jazz stares down at her friend, hands on hips and an enraged disappointed expression on her face. “You, are a menace.”

Lucy smiles sweetly up at Jazz. “A menace that just got you a date.”

Jazz stares down at her for a moment. “I will not thank you.”

“You will when you get laid!” And with that Lucy took off down the street, Jazz hot on her heels.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jazz sighed as she sat down with her tray of food. Sure this wasn’t where she really wanted to sit, but Lucy had said that she absolutely had to sit here and wait for her while she got her own dinner. Which was kind of strange but whatever. It wasn’t the weirdest thing she’s experienced or dealt with in her life, and she was willing to bet just about anything that this wasn’t going to be even the weirdest thing she’ll experience on this trip alone.

Ugh, her head pounded a bit. She was due for another dose of ecto soon but that would have to wait until after dinner. She stretched a bit and took note of what hurt the worst. Her arm was incredibly sore and her head was ringing. Apparently her shooting style was something that most people didn’t expect. So what if she didn’t care for any of the fancy equipment? It wasn’t all that difficult to shoot the way she does. Either way, Jazz was just looking forward to taking a hot shower after eating dinner.

Of course, there was something that she was forgetting and it was really bugging her. Something that didn’t quite seem right. She spent a moment trying to figure out when a familiar black haired, blue eyed man sat directly in front of her with his own tray of food.

She stares at him for a moment, not really knowing what to do in this situation. “Um, hi?” She ends up saying dumbly.

“Hi.” Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson responds with a wide smile. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to catch you before you left. Good thing I found you though.”

“Uhhhh, thanks? I guess?” Jazz responds, still unsure of the situation and how to proceed. She massages her temples, she really didn’t have the capacity to sit through more bullshit. “And why, pray tell, were you looking for me?”

“Because your friend set us up on a date, obviously.” He says, his smile not slipping in the slightest.

Jazz raises an eyebrow. “A date? Is that what this is?” She continues to eat, not bothering to look at him again.

“I would think so at least.”

Jazz hums, contemplating. “If this is a date then you’re not doing very well, are you?”

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow.

“For starters, you haven’t bothered to actually introduce yourself. Are you just used to people already knowing who you are that you don’t have basic manners anymore? What a shame.” She gives him an unimpressed look.

Laughter spills out of him. A joyous sound that Jazz actually really liked. It sounded genuine too, which was a nice plus.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m Richard but you can just call me Dick. And yes, that is the name I prefer.” Dick grins widely, humor saturating his entire expression.

“Nice to finally officially meet you Dick. My name is Jasmine, please call me Jazz though. Only my mother uses my full name.” She says with a chortle and smiles. “Now what is it that you usually do on first dates? I haven’t had many considering my family’s reputation and my major.”

“Really?” Dick asks, eyes wide with curiosity. She nods. “Well, I guess you talk about yourselves. Get to know each other more to see if you’re interested and compatible with each other. Why don’t you tell me about your major. I didn’t know that you’re in college. What do you study?”

And that was how the rest of the night went. Talking and sharing stories and lamenting over shenanigans that their younger siblings had done. She learned that he had three officially adopted younger brothers, but the Wayne household was home to quite a few of their friends and ‘honorary’ siblings. Jazz told him a little about the time she was growing up, a very curated version but necessary alteration.

By the end of the night, Dick walked her back to her room and bade her goodnight. As soon as she walked into her shared apartment Lucy and Jessica were on her like wolves on an injured animal. They just about backed her up against the door as they crowded in and basically shouted questions over top of each other.

“Was that Dick?” Lucy demanded. “Did he walk you back?”

“Oh my god, did he kiss you? Did you like it?” Jessica questioned with fierce determination in her eyes.

Lucy gasps. “No, he wouldn’t go that far yet, right? Jazzy here wouldn’t let him.”

Jessica nods wisely. “You’re right, you’re right. She’s far too uptight to let him do that.”

“Wha- hey!” Was all Jazz was able to get out before her two friends, and teammates, bulldozed over her.

“Holy shit, you are so right. It probably has to do with her always psychoanalyzing everyone she meets.”

“See, see. But he did walk her back so there has to be some kind of interest. Right?”

“Right.” They both turn back to Jazz. “So are you gonna tell us about him or are you just going to stand there?”

There’s a moment of silence where Jazz makes sure that they’ll actually let her talk. She gives them both a look and they nod, encouraging her to go on. “He was, nice.” Was all she was able to say before a bright red blush made its home on her face.

Lucy and Jessica both burst into twittering giggles. Jazz just sighs. It was going to be one hell of a long night and she fears that it will be an even longer time before she could indulge in a hot shower. She’d really been looking forward to that. Oh well.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jazz couldn’t believe it.

She had placed. In the Olympics. How in all of the Infinite Realms, did she manage to do that? It didn’t feel like something she could accomplish. Sure Jazz had started bettering her aim when it became apparent that she was more of a danger than a help to Danny. But that didn’t explain just how all of this happened. It felt like she’d somehow stumbled upon the most unbelievable series of events and the following consequences.

“Jazz! Good job!” Her coach cheered when she came back from the podium. “I think in celebration, we should take the whole team out for a nice dinner!”

Jazz just nodded. She wasn’t quite sure if the reality she was currently experiencing actually was reality or just a trick some ghost was playing on her. In the end she decided that she might as well enjoy the moment, if it ended up not being real she could kick the ecto entity’s ass into next millennium. So she spent the rest of the night in a fancy French restaurant surrounded by her teammates as they all cheered for her and showed her their unwavering support. It had to be the most fun she’d had in a long time, maybe the most fun she’s ever had to begin with.

When dinner had been finished and cleaned up, they all stumbled out into the streets. Now that all of their events were over, they were free to go sightseeing until their ride home in a week or so. Jazz could feel the sheer amount of ecto that radiated throughout the older parts of Paris. And it may be a bad thing that the ambient ecto was starting to make her feel a bit buzzed. Like she’d had a couple drinks and was now somewhere between waking and unconsciousness. Everything felt warm and fuzzy, as if nothing bad could ever happen. Not now, not ever. Soon the fuzziness was interrupted by one very handsome and dashing Dick Grayson.

She smiled widely at him. She couldn’t really string together words to make a coherent sentence at the moment but she knew that actions spoke louder than words.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jazz woke with a start. The first thing she noticed was how badly her head hurt. A pounding headache was overtaking her entire thought process to the point of wanting to just go back to sleep. And she was really considering it as well. But when she settled back into her cardboard bed, another presence in her bed made themselves known. Jazz is frozen in place, afraid that if she moves at all the other person will wake up. But with her sudden stiffening the other person carelessly ensnares her in their hold and presses her to them. Now there’s a delightfully toned and warm body that is fully pressed to her back. One strong arm encircles her waist as the other pillows her head.

This, this was bad. Jazz tried to wrack her brain to figure out what happened or even how it happened. The last thing she remembered was that she came in third place in the finals, everyone being ecstatic over the placement, and them all going out to eat at a local restaurant. Then she came back? Jazz wasn’t sure, that’s when it started to get hazy. First of all, before she did anything else, she needed to figure out who the hell was in bed with her and how the hell to get out of this specific situation. So, carefully, she turned around to get a look at the person that was currently sharing her bed. And why was she not surprised to come face to face with a naked Dick Grayson?

‘Wait, naked?’ Was all she could think.

A cursory glance down tells her that she is also buck naked. There are constellations of hickeys and love bites all down her chest and torso, with a few decorating her arms and legs. She had absolutely no doubt that if her body looked like this, her neck would more than likely look like a scarf of blues and purples. Of course, with a closer look, Dick didn’t seem to come out of whatever happened unscathed either. He had his own intricate pattern of hickeys and love bites across his skin. There were a few surface level scratches along his arms and shoulders though.

Jazz was staring at Dick, in all his fully naked glory, when he woke up. It was a slow process. A lot slower than her own jolting into consciousness. His eyes fluttered open for a split second before closing again. He pulls her in even closer, twining his legs with hers, the arm under her head shifting so that he had better access to card through her messy red locks, his other hand drifting down to caress her butt. With how close they were now pressed together, Jazz could feel his erection firming up against her stomach.

Jazz lets out a little squeak at all of the contact. She’s still uncertain about if this is ok, but she sure as hell knows that it all feels really damn good. His eyes jump open and he holds her in a more protective way as he scans the room for some unknown danger or threat. When his sleepy brain finally figures out that there wasn’t anything of the likes in the room he settles again before glancing down at her. They lock eyes and he smiles. It’s a wide and sleepy thing, like he still isn’t quite fully awake. It makes Jazz blush like none other.

“Mornin’ beautiful. Di’n’t think you’d s’ill be here when I woke up. Nice to see you’re s’ill ’ere though.” Dick’s voice is an even deeper timbre with sleep roughness softening his words.

“I’m, I’m not sure what exactly happened?” Jazz says in an unconfident tone. She shifts away from her bed partner to try and gain just a little more space between them. Though with how narrow the bed was, she didn’t have much success. “How, exactly, did we get here?”

That woke Dick up a bit more. Clarity was slowly starting to show in his eyes as the sleepiness began to fade. “What’d you mean? Here, like in your room, or here like in your bed?”

“Um, both?” Jazz answers honestly.

