#i need everyone to read this you have no idea

[libraford]

A local organization here has released a list of books that they feel are imperative to have in the time ahead. The list was not easily shareable, so I copy-pasted it here.

There is no need to read all of these, but one thing you can do that takes little effort is call your library and see if they have them in stock.

If you are moneyed, you can buy some copies and put them in little free libraries.

EDUCATING FOR ADVOCACY BOOK LIST

All books are written by authors from that culture

BOOKS FOR ADULTS

(2024) Be a Revolution: How Everyday People are Fighting Oppression and Changing the World - and How You Can, Too by Ijeoma Oluo

Each chapter discusses how someone is advocating for oppressed populations

and has examples of how others can do the same or similar.

(2024) The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates

The author travels to Senegal, South Carolina and Palestine and grapples with deep questions and emotions.

(2023) Better Living Through Birding: Notes From a Black Man in the Natural World by Christian Cooper

A memoir of a Black man learning to claim space for himself and others like him.

(2022) Myth America: Historians Take On the Biggest Legends and Lies about Our Past Edited by Kevin M. Kruse and Julian E. Zelizer

The title explains it so well.

(2022) South to America: A Journey Below the Mason Dixon to Understand the Soul of a Nation by Imani Perry

History, rituals, and landscapes of the American South and why they must be understand it in order to understand America.

(2022) Memphis by Tara M. Stringfellow

Tells the story of 3 generations of a Southern Black family in Memphis.

(2021) How the Word is Passed: A Reckoning with the History of Slavery Across America by Clint Smith

An exploration of important monuments and landmarks in the USA that show

how slavery has been foundational in the development and history of our country.

(2021) The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together by Heather McGhee

The title explains it.

(2021) The Seed Keeper by Diane Wilson

Historical fiction telling the story of several generations of a Dakota family

(2020) The Good Immigrant: 26 Writers Reflect on America edited by Nikesh Shukla and Chimene Suleyman

26 authors share their stories of living in the USA.

(2020) Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson

Examines the unspoken caste system that has shaped America and shows how we continue to be defined in this way..

(2020) This Is What America Looks Like: My Journey from Refugee to Congresswoman

by Ilhan Omar

This title explains it.

(2019) The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story by Nikole Hannah Jones (among others)

Reframes our understanding of American history by placing slavery and its continuing legacy at the center of our national narrative.

(2019) Things are Good Now by Djamila Ibrahim

Stories of how migrants sort out their lives in foreign lands.

(2018) So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo

An examination of race in America.

(2018) I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown

A memoir telling her journey of learning to love her blackness while navigating America's racial divide.

(2018) If They Come for Us by Fatimah Asghar

Poetry that captures the experience of being a Pakistani Muslim woman in contemporary America, while exploring identity, violence, and healing.

(2016) Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi

Traces the history of Black America.

(2015) Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

A memoir, in the form of a letter to his young son, telling his personal experiences with racism and violence in the United States.

(2015) My Seneca Village by Marilyn Nelson

Poetry and information about Seneca Village – a multi-racial, multi-ethnic neighborhood in the center of Manhattan (Central Park ) that thrived in the mid-19th century.

(2014) An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

Tells the 400+ years of US history, from the perspective of Indigenous peoples

(2013) Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Explores the place of plants and botany in both Indigenous and Western life.

(2010) The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration by Isabel Wilkerson

Follows the stories of three Black Americans’ migration journeys from Mississippi, Florida and Louisiana.

(2010) The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness

By Michelle Alexander

Explains how we haven’t ended, but have redesigned, the caste system in the U.S.

(1972) Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions by John (Fire) Lame Deer and Richard Erdoes

Told by Lame Deer, a Lakota medicine man, this memoir teaches the history of Indigenous people in the USA.

BOOKS FOR GRADES K-12

GRADES 7 - 12

(2021) Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley

The novel's main character is a young woman with a French mother and an Ojibwe father, who often feels torn between cultures.

(2021) The 1619 Project: Born on the Water by Nikole Hannah-Jones and Renée Watson

Illustrated by Nikkolas Smith

Tells the story and consequences of American slavery in verse.

(2020) Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi

Shorter and appropriate for middle and high schoolers.

(2020) All Boys Aren’t Blue by George M. Johnson

Series of personal essays about the author’s life growing up as a gay, black man.

(2020) Dictionary for a Better World: Poems, Quotes, and Anecdotes from A to Z by Irene Latham and Charles Waters Illustrated by Mehrdokt Amini

Explained in title.

(2020) Woke: A Young Poet’s Call to Justice by Mahogany L. Browne with Elizabeth Acevedo and Olivia Gatewood Illustrated by Theodore Taylor III

Poetry about fighting for racial justice through joy and passion.

(2020) Be Amazing: A History of Pride by Desmond Is Amazing Illustrated by Dylan Glynn

The history of Pride, with bold illustrations, focusing on the importance of embracing one’s own uniqueness and tuning out the haters.

(2020) Dear Justyce (Dear Martin #2) by Nic Stone

Continues the story of Justyce from Dear Martin in a series of flashbacks and letters.

(2020) Punching the Air by Ibi Zoboi and Yusef Salaam

A novel in verse about a boy who is wrongfully incarcerated.

(2019) Gender Queer: A Memoir by Maia Kobab

The author tells the story of life as a nonbinary person in graphic novel form.

(2019) An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States for Young People original book by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz adapted by Debbie Rees and Jean Mendoza

Shorter and appropriate for middle and high schoolers

(2017) Sea Prayer by Khalad Hosseini Illustrated by Dan Williams

Written as a poetic letter, from father to son, this is a story of the journey of refugees.

(2017) Dear Martin (Dear Martin #1) by Nic Stone

A story of the realities of a Black teen living in America.

(2015) All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely

From the perspective of two teenage boys, one Black and one White, a story is told with the realization that racism and prejudice are still alive and well.

(2015) Beyond Magenta: Transgender and Nonbinary Teens Speak Out by Susan Kuklin

The author interviewed six transgender for gender-neutral young adults and lets

them tell their story.

(2011) Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans written and illustrated by Kadir Nelson

The title explains it well

GRADES 4 - 6

(2023) An American Story by Kwame Alexander illustrated by Dare Coulter

Tells the story, poetically and honestly, about American slavery

(2023) Step by Step!: How the Lincoln School Marchers Blazed a Trail to Justice

by Debbie Rigaud and Carlotta Penn illustrated by Nysha Pierce

Tells the story of a group of Black mothers and children and their two-year march to integrate an Ohio elementary school.

(2022) Say Their Names by Caroline Brewer illustrated by Adrian Brandon

A young Black girl leads a #BlackLivesMatter protest march.

(2021) Stamped (For Kids): Racism, Antiracism, and You by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi.

Shorter, more kid friendly version of Stamped from the Beginning.

(2021) Unspeakable: The Tulsa Race Massacre by Carole Boston Weatherford illustrated by Floyd Cooper

Traces the history of this African-American ‘Wall Street District’ and its destruction by White supremacists.

(2016). I Dissent: Ruth Bader Ginsburg Makes Her Mark by Debbie Levy illustrated by Elizabeth Baddeley

The life and work of RBG told in picture book form.

(2008) Silent Music: A Story of Baghdad written and illustrated by James Rumford

Ancient and recent history of Baghdad from the perspective of a young boy.

(2005) Show Way by Jacqueline Woodson illustrated by Hudson Talbott

Traces the history of the ‘show way’ quilt from slavery through freedom.

(2005) My Name is Bilal by Asma Mobin-Uddin illustrated by Barbara Kiwak

Muslim-American student experiencing religious prejudice.

(2005). Amelia to Zora: Twenty-Six Women Who Changed the World by Cynthia Chin-Lee Ilustrated by Megan Halsey and Sean Addy

An alphabet book that teaches about the extraordinary lives of 26 women.

(1978). The Other Way to Listen by Byrd Baylor and Peter Parnall

Helps children learn about indigenous cultures.

GRADES PRE-K - 3

(2023) These Olive Trees: A Palestinian Family’s Story written and illustrated by Aya Ghanameh

A story of a young girl and her family in Nablus, Palestine, 1967

(2020). Antiracist Baby by Ibram X. Kendi illustrated by Ashley Lukashvsky

Teaches young children how to be an antiracist.

(2016). When We Were Alone by David A. Robertson and Julie Flett

A young, indigenous girl learns about her grandmother’s experience in a

residential school.

(2013). A is for Activist by Innosanto Nagara (board book)

An ABC book that teaches children about being an activist.

[levanterhaze]

GAMEBOY — BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader this one is just pure angst and drama, no smut, just teasing each other like two idiots.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[ 5.7k words ]♡― i had to continue this fic in a 2nd part, i felt necessary. maybe i'll continue it in a few more chapters (PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME) and thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has commented and appreciated this piece. it means a lot to a person who is non-native english wrt. without further ado, have a good read, loves!

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one]

you’re so indecisive of what I’m saying tryna catch the beat, make up your heart don't know if you're happy or complaining don't want for us to end, where do I start?

The pounding in your head was a testament to last night’s choices. Aspirin was non-negotiable. You could hear Eunji and Sohee's voices from the living room and were surprised that both of them were already awake after their all-nighter.

After leaving the room with Bangchan—because, of course, that happened—you ducked into the bathroom, shot off a text about vomiting and existential regret, and decided to make a graceful exit. Well, as graceful as one could manage after wild sex with the person you’d sworn to hate forever. Pride was nowhere in the equation, but who cared?

As soon as your eyes saw daylight, Eunji and Sohee looked at you judgmentally. You froze in your tracks, still wearing pink Hello Kitty jammies like a monument to your shame. Their judgment was immediate, sharp as a blade. Your heart sped up.

“You’re alive,” Sohee deadpanned, taking a bite of a cinnamon roll. “And looking like shit.”

“Appreciate it,” you shot back, throwing yourself into a chair. “Really warms the soul.”

Eunji’s smoothie slurp was unnecessarily loud, drilling straight into your skull. “We thought about waking you for breakfast but figured you’d need the recovery time.”

You dismissed the idea with a hand wave. "That's okay. Wouldn’t have gotten up anyway.”

"We can have lunch together, if you like. I really need a detox after last night." Sohee curled her lips into a grimace and you almost smiled. Detox advice from Sohee was peak irony.

But then Eunji, ever the chaos-bringer, dropped the bomb. “Oh my God, you guys, I heard the craziest thing last night! Jiwoon—my lit classmate—said he walked in on someone having super loud sex at the party. Guess who it was? Bangchan!”

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

Silence remained and Sohee raised her eyebrows at Eunji.

“Apparently, the guy is a structural hazard,” Sohee chimed in, amused. “Minho said he once broke a floorboard. Who even does that?” Your red-haired friend says giggling.

Eunji giggled. “The girl’s lucky. If Bangchan wrecked me, I’d consider it an honor.”

You summoned your most convincing disdain, rolling your eyes with the energy of someone deeply unimpressed. “Honestly, can we not make him sound like some sort of deity?”

But guilt clung to you like a second skin, mingling with vivid flashes of last night—the furniture banging against the wall, Bangchan’s muscles taut as he tried to steady it. The memory burned, searing and humiliating, until Eunji’s voice yanked you back to reality.

The memory faded like mist when Eunji said it again. "Anyway, the girl’s lucky. I wish I was knocked down by Bangchan."

Lucky. That’s what they’d call you if they knew. Lucky—and a traitor to everything you’d loudly professed about hating him. They didn’t know it was you, and you intended to keep it that way.

From the tone of the chat, Jiwoon didn't see who was in the room with Bangchan, which means he didn't know you were the girl. Trying to ignore the talking and the sweat growing on your hands, you got up and declared that you were going to take a shower and maybe run some laps around the athletics track, because you really needed some fresh air.

The dorm felt claustrophobic. Eunji and Sohee were your best friends and you felt awful for not telling them the truth.

These were your best friends, but the truth felt like a grenade you couldn’t risk dropping. For months, you’d built your personality around despising Bangchan, and now? One night had unraveled it all.

Worst of all? You couldn’t stop replaying every second of it—and how much you’d loved it.

Sex had always been an exercise in mediocrity. Your exes? Predictably average, hitting the bare minimum on their way to their own finish line. As for finding the clitoris? Let’s just say they navigated like someone using a map upside down—an unsurprising disappointment every single time.

Now, though, Bangchan was something else entirely. A campus legend with a reputation as vast as it was unshakable. Everyone knew about his conquests—more women than you had fingers to count. Every rumor you’d rolled your eyes at turned out to be painfully, thrillingly true. He was better than anything you could have imagined.

Even after a long shower, his touch lingered, like phantom fingerprints etched into your skin. You could still feel him, every moment replaying in a maddening loop. No one had ever made you come twice in one night. No one. That fact alone made him unforgettable—and insufferably smug, no doubt.

Pulling on comfortable clothes, you grabbed a bag, stuffed in some essentials, and checked your phone. The group chat was overflowing with photos and messages from last night’s chaos, but you scrolled past all of it. There was only one person you needed right now.

You: Up for a morning run?

The reply came in under two minutes.

Hyunjin: It’s two in the afternoon. You: Morning for me. Hyunjin: Fine. Be there in five.

You tossed your phone into your bag and took a deep breath. A run was exactly what you needed—to burn off this restless energy and, hopefully, forget how guilty you felt.

You found Hyunjin on the running track near the outdoor field, surrounded by lush greenery and bursts of flowers the campus meticulously maintained. He looked effortlessly good, of course—baggy clothes hanging just right, dark hair falling over his face like it had been styled by the gods.

You started running side by side, silence settling between you. It was comfortable but heavy, like a bubble that needed popping. The kiss was the unspoken elephant on the track, but Hyunjin, ever observant, didn’t push. Not yet.

The day was crisp, the kind of weather that made you feel invincible. You poured your focus into your pace, and before you knew it, you’d pulled ahead. “Okay, okay—hold up,” Hyunjin called, his voice carrying just enough humor to make you smirk.

You stopped a few strides ahead, spinning on your heel to face him. He sauntered toward you, not even winded, like running was merely a mild inconvenience.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, his tone playful but probing.

“There’s nothing to tell,” you countered, already feeling your resolve falter.

“Uh-huh.” He stopped in front of you, his gaze narrowing. “Then why, exactly, did you ask me to kiss you last night?”

Well. There it was. No escaping now.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool as you grabbed the water bottle from your bag. “I was... needy, I guess.”

Hyunjin raised a brow, crossing his arms like he wasn’t buying it. “Needy, huh?”

“Look,” you said, exhaling sharply, “I’m sorry if it made things weird. You’re my best friend, and the last thing I want is for that to get messed up.”

“Relax,” he said, grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. “A kiss isn’t going to scare me off. You’re stuck with me.”

His easy laugh melted some of your tension, but before you could respond, he clapped his hands together with mock seriousness. “Tell you what—first one to the other side of campus owes the winner a banana milk.”

The sudden challenge caught you off guard, and you raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, already turning on his heel to start jogging backward. “Unless you’re too scared.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you bolted after him. “You’re so on.”

You lost the run, but of course, Hyunjin still paid for the drink. That summed him up as a friend.

After he dashed off to rehearse with Felix—because apparently, everyone else was rehearsing but you—a thought hit you like a lightbulb flickering to life. Rumors? Easy to spread. But if you wanted to get ahead of them, you had to go straight to the source.

With a mission in mind, you swaggered toward the gym where the basketball team was practicing. It wasn’t exactly classified info—every girl on campus could probably tell you when and where their training sessions were. You zipped your jacket up to your chin like it was some sort of emotional armor, grabbed your water bottle for moral support, and marched down the corridors. The door to the gym was already cracked open, and as you pushed it, everything seemed to slow down in the most dramatic way.

The guys were running drills, their shoes squeaking on the court like a broken record. The noise grated on your nerves, but you weren’t here for the sound; you were here for the spectacle. The stands were dotted with girls, some wrapped up in their player-boyfriend fantasies, while others... Well, who knows what they were thinking. You didn’t care. You had your eyes on the real prize today.

There he was, standing out like a sore thumb. His black and white uniform somehow looked too good on him. Focus, girl. You hid behind the staircase, crouched like a sneaky little spy, waiting for the game to wrap up.

It took nearly ten minutes, but eventually, the whistle blew. You adjusted your posture, trying to act casual, though you were definitely still paying attention to how the sweat trickled down Bangchan's forehead. It brought you war flashbacks. When the players scattered to grab towels and water, you took your cue to appear from behind the bleachers, giving a quick, awkward wave before ducking back again.

Bangchan's eyes scanned the area, and when they landed on you, his brows shot up in surprise.  In the meantime, he did the inevitable: he took off his shirt and used it to get dry. Great. Just great.

"Did you come to watch?" He smirked, that cocky grin of his. "Didn't know you were into basketball."

You rolled your eyes. His ability to flirt in every situation was almost impressive.

"Ha-ha. No." You sucked in a breath, desperately trying to obey your brain's commands. Don't look down. Don’t you dare look down. "Actually, I came to ask for a favor."

He leaned against the wall, eyebrow quirked, looking amused. "Okay...?"

“Right. I want what happened yesterday to stay a secret.”

Bangchan's eyebrow arched higher, an expression of entertained disbelief crossing his face. He crossed his arms, flexing those muscles in a way that made the mission of not looking at them impossible.

“'You think I'm going around saying we fucked?"