Dick hums, relaxing back into the tiny twin mattress. “We went on another date after you had a celebratory dinner with your team.” Luckily he wasn’t slurring his words too badly. Meaning Jazz could understand him more clearly. “We took a tour down into the tunnels. You know, the ones filled with bones?” Jazz nods, not really like where this was going. “After we’d been down there for a little while you started acting weird. Kind of like you had alcohol or you somehow got drugged. And I swear, I didn’t do anything like that to you. If you don’t believe me, that's alright.” He leans back and stares up at the ceiling.

“I believe you.” Jazz says in quiet confidence.

Dick whips his gaze back to hers. “You do?”

She nods. “I know this feeling and sadly it’s nothing a mortal could ever inflict.” She sighs heavily and slumps into Dick’s chest.

She really should’ve been more careful traveling around a city that had so much death. The ecto was deep seated and older than anything she could ever hope to find in America. It was no wonder her body reacted the way it had. It didn’t help that the centuries and centuries of ghostly wants and needs that had piled up had found a way to become fulfilled through her. Jazz knew that she was a far more likely choice as a conduit for the dead than others.

“Anything a mortal could inflict?” Dick repeated, though it sounded like he was repeating it more to himself than back to her.

Jazz hummed. “Yep. Lucky you, you seemed to have been able to bed the former Queen Regent of the Infinite Realms. I don’t really count as fully human or mortal anymore.” She closes her eyes, suddenly feeling more tired than she should be. They should be able to squeeze in a nap before anyone came looking for them, right?

“Jazz?” Dick tries to shake her awake. She just groans and shifts to hide her face in his chest. If she’s gone as far as the situation implies, then she’s going to enjoy it, dammit. Dick shakes her again, a little more firmly now. “Jazz, you can’t just dump that on me and expect to not have to explain.” His voice sounds reedy and stressed.

She hums and further cuddles into his chest. “Later.” She says. “Not now. Sleep now, talk later.”

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And later they did talk.

It took a few hours but Jazz patiently answered all of the questions she could over a late lunch. With just the two of them in the room, Jazz was more than willing to answer any questions Dick might’ve had. They exchanged numbers and promised to stay in contact. Sure they still had at least another week to spend in Paris but she sure as hell hoped that he’d stay away from her until they were back in the States. Of course, the universe couldn’t make this too easy otherwise she wouldn’t be a Fenton.

“Mr. Wayne, how nice to meet you.” Jazz says with a slightly strained smile as she shakes Bruce Wayne’s hand. She shoots Dick a scathing look. “I didn’t realize you were even in the country.”

“Of course I would be in the country.” Mr. Wayne says with that kind of air headedness that only those born with too much money have. “It’s not every year that my eldest son competes in the Olympics.”

Dick clears his throat. “This is the third time I’ve been in the Olympics, dad. You came to see me in Tokyo too.” He was wearing a fond smile and it made Jazz’s heart do a little flip in her chest.

“Really?” Mr. Wayne asks, his brows knit together in deep thought. Trying to figure out how he’d forgotten the event. Dick nods. “Hmm, my memory must be slipping from me in my old age.” Mr. Wayne says with some sort of faux concern.

Jazz keeps a pleasant smile on her face. Sure she might not be as knowledgeable about nearly all celebrities, but even she knew who Mr. Wayne was. It was kind of hard not to when Tucker would talk about Wayne Tech near constantly. Now that she thought about it, Jazz was fairly certain that she’d heard Sam complain about Mr. Wayne and his gaggle of adopted children. How had she not made the connection earlier?

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Jessica walking into the room. Jazz perks up at the potential escape. She catches her friend’s eye and they have a silent conversation with Jazz asking for her help and Jessica rolling her eyes but agreeing anyway.

“Jazz! Lucy and I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Jessica loudly calls as she walks over to the group. “C’mon! You’re gonna be late for your interview!”

Jessica didn’t even stop to consider just who she’d interrupted but ended up shuffling Jazz out of the room quite successfully.

“I-wait, I had an interview today?” Jazz asked in confused surprise.

“Uh, yeah.” Jessica said, rolling her eyes. “You’d think for a psych major you’d be more organized.”

“Hey!” Jazz complained with a pout. “I’ll have you know that I am actually very organized.”

“And yet here we are.” The smirk obvious in her voice, even if Jazz couldn't personally see her face.

Jazz rolled her own eyes and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys later! It was nice to meet you Mr. Wayne!” She shouts with a mildly embarrassed expression.

Once they’re a safe distance away, Jazz slows down and looks over at Jessica. “I don’t actually have an interview that I seriously forgot about, right?”

“No, you do. It starts in like 10 minutes. So you better start running missy.” Jessica says with a devilish grin.

Jazz stares at her, wide eyed and disbelieving. “Seriously? Jess, what the hell!” And with that Jazz took off running with Jessica laughing manically in the background.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jazz sighed deeply as she relaxed into her economy class plane seat. It had been a very stressful last few days. What with dodging not only Dick but also Mr. Wayne. Because she had a feeling that they were going to pin her down and demand even more information out of her that she didn’t feel comfortable sharing without Danny’s consent. Though, as soon as she was able to get back home and talk with her little brother, she had a feeling that she’d be seeing more of Dick and his family.

Jazz sighs again and leans against the wall, looking out the window at the painted clouds beneath the plane. In all honesty she was just ready for a nap and a full course meal of Ectoplasm. Even with the surplus of ecto that was in Paris, it didn’t taste quite right. And it didn’t help when the whole waking up naked in bed with someone thing happened. She should probably ask Frostbite about that and if it had any lasting consequences.

“You ready to head home?” Lucy says, a large smile plastered on her face.

Jazz hums and closes her eyes for a moment. “Yeah. I think I’m ready to just be home right now. It’s been a stressful couple of weeks.”

“True that. Kinda sucks that we weren’t able to stay for the closing ceremonies as well. Hopefully next time we’ll be able to.” Lucy says in a cheerful tone. How was she so chipper when Jazz could feel the exhaustion dragging at her bones?

“I’m not sure I’ll even make it on the team for the next Olympics. Besides, this isn’t what I want to do for a living. I just got here through a very lucky set of circumstances.” Jazz gives Lucy a tired smile before laying down against the wall, looking back out at the slowly fading sun set.

“I don’t think you’ll be that lucky Jazz.” Jessica says as she twists around in her seat to face them. “I don’t think Coach would let you skip out after placing on the podium.”

Jazz just sighs overdramatically as her two friends giggle at her antics. And maybe it wasn’t all that bad? She had a new community that supported her and friends that didn’t judge her because of her background. Maybe she could keep doing this. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll see Dick at the next Olympics too. Jazz smiles softly at that thought. Yeah, that sounded nice.

DPxDC the Olympics AU.

Jazz is competing for sharpshooting

Dick is competing for team gymnastics

Y’all can work it out from there :)

[acid-ixx]

Lmao a&a reader sticking pics of all her milestones and events her family missed and unreplied texts all over the house (a father daughter day at school pic sticked twice on Bruce's door) out of anger and pettiness (srry abt the bad English I just had this idea suddenly)

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

oh my god anon, you are so brilliant because this will happen eventually. like as much as i want a hurt, constantly aching pain to happen to the reader, i also portrayed them to be still bitterly petty towards their family. that translates to shoving it in all their faces about just how much they - specifically bruce - lost so much years of bonding with them just because they chose to be ignorant enough.

just picture this: an entire manor, with hallways filled with printouts of all of dick's unreplied texts, picture frames upon picture frames stacked on every corner where it's just you and alfred against the world, leaning on to the old butler in every image, reminiscent of a father figure more than bruce could ever be.

there're also pages of ripped diary entries stuffed under the couches' mattresses. pages which documented all the years and moments where you write and rant about your bitterness towards the family— how 'dick never looks at me, jay won't even spare me a glance whenever i talk to him, i think tim genuinely doesn't think i exist, and maybe damian just wants me dead'.

and all those entries, despite causing you more burden of having to confront bruce in his office about your mental health, about how it's unhealthy to dwell in the past; it genuinely gives you a sense of control within your trapped cage— if you could even call it that.

yet the more you shove it in their face, the more they smother you with attention: trying to overcorrect.

then suddenly your petty plans turned into a ploy, an excuse for them to bond with you even more because of course! of course those bitter reminders are just you wanting their attention individually! of course, it's your stubborn call to them that they do have a chance of reconnecting with you!

just let them spare themselves the heartbreak and instead replace the hurt upon seeing you so adamant of denying them the love; turning it into a way to become closer to you— a genuine apology in their part if you will, despite your refusal to call it that.

whenever you mention how dick never looks at you eye-to-eye, suddenly, his eyes are all over you, like he's burning the memory of your entire form under his eyelids. every time you mention his dismissal towards your request of hanging out, suddenly, it's him inviting you to every small thing. hell, his attention became too much to the point he suggests that you just sleep in his bedroom because, "it's only right that we spend all the lost moments together, right baby bird? now, don't we have another movie we have to catch on? and don't worry, it's only gonna be just the two of us."

he says, with a saccharine sweetness to his voice, masking the overly possessive undertone in the last sentence, as if there never was those past years filled with yearning, as if it was never you who chased after him. the more your diary entries are read, the more dick takes note in every missed invitation he never entertained. it doesn't even matter if you've already watched the movie, you'll rewatch it, with him, and only with him. because in his eyes, your requests to spend time with him specifically means that all your future moments are exclusively spent with your eldest brother.

with just how much he takes your time every day, you almost feel like it's his attempts of filling that void thirteen years without him.

then there's jason, who once knew what your boundaries were. and although he respects it now, he couldn't deny just how heavenly it is to have his angel in his arms. and could you deny all those diary entries rambling about what it's like to be in your big brother's arms? those documentations of your feelings at its purest form just means to jason that you still want, no, yearn to be embraced by him. the second eldest never really initiates contact first unlike dick, but whenever he does, it's always with you. the first time he hugged you, in his lonesome apartment, he couldn't really bring himself to let go despite your complaints— so what could stop him now that they have you in their grasp?