You roll your eyes, frustration building up, and clench your hand into a fist. Sure, say it louder, let the world know.

“Isn't that exactly what you do? Brag about your sexual life?”

The boy nodded, puffing out his chest, he shot back. "Ever heard me brag about it?"

“I don't need to hear it from you. The campus does it for you.” It was infuriating how this worked out. Everyone thought Bangchan was the type of guy, praising his victories and glorifying him every time he got between some girl's pants. 

Meanwhile, girls were severely censured for even kissing a guy at a party.

"Right. So you're just going off what people say about me?" His tone was challenging, like he couldn’t care less.

In a long drawn-out sigh, you fidgeted with your hands, intending to put the matter to one side. "Can you just keep this between us? I don't want anyone to know."

"Whatever, it's no big deal," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "If it's that important to you."

The words stung more than they should have. It wasn’t just the lack of care, it was the way he made it sound like it didn’t matter. No big deal. It hurt your pride, even if you didn’t mean it to. But that was Bangchan, wasn’t it? Haughty and self-righteous. Yeah, he was great in bed, but his attitude? Utterly shitty.

“Thanks.” You said it briefly, biting down your pride and leaving the scene as fast as you could. Speaking to him seemed like a fool's errand, but you couldn't risk it.

Behind you, Bangchan pursed his lips into a thin line, watching you go. To him, you were hopeless—always on guard, never letting your walls down. He knew he was right, even if it was a thin line. Sure, it was fun to rile you up, but it was maddening that you hated him for things he hadn’t even done.

Getting you to change your mind, though? That was the challenge. But if that’s what it took, he was more than willing to play the long game.

Early next week. Only Tuesday, and auditions loomed just a day away. You’d been agonizing over the perfect solo—one that wouldn’t just get you a role but the role. Monday was a blur of brainstorming with Hyunjin and Seungmin, your trusted theater comrades. Between swapping notes, debating song choices, and plenty of eye rolls, you managed to help each other refine your audition pieces. It was productive. Chaotic, but productive.

Your last hour of the day belonged to the theater, and it was sacred. The stage wasn’t just a place; it was a state of mind. The second the music hit, the world faded. Bills, homework, exes who ghosted you—it all melted away. Up there, you weren’t just alive; you were electric. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was instinct.

Your mom used to say you were born for the stage. She loved telling the story of how, as a kid, you’d belt out The Little Mermaid soundtrack so often the neighbors probably debated filing a noise complaint. Singing “Part of Your World” at the top of your lungs? A daily ritual. But the first time you sang for real—no plastic microphone, no stuffed animal audience—it clicked.

This was more than a passion. It was home.

Since high school, your hunger for the stage—and the spotlight—was insatiable. If there was a club, you wanted in. University was no different. People noticed you, not just for your knack for hitting sharp, glass-shattering high notes, but for your versatility. You could slip from sweet soprano to soulful belter faster than a drama major running late to class. On stage, you were magnetic.

Everyone gathered on stage, and Mrs. Baek appeared a few moments later with her round glasses and wavy hair around her face. Her figure was solid and powerful, as was her voice and knowledge.

But today, something was off. The crease on her forehead gave her away before she said a word. It was like a ripple of unease spread across the stage, and you didn’t miss a beat. You were already bracing for the bad news.

Then, a slim figure in a long skirt and boots strode into the center of the circle, sighing like she’d just carried the weight of the world—and maybe she had. “Okay, kids. Listen up.” Every pair of eyes locked onto her as if she were delivering the prophecy of doom. “We’re postponing the auditions. Indefinitely.”

Her announcement hit like a gut punch, and the stage erupted into chaos. Whispers turned to complaints, and complaints turned to full-blown outrage. Seungmin cast a skeptical glance at Mrs. Baek, then at you and Hyunjin, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

What the hell was going on?

“All right, settle down,” Mrs. Baek said, slipping her glasses off and pinching the bridge of her nose with that practiced mix of authority and exhaustion only she could pull off. “Jun-ho, our sound engineer, has officially dropped out of college. And to make matters worse, the university has decided to cut funding for the theater department in favor of... sports.”

“You're shitting me.” Nahee’s voice sliced through the commotion like a whip. She quickly caught herself, mumbling, “Sorry... but seriously—”

“That’s so unfair!” another voice chimed in from the back, frustration rippling through the group like a shockwave. “Basketball and soccer aren’t the only things this university has going for it.”

“I get it, kids. Believe me, I tried.” Mrs. Baek’s tone softened, but her words were anything but comforting. “I went to the administration, pleaded our case... But unless we can find enough volunteers and funding, I’m afraid auditions are canceled. Indefinitely.”

It felt like a cruel joke. The theater had always been your sanctuary, the one place where you could shed your armor and just be. And now? It was slipping through your fingers.

When Mrs. Baek dismissed the group, some students stormed out in anger, others lingered, trying to process what had just happened. For you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin, the next logical step was the canteen. Food couldn’t fix this, but it was something.

“This is absurd. Now we're all supposed to close our eyes and applaud this nonsense?” Seungmin boomed as the three of you walked to the canteen. It was packed every day, regardless of the time of the day.

At a table outside, you spotted Sohee and Minho. Eunji, Changbin, Felix and Bangchan.

Just when you thought your day couldn't get any worse...

“Tell me about it, I'm so pissed off!” Everyone looked at you, hearing loud and clear about your discontent. All three of you pulled up a chair and you sat down facing Changbin.

“Someone's jumpy.” Sohee leaned across the table. “What's wrong? You three look like shit.”

“It turns out the university cut the theater’s funding in favor of sports.” Your voice was sharp, and your glare shot directly at Bangchan, who was busy texting like the world wasn’t crumbling around him. He looked up, one eyebrow raised in confusion, as if you’d just accused him of single-handedly ruining the arts.

You looked away, rage bubbling in your veins.

“That sucks.” Felix shot back with a supportive smile. “I know how important the theater is to you guys.”

“Everyone’s been working so hard,” Seungmin muttered, sinking into his chair like the weight of the news had finally crushed him. “It’s just... unfair.”

A heavy silence settled over the table, broken only by the sound of Bangchan’s nails tapping on his phone screen. You glanced his way, the sight of him completely disengaged making your blood boil.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Eunji twisted her lips, hopeful.

“Car wash?” Changbin suggested with a mischievous grin. “Classic fundraiser, right?”

“Sure,” you shot back, deadpan, “let’s exploit women for the sake of art.” Your glare could’ve leveled him then and there. Changbin leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, fine. What about food?” Sohee jumped in, glancing at Minho for support. “Muffins, cupcakes, something simple. People love that stuff.”

Hyunjin's face lights up like a light bulb. “Felix makes brownies. Amazing brownies.”

Felix smirked, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I don’t wanna brag, but they’re basically legendary.”

“Alright, then.” Changbin grinned, pointing a finger gun between Felix and you. “You two make the brownies. And we,” he motioned to himself and Bangchan, “sell them.”

You and Bangchan exchange glances for a millisecond.

“I’ve got the perfect idea,”  he says, a wicked smile slipping from his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “What? Are you going to sell brownies naked around campus?”

The grin widened, and that’s when you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Felix had assured you he could handle everything, but your stubbornness wouldn’t let you sit this one out. If it was for the theater, you were all in. He handed over his famous brownie recipe like it was a national secret.

So, on Thursday, you got hands-on. Literally.

Eunji had come through with the shopping, and soon your dorm looked like a war zone—chocolate smudges on the counters, flour dusting the floor, and batter splattered in places you couldn’t quite explain. You only had a cramped space and a big dream of pulling this off.

You were just pouring the batter into a pan when a sharp knock at the door startled you. Wiping your hands on your skirt, you swung it open, expecting maybe Eunji or Hyunjin. Instead, there stood Bangchan, leaning casually against the door frame like he had nowhere else to be.

“Uh… hello?” You blinked, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Bangchan stood back for a second, observing how exceptionally good you looked.

“So… newsflash,” he started, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You might wanna double that recipe.”

Confusion flashed across your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He straightened up, clearly enjoying your puzzled reaction. “I may have the entire basketball team to help out with the sale.”

Your jaw dropped as his words sank in. “You what?”

His grin widened at your disbelief. “You heard me. More hands, more sales. I figured we could use the hype.”

It was insane. But it was also brilliant. A rush of excitement shot through you, lighting up your face. “That’s… that’s fantastic!” you blurted, beaming before instinctively biting your lip to rein in your enthusiasm.

Bangchan tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Thought you’d like that.”

“Oh, shit. I'll tell Felix, we're going to need an extra oven.” You walked over to the coffee table, where your phone was.

Before you could dial, Bangchan’s voice cut through your focus. “You shouldn’t go there.” He was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression surprisingly earnest. “It’s a mess. Like, biohazard-level chaos.” You lose heart, trying to think of another alternative. “You can use my dorm. If you want.” He quickly adds the last sentence.