"hey angel, don't you think it'd be nice if i read you 'little women' tonight?" jason asks you, because of that one day where you filled his vacant room with copies of all the books he recommended and promised to read with you - but never fulfilled doing so - it kind of backfired on you. and now you're wrapped around his muscled arms, beside him in his supposedly cozy, yet suffocating bed, his hair pricking the skin of your sweaty forehead, damp from the sheer heat - despite the air-conditioning - because he straight up refuses to give you space. if you just lean back a little more, then you could almost feel the tremor of his voice narrating the entire story, the warmth of his breath hitting against the nape of your neck.

for a book so lighthearted, all you could feel was the heaviness of your heart.

unlike dick and jason, you never once spent a moment with tim. that in itself is what made him motivated to learn all about you on a more personal level. in his eyes, (or rather, through his delusional reasonings), he reckoned that because he never once had any memories with you— your hatred towards him would be the least harrowing thing to deal with. he's always been a mystery to you, you've been a mystery to him, too. through your empty texts with him, entries spanning from not even knowing anything about him at all; he figured that now's the chance to take you away in the least expected moments, cauterize his words with promises for escape from other more smothering members of the family. unlike the others, since he's never once had personal moments with you, he knows your objective prefences, your boundaries and what makes you tick.

"ah, (name)... mind moving your hand to the left? yeah, that's way better." yet despite the fact that you have more freedom when you spend time with him, doesn't mean that he'll spare you the space of being alone when he's just like all the others still: obsessively taking note of every little movement, swooning in secret with a small quirk in your lips, kissing his teeth when he's exceptionally pleased the more your emotions are vividly displayed in front of him. except now that you willingly chose to be his model - you're unaware that he plasters the polaroid's all over his own version of a diary mirroring yours... - for just a moment of respite from the other's overbearing physical affection, it doesn't mean that tim isn't an obstacle himself; he just... knows you more than you know him, more than you know anybody else actually.

in fact, the longer his cryptic stare is pinned only on you, the more you notice how he never really takes his eyes off of you for more than a second.

"who says it's your turn to be with my sibling, todd?" your youngest brother, the one who you unwillingly spent the most time with. your tormentor, the one who you almost despised. damian hates it when you smother him with hints that you're closer to anybody else but him. he hates it when his older sibling generally spends more time with others. and although he's countlessly apologized to you, you never quite find it in your heart to fully grasp his sorry's. even if he offers you friendship bracelets, emerald green stones matching the shade of your favorite ones, whilst looking away with a puff in his cheeks— you just can't see him in a different light anymore; constantly reminding him of the threats he threw your way back them, shoving papers upon papers stained with salty tears and smudged ink; all piled with texts ranting about your endless pain because of him.

but just like dick, your youngest brother just sees it as your stubborn way of calling out his name. he may look like he bites, and yes he does bite, but not at you, never at you. at least, not anymore— but to everybody else who threatens his so-called precious bonding time with his older sibling. weirdly enough, despite his smaller frame, he's the most suffocating, the one whose hold on your body tightens just a bit more every time you move away from him. he's arguably the most possessive, the one who'll fight tooth and nail just because he wants you, his older sibling, to be his beloved muse for a portrait he imagined.

as much as he tormented you in the past, you can never deny how his life centered on you as much as it did now.

lastly, bruce, your father, a figure that was never there, just a silhouette to you. and even until now he still is. you can't comprehend his care, a type of fatherly love you never felt all those years ago. after all this time, you're more petty now than you were in the past; sticking picture frames of you and alfred spending memories where it's supposed to be you two, in hallways you know he frequents. it hurts him, it truly does pain him every time you look at him distantly. but he knows patience is the key, even though guilt devours him at every passing glance— he still loves you so. he should've shown his care early on, but what can he do now that it's too late?

"(name)," he calls your name all too fondly, accurately even — like he's practiced calling your name every night, afraid you'll be gone in his arms — and for a moment, you can almost hear him mouthing the endearing term 'dear' under his breath. as the world's greatest detective, the first thing he does is wanting to entertain the sick idea of reenacting the memories plastered all over those picture frames. just to make the regret lighter, to find a reason to be closer to you than he already makes himself out to be. don't mistake him, he's grateful that alfred was always there to aid you, but he's your father, first and foremost, and just because he missed those birthdays, that graduation, your prom and so much more— it doesn't mean there's no more room for him to still spend time with his beloved child, no? he'll find a valid, yet almost desperate excuse every time; to make a grander celebration. your missed birthdays will be replaced with countless vacations, your graduation picture smiling together with alfred nailed right at the front of his door will soon be a frame with you and the rest of the family. he'll find a way for you to never write those wretched entries about them anymore— he swears, with all his heart, you'll love him as much as he loves you.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never presented your bare heart in front of them so willingly after all.

a/n: leave comments because why not lmao. idk half of what i wrote here but i'm back to answering asks and anon, i hope you like this because i used your ask to make a drabble 😁 this is the batfam after they become yanderes and how they enact upon their obsessions so ykyk. again, i forgot whatever i've written here.

[f1shart]

thinking about buzz beating up the curious brothers again. like what do you mean

but buzz is older than them?? time to dissect this (and by that i mean overly complicate it!!)

Making Sense of Buzz Grunt Beating the Shit Out of the Curious Brothers (and Loki)

I went into this assuming that, considering how old Buzz is, him beating up the Curious brothers + Loki as a teenager was statistically impossible, especially considering their age in actual human years—but was I wrong? Is it actually possible that Buzz did fight them within the time he spent as a teenager?

First, some supporting information.

Age Conversions Based on Adult Lifestage

Buzz: Day 14 or 43 years old Pascal: Day 10 or 38 years old Loki: Day 9 or 36 years old Vidcund: Day 6 or 32 years old Lazlo: Day 1 or 25 years old

These aren't even my own age headcanons for them (except Buzz's which is surprisingly accurate), just calculations. If you want to know how I got them then feel free to ask 😇

Evidence Provided by Memories

As seen in the picture, Buzz fought everyone "as soon as he aged up." However, it's possible he just has no memories of early teenhood.

Pascal similarly gained the memory as soon as he aged up. This idea is more plausible with him because he was accepted into private high school after the fact. Sure, in gameplay, this can happen as late as the last day as a teenager, but I doubt this is what Maxis was trying to convey since they literally handpicked these memories. Meaning: Buzz beat him up in middle school…?

Loki's only teen memory is losing the fight.

According to the Sims Wiki, Vidcund has no memory of Buzz beating him up (how hard did he hit him?)

Similar to Loki and Pascal, Lazlo's first memory as a teenager is getting beat up by Buzz.

Is This Possible In Normal Gameplay?

Disregarding any other family memories that arose around the time (I do NOT want to try to decipher the entire Curious timeline), the fight memories are in fact possible with their Sim ages.

The teen lifespan in The Sims 2 is 15 days long. Buzz is 4 days older than Pascal, 5 days older than Loki, 8 days older than Vidcund, and 13 days older than Lazlo.

Ensuring that everyone still falls within the teen lifestage, I made a table of the earliest and latest possible ages everyone could have been when Buzz attacked:

Converting their teen days into human years, Buzz either beat them all up as an 18 year old OR slowly picked them off until age 17 which is right before he kissed Lyla. None of this, however, is possible based on the initial age calculations.

Buzz's Attacks Based On the Adult Age Conversions

Buzz is 5 years older than Pascal, 7 years older than Loki, 11 years older than Vidcund, and 18 years older than Lazlo. There are two ways we can interpret their memories: either the Curious brothers + Loki were teenagers when Buzz attacked, or Buzz was a teenager when he started attacking them.

On the basis that Buzz is still a teenager, and assuming each fight happened in close proximity to one another, he specifically had to have been 18 years old when each one happened. This makes Pascal a 13 year old, Loki an 11 year old, Vidcund a 7 year old, and Lazlo…a newborn. ☠️ Alternatively, Buzz may have started younger and continued fighting until 18, the only teen year he could have possibly encountered Lazlo in.

If that seems implausible, then maybe Buzz wasn't a teenager and instead beat the boys up as soon as they turned thirteen. This would make him 18 for Pascal, 20 for Loki, 24 for Vidcund, and 31 for Lazlo. (Side note: Tank and Ripp would have been born by then.)