Your stomach dropped at the suggestion. The idea of stepping into Bangchan’s dorm felt like walking into enemy territory. Risky. Dangerous. Not worth the potential fallout. “It’s fine,” you said, waving him off. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

But Bangchan leaned against the doorframe, his smirk resurfacing. “You sure? There are a lot of brownies to bake, and I don’t think you’ve got all night.”

As much as you hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong. Time was slipping through your fingers like sand, and with the entire basketball team now involved, efficiency was critical. “Fine,” you muttered, hating the way the word tasted in your mouth. “But only if you help.”

“You don't have to ask twice.”

It turned out Bangchan’s “help” involved more than just offering his kitchen. He insisted on carrying every utensil, baking sheet, and ingredient across campus himself, as though showing off how capable he was. By the time you arrived at his so-called dorm, you’d pieced together another puzzle about him.

Rich, but not obnoxiously so. Still, his “dorm” was more like a chic little apartment, complete with a full kitchen, two bedrooms, and sleek decor that screamed privilege. The space was annoyingly Bangchan—polished, put together, and just distant enough to be intriguing.

“Cool place.” You muttered after he closed the door behind you. Scanning the room and trying not to sound impressed.

“Thanks.” he gave you a smile. “So, this is the kitchen.” He motioned to a modern setup that looked like it belonged in a Food Network show. Top class stuff. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” you replied, slipping your hands into your pockets. “Not just for the space but… you know, for helping.”

It was obvious that he was making this effort because the theater was important to his friends Seungmin and Hyunjin. Why else would he do all this? Still, you appreciated it.

His lips twitched into a grin. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back the retort bubbling at your tongue. Play nice. He’s helping. 

“Relax,” he added, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just kidding. There’s booze in the fridge, by the way. Help yourself.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you said, sidestepping the offer.

“I’ve gotta sort something out with the coach,” he said, grabbing his phone. “I’ll be back in 20. Think you’ll survive here alone?”

Honestly, being in his apartment without him sounded like the best possible scenario. You gave a small nod. “Yeah, no worries.”

With that, he left, and the door clicked shut behind him. You exhaled, a long breath that carried the weight of the past few days. Now you were in enemy territory, surrounded by his world, and somehow, that felt far more personal than it should.

How had this become your life? Baking brownies in Bangchan’s kitchen? It was almost as absurd as sleeping with him—a mistake you’d promised yourself you’d never make. But here you were, crossing one forbidden line after another.

You weren’t exactly a disaster in the kitchen, but you weren’t a pro either. Somehow, though, in thirty minutes flat, four trays of brownies were baking away in Bangchan’s fancy oven. The rest of the kitchen, however, looked like a war zone. Eggshells piled in the sink. Flour scattered across the floor. Chocolate batter smeared on your shirt. Your skirt? A masterpiece of handprints from raw dough. But hey, it was all for the sake of art—and funding.

While you whisked and poured, you couldn’t resist turning on your favorite song, What Is This Feeling from Wicked. Singing along word for word, you hit every high note with a grin. That song had landed you the role of Glinda in high school, and the nostalgia hit you square in the chest. Those were good times. Simpler times.

The chorus was still ringing in your ears as you crouched to scrub a stubborn chocolate stain on the floor. That’s when the door swung open, and Bangchan walked in, freezing mid-step as he surveyed the chaos.

“Holy shit. Are you all right?” he asked, his tone somewhere between amusement and genuine concern.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest as you scrambled to turn off the music. In your rush, your phone slipped from your flour-dusted hands and landed on the counter with a soft thud. You straightened, cheeks flushing. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing your hands on your already-ruined skirt. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

He looked around, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. His eyes flicked from the chaotic kitchen to you, taking in the state of your clothes. “You’ve got something… there,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the chocolate smear on your shoulder.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll head back to the dorm and clean this up.”

Bangchan tilted his head, clearly unimpressed with your plan. “I can lend you a shirt. Might make you feel more comfortable.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” you said, waving him off. “But thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind his neck and yanked off the black shirt he was wearing, leaving him in nothing but his jeans and a devilish grin. “Here,” he said, holding the shirt out to you like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You blinked, completely caught off guard. “You know you could’ve just grabbed another shirt, right? Like, one you’re not currently wearing?”

He leaned in slightly, the grin widening in a way that made your stomach flip. “And where’s the fun in that?”

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at him, equal parts annoyed and flustered. His shirt hung in the air between you, a silent dare. Finally, you snatched it from his hand, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, unbothered, and strolled over to the counter like he hadn’t just walked into the kitchen half-dressed.

After a few minutes, you walked back into the kitchen, now wearing Bangchan’s shirt. It hung a little loose on you, the soft fabric brushing against your skin and carrying a mix of fresh laundry and whatever cologne he used. Not that you noticed. Much.

Bangchan was at the sink, scrubbing a mixing bowl. His back was to you at first, but when he turned around, his gaze lingered a second too long before he coughed and looked back down. “Did you know,” he started, shaking his head with a teasing grin, “that you’re officially the world’s clumsiest cook? There’s brownie batter... under the sink.”

You glanced at the cabinet beneath the counter, then back at him. “Hey, I said I’d clean up,” you defended, marching into the kitchen with your head held high. “And for the record, I never claimed to be a good cook. I’m just trying to help.”

Bangchan barked out a laugh, drying his hands on a towel. “Help? No fucking way. You’re a disaster, love.”

You froze, raising an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?” You crossed your arms, the oversized sleeves of his shirt only slightly undermining your indignation. “I didn’t see you stepping up to bake anything.. Let’s see you handle a whisk without breaking something.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “Trust me, I’d still be better than whatever chaos you’ve got going on here.”

Your lips quirked into a slow smirk, and you reached for the bag of flour on the counter. “Oh yeah? Well, let’s see you handle this.” Before he could react, you scooped a handful of flour and tossed it right at him, the fine powder exploding across his chest like a smoke bomb.

Bangchan froze for a second, blinking down at the mess. Then, his lips curved into a wicked grin that should have been your warning. “Oh, it’s on now.”

With your hands on your lip, you realized that you had fucked up. “I'm sorry, I...”

Too late. In the blink of an eye, Bangchan scooped up the sugar and poured it all over your hair. You stared, half-shocked, half-impressed by his audacity. You parted your lips to fire back, but before a word could escape, the sound of his laughter erupted from deep in his chest.

“Really? Is this how it’s gonna go?” You grabbed the cocoa powder with a grin. Oh, he wanted a war? You were so ready. “Bring it on,” you shot back, face lighting up with mischief. 

You were almost halfway to smearing him with chocolate when his hand shot out and stopped yours midair. The cocoa slipped through your fingers, and just like that, your plan hit the ground.

Then, you collided—chest to chest. Bangchan wasn’t laughing anymore, and you could feel the shift in the air, the heat between you two now undeniable. His lips curled into that damn smirk, the one that told you everything. Your heart was racing, but the thought of pulling away didn’t even cross your mind. The only question now was who was going to make the first move.

A silent battle passed between you two. His gaze locked onto yours, sensing the shift in your expression—less defiant, more... willing. And just like that, the tension morphed into something else, something undeniable.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, your lips brushing his. Bangchan’s breath hitched, a soft grunt escaping him at the sudden contact. Your hands, still coated with the remnants of your baking disaster, slid over his broad shoulders. You were a mess, sugar and flour everywhere, but somehow, it made everything feel a little more real. And Bangchan? He didn’t seem to mind one bit.

All he seemed to care about was having your lips on his. And fuck, you could feel how much he wanted it.

Bangchan grabbed your ass possessively, squeezing it and making a raspy moan escape your lips. You pushed him against the wall, without detaching your lips, savoring how the softness of his lips felt like cotton candy.

When you finally broke away, your chests heaving, your fingers still pressed into his skin, you met his gaze. His chest rose and fell beneath your touch, and you could feel the pull between you intensify again, magnetic.

“I should probably clean up this mess.” your voice broke the tension, but the realization hit harder than it should’ve. Bangchan was clearly fed up with your habit of diving in and then ghosting the consequences. 

“Don’t you dare.” his voice was low, the words like a command you weren’t about to ignore. His eyes locked with yours—intense. “You want this.” his lips brushed against yours, a tease that made your heart leap, while his words hung heavy in the air. “I know you do.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but him.

“Bangchan.” You whispered, barely able to breathe. The heat from his hardness spread like wildfire, and your body seemed to betray you. “We can’t.” you licked your lips—stupid, because he was already there, sealing your protest with a sloppy kiss, stealing that last ounce of restraint.

You were losing it. Why did he have to be so... goddamn good at this?