Conclusion

Regardless of whether you base it on Buzz been a teen or the victims being teens, him beating up Lazlo looks pretty bad. And if you go by gameplay rules, everything flows surprisingly well. According to normal gameplay AND real-life age conversions, Buzz is a big meanie who beat up at least one kid as a legal adult, at least with the age conversion system I used…

Me personally, I think he was college-aged when he started bullying them. (Or maybe they attacked him? Plot twist.) Of course, what I discussed weren't the only possibilities, but they should give a good idea of how things actually went… and maybe they can inspire your own headcanons! ^_^

this is such a useless pseudo-essay LMFAOO

[hpdabbles]

Harry Potter Fanfic Idea: One Change, Two Lives.

I want time travel, Tomarry au, where Harry arrives before Tom goes insane. Before he even goes to Hogwarts.

I want an au where Harry is just two years older than Tom, due to the time magic, regressing his soul into a Potter's squib that was thrown away and is at Wool's orphanage with Tom. One where he steps in cover for Tom's accidental magic. One who explains why Tom sometimes wants to do what he does and curve his more dangerous tendencies.

Where Harry goes out to find Tom Riddle Sr. to see if the man is willing (and able because he had a terrible thing happen to him by Tom's mother) to take Tom in. He finds that Riddle Sr. is still struggling with what happened to him but is willing to at least provide for his son, even if he can't stand the sight of him sometimes without panic.

Harry remains anonymous in his role of reuniting the Riddles. When Tom is taken out of Wools into a stable home that has a somewhat distant but loving father, kind grandmother, and proud grandfather, he slowly starts to go from being afraid of dying to being scared of letting them down.

He still has some mental issues, but he's no longer dangerous. His father is coming around and, with Harry's help, has repaired his image with the town. They set it up that the Gaunts were illegally stealing from a Riddle water well on the far end of their property, where Riddle Sr. would be the only one to drink out of after riding his horses.

The well was supposedly contaminated because the Gaunts kept using a bucket made of silver, and that caused "madness". This is years later, but Tom eventually finds out Harry saved his father's image.

Tom sees Harry as this hero-like figure, and when he comes to Hogwarts, he finds that Harry is a popular Gryffindor. Because Harry remained at Wools Orphanage, seeing as the Potters had obliviated the potter squib he took over, he changed his name to Harry Evans and pretended to be a muggle-born.

He is one of the most talented muggle-borns to ever step into Hogwarts, and he makes the Potters sweat because he looks so familiar. They just can't tell where. (The Squib had been seven. He looks different now at eleven when he came back).

As a third-year, he's even Quidditch Captain of the Gryffindor team, and literally half the school is in love with him.

Tom Riddle, who has changed enough to be a hat stall, eventually goes to Ravenclaw because his desire for knowledge for knowledge's sake is significantly larger than his ambition in this timeline. He also discovers that in the Wizarding world, gender norms and views on sexuality are so much different than the muggle ones.

He found out that his having a crush on the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain is not an odd thing. Just a different preference and a few of the boys in Ravenclaw have the same opinion as him.

It takes him until the end of his first year to admit it, though.

Meanwhile, Harry decides to try the theory of "nature vs nurture" and live a normal life while Riddle Sr. deals with Tom. He figures that he will take him out if Tom is still a dark lord after having a different childhood.

He also swore off dating, much to the pain of many young mages. Harry had broken so many hearts that Albus Dumbledore side-eyed him, thinking of him as evil, but Harry finds that before he was the headmaster and hero of the war, Dumbledore didn't have much power over him.

If anything, he reminded him of Snape's potion class.

He just isn't prepared for Tom being....a regular teenager. One that is annoyingly open about his crush on him and, over the years, attempts to woo Harry.

Basically, a time travel Au that leads to Tom and Harry's entire relationship is like this:

Of course, after Hogwarts, Harry can't help himself, so he joins the war and, surprisingly, is the one to take down Gellert Grindelwald after taking his education seriously. He becomes the new professor at Hogwarts to become Headmaster.

He took Dumbldore's future since Dumbldore sacrificed his past.

Tom, meanwhile, is busy preparing to take over the Earlship from his father and chooses to focus his obsession with old magic and historical artifacts to become a magical archaeologist.

He's accredited for being the one to find the Hogwarts Founders' four artifacts. Tom uses this fame to search Hogwarts for the Chamber of Secrets- he knows where it is. It's just an excuse to flirt with Headmaster Evans.

[cherrycheolkat]

heyyyy, could i please request spanking + cheol from your second nsfw bingo 😩😩😣😣😣

oofff you all are popping off with cheol and the nsfw bingo squares - and don't get me wrong, i'm here for it, but i hope we can all match each other's freaks yk

♡ kat

bingo squares: spanking

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

genres: nextdoorneighbor!seungcheol, college student!reader, age gap

summary: y/n is home from college to find her new next-door neighbor is a much younger, hotter man than when she left the fall before (goodbye old mrs. windermere) - but to y/n he seems very lonely and overworked, and she sets out to fix that

word count: 2.2k

warnings: age-gap, smut, voyeurism, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, spanking, cum eating

it was a cool, balmy morning, perfect for a run. y/n made sure to stop and stretch outside her next-door neighbor’s house. she always started out with a tshirt covering her sports bra, but by the time she had made it around the entire neighborhood, she would just be so hot and sweaty that she would have to take it off. just in time to see seungcheol heading out for his workday - she thought it was cute that he always waved and said ‘hi.’

besides, why not let mr. choi see what he was missing. why he was all alone in a huge house, y/n had no idea - it felt a bit sad to her - and she imagined he was a bit sad, she felt like he deserved a little show. something he could store away in his man-brain. she liked to imagine that he jerked off to thoughts of her while he showered. 

lately, she had even made sure to leave her curtains open at night when she was changing for bed - her bedroom faced his. she was basically doing him a service. like a good deed or whatever. and the thought that he might be watching only made her put in the extra effort, like wearing her cutest underwear. because, really, that poor man, all alone in a huge house, and no one around to take care of his needs - she couldn’t even imagine how blue his balls must be. 

plus, why not make him ache to be balls deep in her hot, tight pussy. she had always liked the idea of an older man anyway. boys her age were less than ideal - they didn’t know how to handle her. but she was certain mr. choi would know exactly how to take care of her and all of her needs.

not to mention, she had the best reason to randomly knock on his door - she was house sitting for her parents. so she was all alone in a big house, just one girl against all the creepy sounds that could happen, like trees scraping the window or the raccoons that liked snuffling around her mother’s composting area. and what if she heard sounds like someone breaking in? 

she was ecstatic that her mom had already let the neighbors know that she would be home alone that summer while her parents were off doing some research in whatever far-flung country. her amazing mother had even taken her to meet her new neighbor, since he was right next door - the closest in case y/n needed something. he had been so nice too, letting her know that she could drop by anytime. he even offered to let her use his pool since he wasn’t really home to enjoy it himself. 

so far, she hadn’t taken advantage of his offer to use his pool, but this morning, she planned to ask him if it was okay, since it was really hot. plus she was tired of banging around her parent’s. although, she had baked some cookies - she felt like she might take those to him, as well. whatever she needed to do to get to ride his face - she really didn’t care. 

she made her way back, picking up her pace a bit, worried she might miss him - he was like clockwork - she knew when he left and when he came home, always roughly at the same time each day. she made it back just in time to almost collide with him as she walked to knock on his front door. 

she laughed, “oh, i’m so sorry, mr. choi,” she gushed, “i just wanted to ask if it was still okay if i used your pool?” she made sure to stand with a hand on her hip and to do her best to not look out of breath.

he was dressed in a button-down and slacks, his suit jacket slung over his arm, and half a bagel in his mouth. he was so cute - his hair was just the right amount of messy, but otherwise, he looked so clean-cut. he held up a finger to her and unlocked his car, a nice two-seater, and unceremoniously chucked his bag and jacket in before turning back to her.

she watched him take her in for a second, “yeah, the pool - of course - i can give you the gate code if you have your phone?”

she didn’t run with her phone actually - she liked to have her breaks from tech. she smiled, “oh, no, i don’t actually - could you text it to me?”

of course he could, like the darling he was. he took her number and sent the gate code to her. 

“there’s some snacks and drinks in the outdoor kitchen too,” he offered. 