“Oh yeah?” he pulled away, just enough to make you regret the distance. “Tell me one good reason. Just one.”

You snorted, doing everything you could to hold it together, but the pull between you was undeniable. “Please.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching like he wanted to argue, but instead he closed his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, walking away, but the air between you two still crackled.

The rest of the kitchen cleanup was like some strange form of punishment. You moved in sync, two people acting like they hadn’t just burned down every ounce of decorum in the room. The silence was deafening, the kind of awkward that made you wish you could pull the floor open and swallow you whole. But instead, you just scrubbed harder, hoping it’d drown out the thundering thoughts in your head.

He pulled away, no jokes, no teasing—just silence. It was like a switch had flipped, and the tension that had once sparked between you now lay dormant, suffocating. You didn't know if you hated the quiet or if you hated yourself more for letting things go as far as they had.

When everything was finally done, he still helped you carry your things to the dorm, his touch lingering just a little too long as he adjusted the bag over your shoulder. You were too busy battling the whirlwind of your own thoughts, replaying every moment, every look, and cursing both him and yourself for what you’d just crossed into.

You hated how easy it had been. How natural. And you hated even more that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret it—at least, not yet.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik

[n7punk]

Pairings: Adora/Catra (Catradora). Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018). Series: Femslash February (bingo courtesy of @femslash-february

Rating: T. Chapters: 1/5. Words: ~9k when complete.

Summary: As far as the internet is concerned, Catra is a bitter ex-writer who can’t handle her old cast’s success, and the cast is doing their best to act like they have amnesia when questioned about her. It’s a shock when they all end up as the main celebrity line-up at a first-year con, and even more of a shock when people start arriving and see the state of the convention. No one could have predicted it would be bad enough to get them on speaking terms. (Or, the Catradora nightmare convention AU, as told the same way most of us experienced Dashcon: through the internet)

[lovecla]

FAVORITE KIND OF NIGHT ; HUGHES, SLAFKOVSKÝ

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader, quinn hughes x fem!reader, juraj slafkovský x fem!reader, ex-cole caufield x fem!reader

SUMMARY when you found out your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you the entire time, you do what every girl does when they get cheated on: you fuck his best friends.

WORD COUNT 5,5k

WARNINGS taboo content, cheating, foursome (f/m/m/m), p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, mention of stomach bulge, creampie, double p in v, rough sex, manhandling, dirty talk, humiliation, subspace, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), gagging, dacryphilia, brief aftercare.

FROM ME TO YOU my loves, listen to your clara very carefully: if you do not agree with ANY of what’s written here, please consider not reading. this is just a silly idea i had a few days ago and i wanted to write about it. i have zero intentions of offending anyone: this is pure fiction! none of this is real! anyways, thank you @cyberhughes for listening to my naughty thoughts about this plot and for having my back. love you juni baby, this one’s for you <3 and for those who are still here, have a nice reading!

𖧷

on that lonely night, said it wouldn't be love

but we felt the rush (fell in love)

it made us believe it was only us

THE THING about being a hockey girlfriend is that you will, most certainly, get cheated on.

When you first heard that, you thought it was just bullshit— not all men are the same and all of that. Some people were just unfortunate to have shitty boyfriends, but not you.

Or at least that’s what you thought before watching a viral video of your boyfriend of two years kissing three different girls at a party.

The video was blurry, and maybe if you were a little bit more naive, you wouldn’t have noticed that the man eating those girls’ lips was, in fact, Cole Caufield, the man you swore to be the love of your life.

“Maybe it’s not him, Y/n,” your friend said, voice soft and gentle, as she put your phone down and locked it. “Cole wouldn’t do that… right?”

Right, you want to say. Of course he wouldn’t do that.

But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to lie and betray your own trust. You sat there, on your couch, thinking about what you were going to do.

Your relationship was public, Cole had already posted pictures of you several times over the years, but now, so was the fact that he cheated on you with not just one girl, but with two more.

Now, everyone knows that you got cheated on, and that you weren’t an exception to the Hockey rule.

“‘s okay,” you sniff, cleaning your nose with your sweater’s sleeve. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, really, but what else could you do?

Truth is, even though you love— loved?— Cole a lot, you had been feeling a little bit weird. Cole didn’t seek you anymore, he didn’t look at you the same way he used to do when you first started dating.

You thought it was just the fact that he was tired and feeling responsible for his team’s recklessness, but clearly, it wasn’t just that.

Days passed after the terrible, awful video, and even though you hadn’t spoken to Cole in probably two weeks— he was away and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer his texts—, you wanted to break things up with him in person.

“Why would you do that?” Your friend asked over the phone, and you sighed.

“Because I’m better than he is,” you say. “And because I need to get closure.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs, and then she’s quiet for a few seconds. But, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” You ask, rolling to your side. “What is it?”

“There’s going to be a party at Zegras’ place tonight,” she says. “Heard Cole shit ass is going.”

“Who told you that?”

“I was talking to one of his new buddies, and he invited me to the party. Said I could go if I kept my mouth shut to you,” she scoffed. “I thought about telling him to hell and then telling him to fuck himself but I thought it might be more useful to pretend I wasn’t going to tell you anything and then tell you everything.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. We’re going, then?”

“We so are going,” she giggles. “I’ll bring the eggs.”

“I’ll bring the flour.”

𖧷

THE PARTY looked more like a frat party than anything, which lowkey disgusted you.

You knew the majority of the players were young and still in their teenager mindset, but whenever you went to a party, it usually had more decorum than whatever this was.

The music was so loud you couldn’t hear your friend talking next to you. People were grinding against each other like they were in heat and ready to fuck in front of everyone, and the room had a strong smell of marijuana and cheap beer.

You rolled your eyes but focused on your reason to be there: find Cole, break up with him and maybe even embarrass him in front of all of his friends.

You tried to warn your friend about where you were going, but since the music was too loud, you just signaled to the door on your right. She nodded, and you moved around the room, feeling with your feet the way the floor shook with the song’s thrumming.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to walk much. Cole’s stupid ass seemed to have forgotten to close his room’s door, and now you were staring at the 5’8” man you thought was going to be the father of your kids, kissing another girl.

“So, this looks really fun, huh?” You said, closing the room’s door, and suddenly, all of the eyes were on you. Cole’s included.

“Y-Y/n, what,” he stutters, removing the girl from his lap and getting up. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“No, what are you doing here?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling yourself start to burn with anger. “Weren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

“No, you see—”

“Is your name New York, sweetie?” You ask the girl who was previously kissing him, who looks like a scared, little kitten. Little does she know you’re not going after her— you couldn't care less about her. “Uh, I guess not.”

There were at least eight other people in the room, sitting there and goofing around. But now, all of them looked like they would pay a hundred thousand bucks not to be in Cole’s shoes.

“Y/n—” he tries again, reaching for your arm.

You step back, flinching away from his touch. “Don’t fucking touch me, Cole. You’re fucking sick. I hope y’all have fun,” you hiss, turning around and heading towards the room’s door again. You look over your shoulder, watching Cole’s sorrowful face. “Enjoy as much as you can, darling. I know his dick won’t make you happy.”

You leave the room with fast steps, not before hearing Cole’s so-called friends laugh out loud with your words. You could feel yourself burning with anger, which made you happy. You thought you were going to feel destroyed, sad and depressed when you confronted him about the fact that he cheated on you regularly.

But after seeing his pathetic expression and actions, you realised you weren’t the one who should be feeling that way.

Your legs were moving on their own, and when you noticed, you were on the second floor, barging in another room, opening its door with full strength.

Only to blush even more, this time not with anger, no.

“Oh, hey there, Y/n. Where’s the fire?”

Jack’s sarcastic tone made you hold the door’s handle tighter, and when you looked around, you felt like a fish out of its tank.

The room was poorly lit, only the yellow light from the lamps reflected on the dark walls of the room, making the environment seem more intimate than it really was.

There were sofas along the room, and low music was playing, probably coming from one of the cell phones.

Because not only Jack Hughes was there, but his oldest brother, Quinn and Juraj Slafkovský.

You didn’t even know Quinn and Jack got along with Slaf, yet there they were, sitting and chatting with each other like they weren’t all rivals during the weekdays.

They laughed with Jack’s little remark before Quinn said: “You can come in, we don’t bite.”

“Unless you want to.” Juraj was the one who said this, to your ultimate surprise, and you rolled your eyes, doing as they said and getting in, closing the door behind you.

“Dude, come on,” Jack laughs. “She has a boyfriend.”

“Not anymore,” you say, for the first time since you opened the door. You eyed the drink cart in the corner of the room, taking full steps towards it and opening the first bottle you say. Whiskey. Great. “I just broke up with Cole, actually.”

There was a second of silence before you heard some clapping behind you, which made you turn around and stare at the grown men sitting across the room.

“What’s this clapping for?” You ask.

“It was about time, Y/n, what the hell,” Juraj says. “Guy’s been cheating on you for months.”

“And you guys didn’t think of, I don’t know, maybe give me a heads up?” You ask, sarcasm pouring out of your mouth while you pour the alcoholic drink in the glass sitting on the wooden surface. Then, you walk until you’re sitting beside Quinn and Juraj. “Would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, poking your shoulder. “In my defense, I wasn’t around enough to know he was cheating.”

“In my defense,” Jack starts. “I don’t like him.”

“In my defense,” Juraj finishes, opening his legs and resting his arms behind his head. “I couldn’t do it, because I would’ve been called a homewrecker.”

You almost choked on your drink. “What?!”

“You know I’ve been wanting to fuck you for ages now,” he sighs, like he’s tired of saying that; like he’s been saying that for a long time now. “But you can’t exactly fuck your homie’s girlfriend, can you?”

“Word.” Jack says, leaning forward to fist bumping Juraj. Quinn only chuckles and you can’t believe your eyes.

You’ve known all of them for basically the same amount of time, and you liked them a lot. Jack was a little, teasing shit, way too different from Quinn, but he was funny and so were his brothers— hanging out with them was always fun.

Quinn was private but sweet, probably one of your favorite people in the league. His soft spoken demeanor had made its way into your heart and was now stuck there, for the rest of your life, probably.

And Juraj was an old friend, someone you knew even before you started dating Cole— he was the reason you and Cole got together in the first place.

So hearing that one of your closest friends wants to have sex with you is weird, especially because he had just confessed that in front of two other men.

You stare at them, incredulous. “What are you even talking about?”

“Come on, Y/n, you can’t be this oblivious,” Jack grunts, and you tilt your head, confused. “You didn’t notice the way he looks at you?”

“Fuck you, Hughes,” Slaf curses, giving him the middle finger. “Like you’re one to talk. Everyone knows you’re head over heels for her and you know which head I’m talking about.”

Quinn laughs like what Slaf said had been the funniest thing he’d heard in a while, while Jack simply shrugs and looks at you with expectant eyes.

“You are all drunk. That’s the only explanation I can find,” you say, still choosing not to see what is right in front of you. “And I’m about to be the next one.”

You took just one sip before Quinn wrapped his hand around your glass and took it out of your hands. You were about to complain and ask him what happened when he shook his head, clicking his tongue. “We are not drunk, Y/n. And we don’t want you to be.”

“What? Why not?” You ask. “I promise I’m not that type of person who talks about their love life when they’re drunk. I might talk about Tik Tok memes, though.”

“That’s worse than talking about your shit ass love life,” Jack murmurs and you turn around to look at him with angry eyes. “What?” He asks, grinning, with his hands in the air.

“It’s not my fault I can’t find the right guys,” you sigh, resting your head on Quinn’s shoulder like you’re used to doing. “Why do men suck?”

“Not all of them do, sweets.” Quinn says, placing his hand on your naked thigh, making you blush faintly.

“We don’t.” Juraj murmurs beside you, and you hum.

“Well,” you say, measuring your words. “Unfortunately, I can’t have any of you. So, yeah, I still have the same problem.”

“Who said you can’t have any of us?” Juraj says, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows at him. “Or even better, all of us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The room is suddenly too warm for you, and even if you’re just wearing a skirt and a crop top, you still feel yourself starting to get sweaty.

The song is still playing, an unknown melody reverberating through the room, and what once felt big and spacious suffocates you now.

“You guys. You can’t be serious… right?” You ask, looking at each and every single one of them in the eye.

Jack is the first one to break the silence. “Come on, Y/n. Haven’t you ever thought about us like that?”

You can feel their eyes on you as you think of what to answer. You can’t say you haven’t— that would be a lie. You were loyal to Cole and you loved him, but you weren’t blind.

And now that you’re really thinking, these guys hadn’t been particularly sleek either; Jack with his obsession with calling you pet names, Quinn finding any and every excuse to touch you whenever you were in the same room and Juraj eye-fucking you from afar while you cuddled with his teammate.

So yeah, you have wondered about it before, but it all sounded so insane you didn’t think about it twice. The odds of all four of them liking you were pretty low, so why bother fooling yourself with these kinds of thoughts?

But now, you were sitting in the same room as them, with Juraj’s arm touching yours, Quinn’s hand running up and down your leg, and Jack’s eyes on you, like you were a prey or something similar.

“We can’t do that,” you whisper, trying your hardest to hold onto that single piece of sanity and morals you still had. “You guys are insane. Jack, Quinn’s your brother.” You reason, expecting to knock some sense into them.

Quinn squeezes your thigh slightly. “It wouldn’t be our first time.”

“Besides, it’s fine because we’re not going to fuck each other,” Jack says, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“We are going to fuck you,” Juraj corrects, and you close your eyes, holding your hands together on your lap, trying to keep them still. “What do you say, chéri?” He asks, getting dangerously close to your neck, his strong, masculine scent making your head spin. His lips briefly touch your neck, the contact so light you wouldn’t feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of your surroundings.

Quinn’s warm, big hand is moving up, up and up, and that startles you.

You get up, panting as hard as if you had ran an entire marathon, and you stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by them. By your friends who had just asked to fuck you.

“I can’t— I can’t do this,” you whisper. “What about Cole, what about—”

“Sweetheart, Cole is probably balls deep inside someone else right now,” Quinn replies, and the others hum in agreement. “If you don’t want it because you don’t want to, it’s fine, you know we’d never force you. But,” he spreads his thighs, the outline of his cock is visible and right there for you to see. You gulp, not sure of what to do. “If you don’t want to do it because you still believe Cole deserves your kindness, then I have to say—”

“You’re being dumb,” Juraj finishes Quinn’s sentence, smirking. “You’ll be crying over one small cock when you have three waiting for you. It’s your pick, really.”

Your head is spinning and you feel aware of your body, which is something you hate. You can feel your arms and legs starting to give in, and to your absolute horror and panic, you can feel your underwear start to get sticky.

You walk towards the door, ready to leave, ready to put this night behind and pretend this was all a fever dream, and never think about this again. But, as you grab the handle, you know you won’t be able to forget this, not even if you wanted to.

So, you stop being a hypocrite, and grab the door’s key, locking the door once, and then twice, before exhaling and turning around again.

All three of them are staring at you, with the same expression; lust. It’s sinful and you are certain that you’re going to hell for this, but as you start to get undressed, right there, in the middle of the room, for all of them to see, you can’t help but feel like what you’re doing is nothing but right.

You remove your crop top, pulling the fabric over your head and dropping it on the floor, shivering slightly when the cold breeze hits your naked skin. You do the same with your skirt, letting it fall around your feet like a river, leaving you standing with only your bra and lace underwear in front of them.

“Fuck.” You hear one of them say, you’re not sure who, the word nothing but a whisper.

Juraj is the first one to get up, and get his hands on you. He’s rough, hungry and not careful at all, something you’re not used to but like it anyway.

His lips are on yours almost instantly, and his hands are holding you down while he licks and sucks your mouth. He tastes like some kind of candy you’ve had before, and your brain is screaming that what you’re doing is wrong, so wrong and that you literally just broke up with your boyfriend of two years not even thirty minutes ago but you can’t stop.

It’s maddening, it’s addictive and you want more.

It gets worse when you feel another pair of hands on your back, unclamping your bra. You hear a soft tud, which you can only assume is your bralette hitting the floor. Then, there are hands squeezing your tits, hands almost as rough as Slaf’s, and it has you moaning inside his mouth.

“So fucking soft,” you hear Jack say behind you as he gets closer, his hard dick poking your ass over your underwear. “Tits so fucking soft for us, baby.”

And he pinches both of your nipples, making you whimper loud and separate your lips from Juraj’s. There’s a saliva string connecting both of you and it makes you feel nasty.

He gives you a brief peck before gently slapping your thighs twice, silently asking you to remove your underwear, which you promptly do. You slide your lace panties over your legs, shyly throwing them away from you.

It’s only then that you notice Quinn staring at you from the couch, half naked with his dick out of his boxers— the thought of him getting off only by watching you makes you squeeze your thighs together, to stop your hole from clenching around nothing.

“Let’s get you wet and ready, alright?” Juraj says, manhandling you around like you were just a toy for him to break, until your back touched the cold, wooden surface of the table sitting in the middle of the dark room. You arch your back, pouting with the coldness and Slaf coos at you. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything more comfortable than this.”

“Like she cares about comfort,” Quinn snorts. “The only thing she’s worried about it’s whether she’s taking one or two cocks in that greedy pussy of hers.”

The humiliation Quinn’s words bring you is almost unbearable, yet it has you dripping anyway. Their laughs, the way they’re all staring at you like some piece of meat makes you feel hot all over.