“oh, thanks - that’s so kind of you,” she genuinely smiled because it was really sweet, since she had never seen anyone really come by his house. 

he smiled, “and it’s seungcheol - mr. choi is my dad,” his dimples only grew at the bad line. 

she laughed though - he was cute enough to get away with a few corny lines. she thanked him again and made sure to tell him to ‘have a good day’ and all of the things he should be told before he went off to work his insane hours. she had the urge to kiss him, but instead, she just flashed her cutest smile and walked back home. 

she showered and changed into a skimpy bikini. she grabbed a book and some extra snacks and her phone, and headed through the back yard to enjoy seungcheol’s amazing pool. she swam for a bit and then lounged and read - it was nice to be able to go back and forth between the pool and her book without having to worry about anyone bothering her stuff. 

she did the same thing the next day too. and the next. but friday, she changed course - she stopped him again in the morning, and offered to make him dinner - she knew he would be home at a reasonable hour, plus she did want to pay him back. actually, pay him back because he had been really nice. plus, being inside his home would really progress things. 

he hadn’t seemed as surprised as she had hoped, but he agreed all the same. 

she was a great cook - she was not concerned about that part of things at all. she had planned a menu the day before and made a grocery order for fillets with a pan sauce, potatoes that she would roast, and she was planning a beet salad with goat’s cheese, some bread that she had started the night before, and dessert would be cherry galette with sweet cream - something easy to throw together but eye catching. she was in no mood to half-ass this. 

she only went to the pool for a quick swim, and then she went home to bake and cook. she made  sure everything was perfect and prepped before she went to grab a shower, dress, do some quick makeup, and generally look as perfect as possible. and then she made her way to seungcheol’s house. 

he opened the door, still wearing his clothes from the day - his top shirt buttons were unbuttoned, his sleeves were rolled up, and he had a drink. he smiled, and she couldn’t help but return the smile when she fully saw his dimples. he was just so cute and gorgeous. she wondered if his cock was perfect too. 

he hung around in the kitchen talking to her as she finished things off. he wasn’t distracting, but he did comment a few times that she had gone to a lot of trouble. 

she just laughed, “i’m home alone all day - this was a fun distraction, plus your pool is so amazing and you’ve been so nice to let me use it,” she said with a smile. 

he was quiet, though. she glanced up and noticed the way he was watching her - his gaze taking her in. he nodded, “how could i say ‘no’ to you though?” he asked, voice softer than she was prepared for. 

she blushed, “i mean it’s pretty easy actually - my dad says ‘no’ to me all the time,” she smiled and turned back to what she was doing. 

she glanced back to see him nodding, “i’m sure you don’t do quiet so much to try to please your dad though, do you?” 

she felt the small shivers that broke out over her skin - his voice was so deep. she shrugged, “that’s not really my department.”

“no, you don’t want to make your father happy?” he sounded incredulous, as he gave his drink a small swirl.

she was pulling dishes from the oven, making sure all the times lined up. she didn’t answer immediately. 

instead, she felt his hands on her hips, “does he know the kind of underwear you wear to bed?” she felt his lips brush her throat, “does he know what a slut you are for my attention?” he whispered just beneath her ear, his lips dragging gently over her skin. 

her eyelids fluttered closed at the contact. she felt his hands slide down the front of the dress she was wearing, before hiking it up, “what underwear are you wearing tonight, baby girl?” he whispered, even as his hands traced up her thighs to her panties - feeeling the barely there satin that just covered her pussy. 

she felt the hard way he exhaled, “fuck,” he murmured, he fingers slipping under the fabric, “and already wet for me too.”

she shivered again, letting him pick her up and settle her on the counter, he fit perfectly between her thighs. she wrapped her legs around his trim waist, as he pulled her close, kissing her roughly. she moaned breathily as she returned his kisses. 

when he leaned back, he gazed at her, “you did mean for us to eat though, didn’t you?”

she nodded meekly. 

he smiled, “right,” his fingers traced down her throat and grazed her breast, “you went to so much trouble for me,” he whispered, smiling. 

she shook her head, “it wasn’t trouble,” she reached up, smoothing his bangs from his face. 

“if you just wanted to fuck, i would say it was a lot of trouble since the gate code and the door code are the same,” he watched her as she nodded slowly, accepting what he had just implied.

he pressed a bit closer, “but you want more than just a few gos on my cock, don’t you, baby doll?”

she bit her lower lip, nodding, “yes,” she breathed. 

she was almost surprised that they made it through dinner. by the time she offered him dessert, he pulled her into his lap, rushing to kiss her. his hand sliding easily between her legs. he swiped her panties to the side and stuffed his fingers in roughly, “so fucking tight,” he whispered. 

she gasped softly, trying to control her breath as he began to finger her and kiss her throat and exposed chest. she was almost shocked by how quickly she came, her juices gushing for him - it usually took ages for her to even come with other guys. but before she could really take it in, he was picking her up and placing her on the table. he pushed her dress up past her midriff. she saw him stick his fingers in the cream on the galette - he held them out to her. she opened her mouth, licking his fingers clean, letting him push his fingers farther and farther into her mouth.

“look at you, baby girl, so good for me,” he smiled, pulling his fingers from her mouth and swiping them through the cream again - this time they didn’t go to her mouth. she felt the sudden chilly, stickiness in her pussy - she clenched around his fingers. he nodded, “so perfect, baby, i don’t even have to tell you what to do,” he murmured. 

and then he was eating her out. stretching her and licking the cream from inside her. she fell back onto the hardwood dining table, sure that she had never felt more bliss. and he brought her so close to orgasm and pulled back, he gave her pussy a small smack. 

“seungcheol,” she whined softly as she felt a second smack that landed perfectly on her clit, causing her hips to buck. 

“hmm, what is it little girl? what do you need from daddy?” he asked as he finally pulled her panties off, dropping them to the side. 

“need you - need your cock,” she whimpered. 

he nodded, “i know little girl,” he smoothed her hair, “maybe in a bit, but first i need to do something,” he smiled as he dragged her to the edge of the table and flipped her over onto her stomach. 

she felt him carass her ass, squeezing her cheeks roughly, and then smacking them gently - his smacks were small at first, and then they were harder, open palmed smacks that made her jolt slightly forward against the table. she could only moan and whimper in response. 

it went on for several minutes until he seemed satisfied that she had been spanked enough, “just so you know why i’m spanking you, baby girl, if you ever go running and take your shirt off again so everyone in the neighborhood can see your perfect little tits bouncing, i won’t take it easy on you, i’ll really have to punish you - understood?” he whispered, his hand was gently stroking her reddened skin, soothing her after the fact. 

she nodded, “yes, daddy,” she moaned. 

he seemed satisfied, sighing softly, “good - now we can go upstairs, and i can take care of you the way you’ve been begging for me to all month.” 

she sat up, wincing slightly - he kissed her softly, his hands cupping her face, “you want to be good for me, don’t you?” he whispered as he pulled away.

she nodded, wanting nothing else. 

a/n: i love writing cheol - fr you have no idea how usually when i write a long fic it's cheol-centric - him and his boba eyes and his amazing eyelashes - he is def the definition of sexy 30s

♡ kat

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[sh1-n0bu]

I just saw elf bf post and id like to suggest for your consideration: elf bf learning what kink is and learning that he has some very unorthodox (for an elf) interests. Maybe he is intrigued by crossdressing, cuckolding, or exhibitionism/voyuerism because the idea is so taboo to an elf. Maybe he wants to try bondage or total power exchange because he’s always been told that partnerships are always equal (or that elves are better than humans) and submitting to a mortal partner makes him feel rebellious (but at the same time he feels safe because the person dominating him is his partner who he trusts). Maybe he has a praise kink because he doesn’t often get told “you’re a good boy and I’m proud of you.”

So many options! I wonder what you’ll do with them? 👀

ouuhhhhh anon this is such a big brain thing, lemme crawl inside ur skull

elves, by the standard of the world so far since nearly the beginning of time, has always been deemed as the ‘best’ race to ever walk the lands. tall, regal, elegant, fairest and wisest eternal beings who don’t even get sick. wounds heal quick unless they’re mortal, or of the broken heart. they don’t tire easily nor are they quick to fall. the perfect race

so what happens when said perfect race falls in love with the imperfect one? when an elf falls in love with a human? and said relationship is taken seriously between said lovers, bound for eternity together, blessed by the stars and the moon? well, you get something like you and your elf husband, a human and an elf, happily married

and extremely happy in the bedroom too

as the most perfect race, elves always had a certain amount of ego to themselves. it’s not so high and mighty to the point they could die if they fall from said ego’s height, but it’s always there. it’s like an instinctive feeling, akin to how humans are instinctively stubborn and passionate. too emotional. and due to their ‘perfection’, elves barely get any words of hostility aimed towards them unless it’s by a few passing dwarves or their kin who had been angered. praise has always been a normal thing to fall upon their pointy ears, so much so they count it as the norm

so for an elf to being into degraded, it is rare and frowned upon. why would the most perfect creatures require any words other than the highest form of acknowledgment? but your husband was into it. and you too, to certain extent. whispering filth into those cute, pointy twitching ears of how disgusting and vile he is to enjoy having human hands on him gets his cock hard in his pants within milliseconds. calling him a slut for moaning out loud when you simply grasp his hair has him rubbing his thighs together, feeling the familiar aching heat in his groin. and stars, have mercy on him when you lean in, strong arms caging him from behind between your warm body and the table as you spit out, “pointy eared whore” into the skin of his neck, hot breath sending shivers down his body. by that point, your elf husband’s all but clawing at your clothes, hopping onto the table all too eagerly as he spreads his legs for you

crossdressing is a mixed feeling for the elven race entirely for one, they are just such an eternally graceful beings to the point it becomes hard to tell the difference between some of their genders and two, their clothes share a lot of similar things. long, flowing clothes made of the finest materials any hands could ever touch

but your hubby loves it! the soft and frilly skirts, the smoothness of the dresses or even the breezy laces and provocative bras and thin underwear with straps to keep them up on the flesh of his hips. and don’t even get him started on his love for the ‘dancer’ outfit. the long loincloth like skirt, the golden chains at the sides to keep them perched on his waist and the tiniest bras possible paired with the mouth covering cloth. your elf husband is your private entertainer for the whole night, swaying his hips, twisting his hands and running them over the curves of his body as he gives you the most shit eating grin underneath the mouth cloth, makeup covered eyes narrowing hypnotically at you

it wouldn’t last too long on his lips when he’s being fucked in the very same outfit, being forced to keep the skirt to the side by his hands so you wouldn’t get it dirty for his next dance. not like it ever happens, your elf hubby’s a little crybaby, whining about how mean and rough you’re handling your dancer, sobbing fat tears about how your rough human hands were leaving bruises on his soft, creamy skin

owh lawddd the amount of times he pulled you to the side, into an empty room or behind some particularly huge tree when out on a walk so you could fuck him behind it has lost count. exhibitionism seems to be one of his favorites since he loves it so much, giggling about a quickie or “i promise, i’ll be silent this time” when you both know it’s not true at all

keep his one leg up with a hand hooked under his knee, pushing his chest flush against the cold marble walls or the bark of the tree for him to cling for stability while the filthy wet smacks of your cock constantly squeezing into his tight hole fills the area. just as loud as the whimpers of your pointy eared husband, whose ears twitch and droop so cutely. who bites down onto his hands and knuckles to shut himself up to no avail, always stuttering out “r-rough..! sho rough♡︎! can’t—can’t haaagh h-hold it i-eek hiigc! c-can’t hold it in ’nymoowr♡︎” as if he wasn’t the one who asked you to pound his pathetic hole until he was seeing stars. it’s as if he doesn’t care that someone could hear or even stars forbid, see them right now! doing such a dirty and private deed out in public place, where any elf with their sharp senses could hear, see or even smell the musky scent of sex

your elf husband’s boobs always jiggle so cutely whenever you fuck him, bouncing as you thrust the strap into his soppy hole. who even has a bit of a thing for feminization, whining out how you were fucking his womb, “y-nyur human d-dick is kissingg ma-agh my cerviiixx♥︎!!”, who rubs a hand over his slightly bloated belly with a dazed look in his eyes, slurring of “… got knocked up… by a human heheeh..♡︎” as if he could get pregnant. who has the cutest shrill squeals whenever you suckle on his nipples, biting around his areola to leave a mark as he weakly slaps at your back, speaking of how fucking animalistic and bestial you are

“s-so cruel… such a vile mortal—!”

elf husband who loves loves lovessssss bondage and sensory deprivation! an absolute rope bunny, he is! choosing the most finest and softest silk in the color he likes for special days, picking up the harsh and rough material ropes for the days when he wants to feel the sting, the pain, the adventure. who is into being tortured and overstimulated, forced to cum beyond what he is used to by your rough hands or hot mouth while his words turn to incoherent babbles as he tugs uselessly against his bindings. he’s just a weak, helpless little bunny in your lair, hungry wolf! please be gentle with your sharp fangs on his tender skin and smooth planes of muscle. such a sweet, innocent bunny like him could never handle the rough mating of days and nights a hungry wolf like you have planned for him♡︎

a bit of a masochistic elf husband who loves to have his senses deprived off of him. hands tied behind him, legs tied in a spread out manner and blindfolded with a dark cloth over his eyes. leave his ears free and make him try and guess what you would do to him. snap a belt or a riding crop onto your hand and watch as he flinches, jolting in place at the sound, wondering when and where it would land on his perfect body. his thighs? arms? chest? stomach? or perhaps even his cock and you would be mean enough to make him count how many hits it takes until he is cumming untouched, soiling his stomach as his blush spread all the way to his shoulders due to the whole shame. make him ponder, make him squeal at the unexpectedness, make him cry out in surprise, make him shake in the excitement of it all. he can take whatever pain and pleasure your human hands could dish out

and when he gets too loud, just shove something into his mouth. maybe a peace of cloth or even your own undergarments, whichever fits, whichever you want. he’ll be chewing on them and wetting it with his tears and saliva by the end of it

aiya yall are corrupting me. animals animals

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning. 

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold. 

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals. 

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again. 

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching. 

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good. 

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving. 

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good. 

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself. 

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed. 

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate. 

Which led me to another question for Grace. 

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight. 

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks’ are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up. 

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.” 

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players. 

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence. 

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines. 

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.” 

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes. 

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.” 

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect. 

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing greenish blue eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

 He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway. 

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth. 

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing. 

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” 

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?” 

I wish I knew.

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[prettyangellllll]

Makeup

Summary: you want to do his makeup and he lets you under condition that you will cockwarm him

Warnings: cockwarming, implied smut, unprotected, horny rafe, needy reader,

----

The movie had been playing for the past hour, but neither of you were really paying attention. Rafe sat back against the couch, legs spread wide, lazily scrolling on his phone while you laid across his lap, staring up at the ceiling in pure boredom.

"I have an idea," you announced, shifting to sit up.

Rafe barely glanced at you. "Yeah? And what's that?"

A slow grin spread across your face as you reached for your makeup bag on the coffee table. "Let me do your makeup."

That got his attention. His brows furrowed, and he shot you a look that was equal parts disbelief and amusement. "Yeah, not happening."

You pouted. "Come on, it'd be fun!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

You huffed, but just as you were about to try again, Rafe smirked, tilting his head at you. "I'll tell you what," he said, voice dripping with amusement, "I'll let you do it… but only if you cockwarm me."

Your stomach flipped at his words. "What?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "You wanna play dress-up with me? Then you’re gonna sit on my cock and stay still while you do it .No moving. No whining. Just sitting pretty on my cock while you do my makeup.” ."

Your face burned, but the way he was watching you—like he already knew you'd say yes—had heat pooling between your thighs.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to,” he teased, his fingers gripping your chin. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

You swallowed. "Fine."

A dark chuckle left his lips as he leaned back, gesturing for you to come closer. "Atta girl."

Your hands trembled slightly as you straddled him, your fingers digging into his shoulders for support as you lifted yourself just enough to align with him. He watched you the entire time, his blue eyes dark with hunger, his grip tight on your hips. Slowly, you sank down, taking him inch by inch, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. A choked whimper slipped from your lips, but Rafe only groaned, his hands flexing against your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his head tipping back against the couch. “So fucking tight.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through the overwhelming fullness. It took a moment to adjust, your body clenching around him involuntarily. When you finally stilled, he exhaled a slow, satisfied breath. “Good girl.”

Swallowing hard, you reached for the makeup bag you had abandoned earlier, hands slightly shaky as you pulled out a foundation brush. “Okay,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “Let’s get started.”

Rafe chuckled, his hands trailing up and down your thighs, his thumbs stroking lazy circles against your skin. “Yeah, let’s see how well you can focus, sweetheart.”

Your hands shook as you dabbed the brush against his cheek, the warmth between your legs making it nearly impossible to concentrate. Every tiny movement sent a spark of pleasure through your core, making it harder and harder to focus. And Rafe? He wasn’t making things any easier. His hands never stopped moving, his grip tightening every time you tensed around him.

“So quiet now,” he mused, voice laced with amusement. “Having trouble, baby?”

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how wrecked you already were. “I’m fine.”

His smirk deepened, his fingers grazing up your spine. “Sure you are.”

He taunted, voice smooth and teasing. "You gonna be a good girl and finish? Or you gonna give up and start riding me like I know you want to?"

You glared at him, determined. "Shut up."

He chuckled, tilting his head back as he let you work, letting you try—try—to keep your composure.

With shaky hands, you picked up the eyeliner, trying to steady yourself as you leaned in closer. But the moment your chest pressed against his, he let out a deep, satisfied hum, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter. The movement sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you inhale sharply.

“Better not mess up, baby,” he taunted, his voice dripping with smugness. “I’d hate to make you start over.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to shut up, but you knew that if you opened your mouth, all that would come out was a desperate moan. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, determined to finish what you started.

By the time you were done, your legs were shaking, your breath uneven, and your core a dripping mess around him. But you had done it. His face was flawless, eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, his lips a pretty shade of red.

You bit your lip, admiring your work. "There. All done."

Rafe opened his eyes, glancing at himself in your compact mirror. He grinned. "Damn. I actually look kinda hot."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything, his hands tightened around your waist, and in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him.

"Now it's my turn to have some fun," he murmured, grinding his hips into you. "You were so good for me, princess. Time to give you what you really want.

[fakegingerrights]

Oh my stars this just unlocked a core memory

We got a bucket of them at a garage sale once. My sister and I divided them between us. We loved these stupid little toys. At the same time, we were also, the neurodivergent little shitlings we were, becoming obsessed with the idea of easter egg hunts. But without the eggs.

One at a time, we'd take the other's shopkins and hide them around the living room in as many nooks and crannies as we could find, and the other would have to find them all. You couldn't hide your own shopkins otherwise the other would steal them when they found them (we were insanely jealous of the other's collection) so you had to hide theirs. It also worked in the way that you had bonus incentive to find them all otherwise the other person got to keep the ones you didn't find.

When I say we had a lot of these things, I mean we probably had nearly a hundred each. And we played this back and forth game incessantly for almost two years. Our little brothers were too young to play and we were also obsessed with hide and seek but this was a happy medium.

Then, as children do, we got ahold of nail polish and covered all the shopkins in glow in the dark clear polish from Claires. We'd leave them in the sun all day then hide them and you had to find them before they lost their glow in a blacked out room.