Juraj lays you down carefully, only to spread your legs open with the same roughness he used before, when his lips were on yours. You yelped, feeling exposed and embarrassed— your bare, glistening pussy was on display for all three of them to see.

“Holy shit,” you hear someone say, Juraj maybe, and you cringe, hiding your face with your hands. “She’s perfect.”

“We’ll see about that,” you hear Jack say behind you and you remove your hands from your face. Suddenly, he’s sliding his pants down, his dick touching his covered abs as wraps his fist around his length, slowly jerking off in front of you.

You’re watching it in awe, even as you stare at him upside down, since your head is hanging off the table’s edge. He smirks down at you at the same time Juraj licks your clenching hole, making you moan for the first time, loud and involuntary.

“Ah.”

“Shit,” you hear Slaf say. “Pussy so fucking wet and sweet. Y/n, you’ll drive me crazy.”

You don’t answer; not because you don’t want to but because Jack places his hands on both sides of your cheeks, squeezing them together until your mouth forms the perfect O and he can slide his entire dick inside it.

He moans noisily as you gag on his long dick. It’s an unexpected feeling, to have your throat fucked like this— Cole wasn’t a big fan of messy, rough blowjobs— but fuck if it doesn’t get you wetter.

Juraj is still working hard on your pussy, licking your folds and throbbing clit, eating it with a loud slurp, the sound of your wetness making you close your eyes with pleasure and shame.

“Your mouth feels so good, pretty,” Jack moans behind you, still holding your head in place while he drags his dick through your throat. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears and you feel your mouth so full it is starting to hurt. “Almost as tight as a pussy.”

It’s overwhelming to try to manage the feeling of Juraj’s tongue and Jack’s cock on you. You feel warm, your hands are gripping the table like your life depends on it, and you can feel yourself start to slip more and more.

“She’s wet enough already,” Quinn states, and the fact that he’s referring to you like you’re not even there makes you whimper loudly around Jack’s cock.

Next thing you know, you’re being manhandled again; Jack’s rough hands leave your cheeks to hold your waist instead, taking you to the nearest couch and laying down with you on top of him.

You’re facing him, those blue eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n,” he starts, his tone gentle for the first time that night. You hum, adjusting yourself on top of him, until you have both of your legs on each side of his body, almost on fours on top of him, highly aware that Quinn and Slaf could see everything. “We are going to be rough.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking for permission, baby, do you understand that?” He talks to you like one would do to a child, using a tone so soft it could put you to sleep, if it were any other situation. You bite your lips, feeling Slaf’s long fingers sliding up and down your pussy, rubbing circles on your swollen clit while Jack speaks. “We are going to be rough. Tonight, you’re nothing but a toy for us to play with, alright? A hole for us to fuck.”

You nod, closing your eyes momentarily as Juraj pinches your clit, hard. He tugs it and it feels like he just placed a clothespin on you. It hurts so. Good.

“I need your words, baby.”

“I u-understand that,” you sob, hot tears running freely down your face as you continue to speak. “I w-want it.”

Jack chuckles, touching your face with care. “It would be so nice if we actually cared about what you want, huh?”

You bit your lip again, suppressing a loud moan. It would be even more embarrassing if they realized how wet you got every time they were mean towards you.

“Bitch gets wetter and wetter every time you say shit like that, Hughes,” Juraj says, and your entire face burns with shame, as you hide it in the crock of Jack’s neck. “Come see this shit, Quinn.”

You tremble as you hear a pair of steps echoing through the room, and without warning, you feel your hips getting lifted, just slightly, at the same time you feel two fingers being inserted inside deeply in your pussy.

You whine loudly, not even feeling pain with how wet you were. His fingers were moving around like you were nothing but a sex doll, making you hold Jack’s arm to steady yourself.

“Look at this tight, little thing,” Juraj says, twirling his fingers around, scissoring them inside you. “Merde. She’s milking my fucking fingers, bro.”

“I can see that,” Quinn hums. “Pussy so fucking greedy she’s taking you without complaints.”

You were about to moan again when Juraj removed his fingers from you, leaving you clenching around nothing, once again. “Let’s start, then.”

After that, it’s hard to tell what really happened. You were thrown around, and suddenly, Slaf was laying under you, Quinn was standing beside you and you assumed Jack was behind you.

You could feel one of them poking their cock through your slit, gathering all your wetness to use as lube. Then, he slowly started to insert it, the stretch making you whimper inside Slaf’s mouth, as he bruised your lips roughly again.

Jack had barely given you time to adjust to his length when you felt Juraj’s tip poking at your entrance too. You gasped inside his mouth, feeling his dick joining Jack’s inside you and.

Oh.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

You opened your eyes, glistening with tears, and stared at Quinn standing beside you, who was looking at you with fond eyes. He chuckles while staring down at you, taking his dick out again and grabbing it with his right hand, running the tip over your mouth.

The salty taste of his precum painting your lips white distracted you momentarily from the fact that Juraj was still trying to put his dick inside you, accompanying Jack’s.

But it wasn’t enough, of course— even if Juraj's thick, long fingers had stretched you, it didn’t compare to having both of their cocks inside you, together.

“Oh,” you heard Quinn coo. “She’s crying. Maybe she can’t take it?”

You shook your head immediately, not even acknowledging how desperate you looked. Quinn put his thumb inside your mouth at the same time Juraj completely bottomed out inside you, making you scream around the brunette’s finger.

“Sh, sh,” Juraj mumbled under you. “Take it, hm?”

The stretch hurt, yet you couldn’t ask them to stop— you felt so full and you swear you can feel them rearranging your guts, reaching so deep inside your body that if you were to look, you’d probably see a bulge in your stomach.

“Holy shit, man,” Jack moaned, dragging his dick slowly until only the tip was in, so that he could slam it back into you again. “She’s so fucking tight.”

“Move, Hughes.” Juraj hissed under you, and after that, everything fell into a pure state of lust.

Jack and Juraj slammed their cocks inside you rhythmically, like they were dancing a well rehearsed dance. Your body jolted forward as they pounded inside you, rough hands— you didn’t know who's— holding you by your waist and pulling your hair at the same time.

Quinn, who had just been jerking his cock while looking at you, decides to take the opportunity and shove his dick inside you, making you gag around his thick length.

“Shit, Y/n,” he moans, throwing his head back. “I’m going to wreck your mouth like they’re doing with your pussy.”

And he wasn’t lying. He tilted your head to the side and thrust his dick deep inside your mouth, until your nose touched his crotch area. You gagged, still not used to the reckless act, but you were far too gone to complain.

The room smelled like sex, lust and sin. The dark walls watched as you laid on top of Juraj’s much bigger body while you took their cocks in two of your holes, with your pupils blown and wide. Your face was destroyed, it didn’t need to be a genius to realize that; your mascara had smudged under your eyes and the tears had spread the black ink almost everywhere.

Your legs hurt, and so did your jaw, but the pleasure was bigger than any pain. You had never felt this dirty, this raw before, but you feared that after this night, you wouldn’t ever be the same; nothing besides them would ever be enough.

“She feels so good,” Jack says, voice filled with need. “She was born for this.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Juraj says, kissing your neck while you gagged around Quinn’s dick. “Born to take cock inside her tiny pussy.”

After that, you keep slipping and slipping. You come on their dicks at least twice, falling apart each time you feel your wetness coating their dicks.

Your throat is raw, your jaw is hurting, but Quinn is close to his climax, like his brother and Slaf.

Jack and Slaf are the first to come, both painting your walls white with their seed. It’s maddening, your belly feels full of them, but you don’t have time to acknowledge that properly, not when Quinn is also coming deep inside your throat.

You lay limp on top of Slaf’s broad chest, closing your eyes, tired.

But—

“Y/n, hey,” you hear Quinn calling, and you open your eyes, just barely. “Can you stand up, just for a bit?”

“Don’t let it go to waste, baby,” Juraj warns you, and you keep clenching even after they remove their dicks. It’s hard, you feel so open you should be disgusted at yourself but you still try to do as they said.

You feel a pair of hands lifting you, and you sigh, exhausted. They manhandled you until you were laying on top of the couch, head resting on your arms. A rough pair of hands— Jack’s— spread your legs open, leaving you exposed once again.

“Go on,” he commands, and you let it go, feeling their sticky cum pour out of your used, gaping pussy. You sob, feeling dirty.

“Jesus fuck.”

“I think I’m hard again.”

“Lowkey, yeah.”

You collapse on the couch once you feel like there’s nothing left, blacking out as soon as your head hits the leather.

𖧷

YOU WOKE up with a light touch on your cheek.

It takes a while for you to manage to open your eyes, but when you do, you thank whoever decided to put a yellow, warm lighting in that room.

“Hi.”