We also had individual names and personalities for every single shopkin we ever owned. I have no clue what their real names were but for a solid 8 months our lives entirely revolved around this game and these toys. This is probably the longest stint in our entire lives (until I moved out of home) that me and my sister went without fighting. Everything was settled with a match. The goal was to eventually hide the other's shopkins so well they couldn't find any and you got to keep them all, thus making you the bestest in the house at hiding tiny objects in potentially hazardous locations.

Then one day we just... didn't play. I don't exactly remember what happened, and we might still have the collection somewhere (probably not, we've moved 5 times since then) but I haven't thought about that in years until I saw this post and everything hit me like a sleeper agent activation.

... I'm gonna ask my sister if she still has any. We haven't talked in a while.

DID YALL HAVE SHOPKINS OMG

[wbbpls]

My Girl

Hi! I’m totally new to this, so I’m sorry if this is all over the place. lmk if you guys like it!

—————————————————————————-

After a tough win, the team gathered in Paige’s room since she is hosting the party. Paige is talking to Ice and KK in the kitchen when Azzi walked in. Azzi is her best friend, who might also be the love of her life. Not that Azzi needs to know that. Of course she’s stunning, even in a crop top and jean shorts. The past few months they’ve been crossing the appropriate lines for friendship with lingering touches and flirty banter.

Across the room, some guy was standing way too close to Azzi. Her Azzi. Paige knows Azzi isn’t hers, but it kills her to think of Azzi with anyone else. That guy keeps leaningt in closer and closer to Azzi. Paige tried to look anywhere else, but her eyes had a mind of their own, and Azzi felt those piercing blue eyes burning into her. When Azzi looked over at Paige, she saw something in her eyes she’d never seen before.

When he put his arm on her waist, Azzi stepped backward uncomfortably. Something took over Paige’s body, and suddenly, she was next to Azzi. Her long arms slid around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in and away from that guy. “Hey Az, sorry I took so long. Here’s your drink.”

Azzi leaned into Paige’s soft yet possessive touch. “That’s okay, I was just talking to, uh, Jake, right?”

Barely acknowledging Paige, he responds, “Yeah, so how about that dance?” Is this Jake guy serious? Paige literally has her arm wrapped around Azzi and she wasn’t even sure of his name. Azzi’s whole body stiffened as she leaned further into Paige. “I’m just gonna hang out with my team, but thanks.” He didn’t seem to care. “Aw c’mon Azzi, I’ll show you a good time.”

“She’s good.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to talk to security first. If you didn’t notice, I was talking to Azzi.”

Paige stepped in front of Azzi, making sure he couldn’t touch her. “If you didn’t notice, Azzi said no. So back the fuck off my girl and get out of my apartment.” It just slipped out, but god, Paige wishes she could call Azzi her girl every day.

“Her girl? You for real, Azzi?”

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend, so maybe give it up and leave us alone.” Speechless, Jake left quickly to avoid further embarrassment.

“Your girl, huh?” Azzi says as her hands rub up Paige’s biceps.

Paige wrapped her arms entirely around Azzi’s waist as if she’d done it every day of her life. Thankfully, the lights are low, hopefully blocking her blush. “Well, hopefully not his girl.”

“Yeah, definitely not looking to be his girl.”

“You lookin to be someone’s girl?” Paige’s eyes drifted down to Azzi’s lips, moving her hand to rest on her lower back. Azzi bites her lip, “Hm, no longer looking, just waiting for her to get it together.” Paige suddenly couldn’t breathe. Does that mean what she thinks it means? They always avoid these conversations, but the liquid courage is pushing boundaries. Paige can’t say that she’s in love with her. She can’t ruin their friendship and everything they’ve built, but she can’t stop touching Azzi either. “Uh, do you want to go dance?”

“Yeah, P, let’s go dance.” Azzi drops her hands down to Paige’s, and Paige starts to think maybe Azzi doesn’t want to stop touching either. The music feels like an excuse to be way closer than friends should, but it all happens so naturally. When Azzi starts to move her hips into Paige slowly, her breath hitches, and she grabs Azzi even tighter. Paige knows there’s no way they can use being best friends as an excuse anymore. She knows their teammates will tease her about this tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter because she has Azzi in her arms. As the beat speeds up, so do their hips as they grind into each other. A soft whimper leaves Azzi's mouth and Paige can’t help herself, “Fuck Az you’re so hot”

They are now face to face, their lips just an inch apart, and Azzi’s hands are in blonde strands. With a mischievous smirk, Azzi says “Yeah? You think so?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then show me.” Paige has never moved so fast in her life. She drags Azzi through the crowd and to her room. Slamming the door shut, Paige shoves Azzi against the wall with one hand on her waist and the other leaning above her head. “Say it again.”

Looking up at Paige with hooded eyes, Azzi practically whispers to Paige, “Show me.”

Paige leans in, their lips brushing, but not fully touching. “You sure, Az?” There’s no going back after this and Paige is praying they never have to.

“Paige, please. I want to be yours.” Something broke inside Paige, and she kissed her like her life depended on it. She’s dreamed of kissing her a million times over, but this kiss is better than she could have ever imagined. Azzi slightly opened her lips, inviting Paige’s tongue. Their kiss progressively got more passionate. Paige began to kiss down Azzi’s cheek to her neck, sucking and biting just to get Azzi to whimper.

“You wanna be mine, huh?” Paige chuckles and says possesivley as she leaves marks down her neck. Letting out a moan at the words, Azzi grips at the hair on the back of Paige’s neck, “Yes, fuck, P, you feel so good.” Paige slips one of her legs between Azzi’s and moves her hand just under Azzi’s breast. “Tell me what you want.”

Pulling Paige’s head back up to her face, Azzi breathes heavily, “I want to be yours, Paige.” Staring into her eyes, Paige finally says it. “You’re mine, Azzi.” Paige pulls at the back of Azzi’s legs, hinting for her to jump into Paige’s arms. Paige picks Azzi up and shoves her hard against the wall, kissing her even harder. Azzi leans her head back, “Mmh, I want you so bad.” Paige takes this as an opportunity to suck at her neck and grind into her hard. The moan that they both release is borderline embarrassing. Their lips reconnect, and Paige walks them over to her bed. “Fuck Az, you look so good,” she says as she straddles Azzi.

They both start pulling off each other’s clothes and grinding into each other. Paige’s hands are hovering dangerously above Azzi’s jean shorts. “Can I?” Azzi nods her head and pushes Paige’s hand down further. Paige fumbles with the button to her jeans as she kisses down her chest. She slips a finger down to rub at her clit. “Fuck, baby please.”

Paige isn’t sure if it’s the term of endearment or the begging, but she knows she’ll do anything Azzi wants. “Tell me who you belong to.” Paige slips two fingers deep into Azzi.

Azzi is a whimpering mess, with her eyes shut, gripping onto the sheets. Paige loves that she can’t speak, but she needs to hear Azzi say it. “Tell me, mama. Who do you belong to?”

“Yours, I’m yours, Paige, fuck!” Azzi yells out as Paige thrusts deeper into her.

“You’re so fuckin sexy, ma. You’re all mine.” Paige can feel Azzi getting tighter. “Your pussy that wet for me, baby?”

Azzi’s eyes are rolling into the back of her head as she grips onto Paige’s shoulder like her life depends on it. “I’m so close, don’t stop.”

Paige laughs at the idea, like she’d ever stop. “C’mon Az, when have I ever done you like that.“

“Paige I love you but shut up and fuck me” Azzi says breathlessly. Did she mean that or was it just in the moment of a fucked out haze? Paige slowed for a moment but knew she couldn’t stop now. She started to rub Azzi’s clit until her legs were shaking. Azzi came screaming her name as Paige continued to finger her guiding her off her high. Out of breathe, Azzi pushed Paige’s fingers away and pulled her up. Paige is trying to act normal about all of this, but Azzi just said she loved her.

Azzi must have noticed Paige’s hesitation, “What’s wrong, P?”

“You love me?” Even to Paige’s ears she could hear the insecurity. Azzi’s face softened as she rubbed across Paige’s jaw. “Of course I love you. I always have. I just have been too scared to push things and risk losing you.”

Paige starts laughing leaving Azzi confused. “Uh, what’s so funny about that?”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin in love with you and we are so dumb.” Azzi smiles, showing those beautiful dimples. “I guess we deserve each other, hm? Maybe now I can return the favor and show you how much I love you.”

Paige can’t believe this is real. Azzi is her girl.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Sera, high radiant seraphim

I wanted angels to look more human. The whole "biblically accurate angels" thing is not quite as biblically accurate as you probably think.

More under the cut

This gets into some theology. So, I wanted heaven to be more human, since God created man in his own image, and it works best with the lore I am building. It just gives a more heavenly vibe when the angels aren't some creature-things. I want heaven to feel heavenly, okay?

Clothes: I changed her outfit, because the canon one is a bit too complicated and I didn't understand the construction of it. So I did something that's easier for me to understand. It's overall more animation friendly, and that pleases me.

Halo: I have specific ideas about halos. They denote the type and rank of angel they are. Seraphim have two silver ring halos. I haven't decided if I want to make her one of the Seven Heavenly Virtues (the Elder Seraphim) or just the head of the Radiant Seraphim(the broader rank of seraphim). Either could work. But if she's a virtue, I'd need to make a small change to her halo, as per my own lore rules.

Wings: I've decided to give seraphim wings with three sets(six total) of primary feathers, instead of six entirely separate wings. Mostly because I do not want to draw that many wings nor figure out the anatomy of it. It mimics the six-winged look while being easier for me to wrap my head around and draw. I also just like the look better.

They can also be summoned and dismissed at will, because I don't want to have to draw them all the time. It's a cop out, but I will do it.

--Biblically Accurate Angels--

"Biblically accurate" is not quite what most people think. Y'all are like, "biblically accurate angels are crazy looking eyeball and wing monstrosities, no wonder people were scared!" But that's literally not what the bible says.

Angel means "messenger", and they often appear as regular-looking people. Sometimes they have a "countenance of lightning" and "raiment white as snow". Jesus was once described(post-resurrection) as having feet of molten bronze(the molten part is the key: it's literally white-hot, not brown) and hair as wool(specifically referring to the color, not texture, and the commonly associated color is white). These are descriptions of glowing.

The crazier depictions tend to happen in visions or dreams, too. It's likely they were symbolic descriptions rather than literal. That the individual components had a cultural connotation that implied something about them. Many eyes symbolized constant watchfulness, for example. I mean, we sometimes describe an angry person as having fire in their eyes or steam coming out their ears, and that's not literal. We describe a sly person as a snake or a fox, but it's not literal. The book of Revelations and the Old Testament, in particular, use imagery, symbolism, and metaphors A LOT. And things get a little muddy when carried between language, culture, and time. Translation, localization, and modernization are tricky processes.

--Seraphim-- <-Link to some helpful info about this topic, if you're interested in that type of thing.

"Seraph" is a back-formation. It's a singular form of a pre-existing plural word. Seraphim is the plural form. I will probably use seraphs and seraphim interchangeably, so just don't worry about that.

The Hebrew root word "sarap" means something along the lines of "burning". It was often used to refer to snakes (possibly because the venom causes a burning sensation, or maybe as a metaphor for purification). It is only used once to describe a heavenly being, in the book of Isaiah. Every other time, it is translated as "burning ones" or "fiery flying serpent". In Egypt and other surrounding cultures, cobras would be used to symbolize divinity, sovereignty, and royalty. The Hebrews probably adopted the imagery. The seraphim described in the Bible might not even refer to what we typically imagine to be angels.

Long story short; seraphim means fiery flying serpents and symbolize divinity and/or purification.

--Cherubim-- <-Link to more cool info!

While I'm on the topic of the etymology of angels, I might as well address cherubs. Cherubim is the proper plural form, but I will probably use cherubs and cherubim interchangeably as well. Just roll with it, it's fine.

The youthful child depiction possibly comes from some rabbinic folk lore that claims the word is related to the Aramaic term for "like a child" or "youthful", but I'm not sure if that's true.

What I'm seeing most consistently is that they're implied to have wings. It seems commonly accepted that it comes from an Akkadian word meaning, "to bless". One source claims it means "hybrid" or "mount, steed" and refers to winged beasts that the Canaanite sky god would ride. Which would align with the depictions of cherubim as tetrads(a hybrid of four creatures), and/or the use of it as some sort of divine flying chariot.

There are a lot of theories, but nothing concrete. It gets very unclear and I'm not an expert. But I'm incorporating a variety of ideas into my lore, and I think I'm doing good with balancing them.

--

In the end, I'm using the terms seraphim and cherubim to describe ranks of angels, because it's what works best with our current understanding of the words. I'm not going to include the other traditional classes of angels like dominions, thrones, etc, because it's overly complicated, and not actually biblical. I don't want to waste brain power on that. Also, the Bible doesn't actually describe the hierarchy of angels at all. It's not even clear if seraphim and cherubim are supposed to be considered angels.

[ohbo-ohno]

wip wednesday? gaz x reader, cw for mourning a spouse

Here are all the things you know about Kyle’s disappearance:

1: It happened early in his deployment. He’d hardly been gone for three weeks when you got the message. It came in the middle of the workday, and you’d called out sick for the next week, hadn’t bothered showing up for another two after that. John Price’s voice haunts your nightmares these days, his low rumble and we offer our deepest condolences, Mrs. Garrick playing on repeat as you hug Kyle’s pillow close and sob.

2: He’s not the only one missing. His entire ship disappeared, and all its sailors went with it. Kyle was the highest ranking man on board, apparently, and only one of the other sailors was married. His wife tried to reach out to you a few times, but you hadn’t had the energy to even attempt holding a conversation at the time.

3: He’s not dead. Or at least, there’s no body for them to bury. The distinction between KIA and MIA isn’t lost on you. (You think this is what you mean when they say it’s the hope that kills you as you’re stuck firmly and permanently in the denial phase in the months following his disappearance.)

4: There’s no attempt being made to find a body. And oh, how you had railed against John Price for that. You’d screamed yourself hoarse into your phone, then become nearly incoherent with sobs as you begged him to find your Kyle, to bring him home. He had denied you, said he couldn’t get approval from his own superiors, said I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Garrick, I swear to you I tried my best, we all miss him, too. You’d hung up on him and thrown your phone to the floor, inconsolable. You’re not sure if he ever called back, since you blocked his number.

5: It has been thirteen months since you first got the call. Had Kyle not gone missing, you’d have already picked him up at the airport and made him his favorite meal, called out of work to spend days in bed with him, maybe even booked reservations at that fancy restaurant he always talks about wanting to try someday. Instead you’re telling yourself that it’s pointless to learn how to make meals for one, just in case someday you wake up to find that this has all been a terrible nightmare.

It’s not enough. Endless questions haunt your every thought, keep you awake at night. You think that this hellish unknowing is the worst thing you could ever experience, that it’s keeping you in a sort of limbo that you can never escape. 

The idea that he suffered, that he was in pain before his death – or somehow almost worse, that he’s not dead at all. That he’s crashlanded on some sandbank, starving and sunburned, a real-life Chuck Noland with no one even bothering to look for him anymore. 

Every moment spent not thinking about him, not remembering him, feels like a betrayal, like a dismissal of the trauma you’ve imagined him experiencing.

[morgangilloryy]

Tidbit Tuesday

Hey hey!I haven't worked on my 'Tommy-Maddie-Karen shenanigans' fic in a couple of days but I have 3500-ish words written for it and I thought I would post a snippet. I really don't know how long it will be, but I might have it up this weekend.

It's kinda long but I really like this part.

“This is my husband, Tommy,” Evan says, tossing an arm over Tommy’s shoulders and pressing a mayo filled kiss to Tommy’s cheek. Tommy rolls his eyes with a smile and wipes it off.

“Nice to meet you,” Lance says with a laugh. “He talks about you so much, I feel like I know you already.”

Tommy looks at Evan, who’s been drawn into an argument with Eddie about something or other, Tommy’s not really following. What he does see is Evan’s left hand on the table, the black silicone ring on his finger and it makes his heart flutter every time he sees either wedding ring on Evan's finger.

“He’s my biggest fan,” Tommy jokes but Lance looks entirely serious when he says,

“He really is.”

Dinner is just what Tommy needed and when Evan walks him to his truck later, he wraps his arms around Tommy’s waist. “So, not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with dinner?”

Tommy tries to look innocent. “I missed you?”

Evan laughs. “I believe that. But I don’t think that’s all there is to it.”

“You know me too well,” Tommy laments. “I just had a weird interaction that threw me off.”

Evan frowns. “What kind of interaction?”

Tommy tells him what happened with Shirley Barnes and Evan’s frown deepens.

“She sounds like a homophobic busy-body,” Evan says, making Tommy laugh.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “But it was like a quiet homophobia, the kind when someone doesn’t even realize they’re doing it. Plus, I think she is going to cause trouble with my whole deck idea.”

Evan tilts his head. “I can do some research during downtimes? Maybe there’s some sort of policy or something against house additions? I’ve heard that’s a thing.”

“It is,” Tommy admits. “It’s just never been an issue before. You’re better with research than I am so, yeah, if you want to do some looking into it, that’d be great.”

Evan considers him carefully. “This deck is important to you, I know. Why?”

Tommy feels himself fidget under his husband’s attention, which he knows is only going to confirm Evan’s suspicions. “Maddie went with me to Home Depot today. I told her that I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Me neither,” Evan says quietly. “I almost lost you.”

“I know,” Tommy says with a slow exhale. “And I just...yes, I want the distraction from that, but I also want to continue living my life. We’ve been talking about putting a deck on the house for forever and we just haven’t had time to do anything about it.”

“Hmm,” Evan says. “You don’t want to waste time.”

Tommy kisses him gently. “Not with you and our life together.”

“So,” Evan says slowly. “You building a deck onto our house is also a metaphor for living life at it’s fullest after a near death experience?”

Tommy thinks about that. “That...sounds about right actually,” Tommy confirms. “Yeah.”

Evan laughs. “And people think I’m the dramatic one.”

np pressure tags: @desert--moonchild, @cjlouwho, @mmso-notlikethat, @tiltingheartand @harmless-variety-of-garden-snake