Jack’s voice brings you back to the present, and you lift your head, only then realising that you were in his lap, fully clothed— with clothes that weren’t yours— and covered with something heavy that felt like a blanket.

You frowned.

“What… what happened?” You ask, looking around. There was Juraj, who was placing a few takeout bags on the table, and Quinn, who was holding an old piece of cloth. “Oh my God.”

It was real. You fucked Jack, Juraj and Quinn.

“Oh my God,” you groan, hiding your face in Jack’s chest.

“I hope these exclamations of yours are because you’re wearing Zegras’ hideous clothes and not because you realized you fucked the three of us.” Jack says, sarcasm taking over his face.

“Why would we do that,” you mumble. “Gosh. That’s wrong in so many ways, I can’t even begin to—”

“Y/n,” Quinn calls you, dropping the cloth on the table— the same table Juraj had eaten you out on— and walking towards you, lifting your chin with two of his fingers. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I— Well— We—” you stumbled over your words, not sure of what to say.

He applies pressure on your chin, sapphire eyes squinting at you. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“I—” you sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

He smiled.

“Then we’re fine.” It’s all he says, before pecking your lips, briefly. It was your first time kissing him and you secretly didn’t want it to be the last.

“We liked it too,” Jack says once his brother lets you go. He winks at you, smirking. “I’ll never forget the sight of you full with my—”

You put your hand over his mouth, red as an apple. “Okay, alright, shut up.”

He chuckles, taking your hand away and kissing you, exploring your mouth with his tongue, just like his brother had done, barely two minutes ago.

“You guys are no fun,” you hear Slaf’s voice. “In my opinion, we should just keep doing this.”

“No,” you say. “This was a one time thing. We can’t keep fucking each other like this.”

“As I said, no fun.”

“She’ll change her mind in a few days, I just know it.” Jack says under you and you roll your eyes at his cockiness.

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” you say. “I smell Chinese food. Can we eat?”

“Yeah, we should probably do that,” Quinn says, nodding. “It’s late already. Let’s eat and take Y/n home.”

Juraj and Jack agree with just a few more complaints, and while you watch them take turns to feed you, you realize, with shame, that Jack was wrong about one thing.

It wouldn’t take a few days for you to change your mind.

You had already done it.

NHL MASTERLIST.

JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST.

QUINN HUGHES MASTERLIST.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –  

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.  

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

[littleslaywrites]

trinkets and letters | spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer always brings you trinkets whenever he comes back from a case.

word count: 1.1k

cw: pure fluff, gift giving as a love language, letters from spencer

Everyone who knew you knew you loved trinkets. There was a space carved out on a shelf above your desk that had them all out for display. It was a collection that had started before you could remember. The first was a figure of a stork, something your parents had brought home when you were born. At every moment, you grabbed a memento, and now it had accumulated into the menagerie nestled between your bookshelves.

Spencer had noticed this habit on his first visit to your apartment. He’d looked through them during a conversation, inspecting them all. Occasionally, he’d pause his rambling to ask about how you acquired one that intrigued him. You smiled at how delicate he was, his hands gently grasping each one and running a finger along the details.

The shelf had given Spencer an idea. He hated leaving you for cases, missing you from the moment he stepped on the jet until he walked into your apartment upon his return. You were understanding, but he knew you missed him, too. One day, he was walking through the lobby of a hotel he was staying at and passed by a small gift shop. Reminded of your display, he walked in to find a miniature Statue of Liberty. He bought it, smiling at the image of it sitting next to the rest of your trinkets.

When he got back from the case, he knocked on your door, buzzing with excitement. He held the gift in his palm, fingers wrapped around it to hide it from view.

The second he opened the door, he gave you a quick kiss, blurting, “I got you something.”

“You got me something?” you asked, ignoring his lack of greeting. 

“So you know how I was in New York?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how you have your shelf?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I found your newest addition,” he said as he held out his palm. You took the little statue, holding it up with a smile that matched Spencer’s. 

Bringing it to your study, the two of you determined the perfect place for it. Spencer couldn’t stop glancing over at you, seeing the glow of your grin as you held the gift. 

From then on, it became a tradition. You loved the gifts, as they were a tangible reminder that he thought of you, even when you weren’t with him. It gave you a fuzzy feeling to think about, imagining him going out of his way to find you a memento. Spencer loved the giving, overjoyed every time he saw your giddy smile. 

One night, you heard the distinct knock on your door, and jumped off the couch. You opened the door to see Spencer’s smiling face, a comfort after a long week. Wrapping you up in his arms, he disrupts your usual routine, not giving you a gift right away.

“I did something a little different for this case”, he said, keeping an arm behind his back.

He showed you a small box, a bow tied around it. 

“They’re letters,” he said, “for when you need me but I can’t be there.”

Undoing the tie, you open it, revealing various envelopes labeled with messages. 

Open Me When You’re Sad, Open Me When You Don’t Feel Pretty, Open Me When You’re Mad at Me, Open Me When You Can’t Sleep, Open Me When You Need to Remember How Much I Love You

You beam as you look through them, and Spencer can’t help but fall in love with you all over again.

Thoughts swarm in your head, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. “You’re too sweet, Spence,” is all you can say through your bliss.

He replies with a kiss, carrying you to the couch so you can recount the details of your week. 

You cherished the letters, finding comfort when he wasn’t beside you. One case was far too long for your liking. Spencer had been gone for eight days now, and you couldn’t help but worry whenever he took more than ten minutes to respond to your texts. Of course, you knew he was busy, but you still worried. 

Reaching for your bedside drawer, you pull out the box of letters. You retrieve one that reads “Open Me When I’ve Been Gone for Too Long”, tearing open the envelope. 

Y/n, 

I know you must hate these long cases as much as I do. I miss you with every step I take, looking forward to when I take the step through the threshold of your apartment and into your arms. The truth is, it never gets easier. I hope you know you’re never forgotten, no matter how long I’ve been away. 

It’s not as good as the real thing, but I always use my imagination on the nights I’m not beside you in bed. I close my eyes and think of you, the way your lips twitch at the edges as you dream, the way your head rests against my chest, the warmth that lulls me to sleep. 

Do the same thing for me when you’re done reading this letter. Close your eyes, and picture me beside you, wherever you are. Even if I’m not physically there, I leave a piece of my heart with you every time I leave.

The hardest part of my job is hearing the sad tinge in your voice when I tell you I’ll be away. It breaks my heart every time, but I can’t help but think of how grateful I am to have someone I miss so much. I promise I’ll make it up to you when you get back. I’ll knock on your door, and you’ll open it to see me with another trinket in my hands. Just hold out for that moment, no matter how far it seems. 

For now, you can hold this letter close, and pretend that it’s me. Every time your heart aches, know I’m feeling the same. 

You’re my home. No matter how long it takes, I’ll always make my way back to you. 

Love, 

Spencer

You hold the letter near to your heart and remember his words. The distance can’t keep you apart, and you know Spencer is carrying you with him in his thoughts and his heart. You almost wish you had his memory, envious that he can recall any of your moments together with perfect accuracy. No matter, you had his words, which were more than enough for you. You close your eyes, eagerly awaiting the arrival of him and the newest trinket he’d carry home.

a/n: lowkey i love this concept and what do u guys think of a part two? also I know I haven't been updating as regularly since the semester just started but I'll work on being more regular as well as going thru requests :)

[liahaslosthermind]

𝑬𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏

Summary: The 4 times the Night Court’s Shadowsinger mentioned… someone, and the first time his family got the promise of an answer. 

Content: Angst, with the promise of future fluff

Warnings: Angst, I like making Azriel sad sorry, I also take the ‘mate talk’ in the Azriel/Nesta/Bryce bonus chapter and rewrite it to fit this story. I also haven’t read CC yet so apologies if Bryce is OOC Azriel x OC [not introduced in this part]

*Slight spoilers for the Azriel/Nesta/Bryce bonus chapter

Bryce turned to the fae female next to her, “You have a mate, don’t you?” Nesta simply nodded in response, a slight smile forming on her face, followed by a deep blush. “Do you?” The red head directed at Azriel.

Nesta’s stomach dropped. She knew it was a sore subject for the Shadowsinger. What with everyone else in his family being mated except for him-

“I do.” He said, a trace of apprehension in his voice. Nesta’s head snapped to face him so quickly that her vision spun for a moment, causing her to stumble.

Regaining her footing, she barked out, “Azriel? What the fuck do you mean?”

The trio stopped walking for a moment, tension settling over the once calm night air. She gave him a demanding, and slightly betrayed, look. Even though his eyes met hers, Azriel kept quiet. Bryce simply looked between the two, face wrinkling in the awkwardness of the moment.

“Ah. A sore subject, I guess?” Bryce laughed, or tried to, it only came out forced and uncomfortable. 

“Who, Az? How come I had no idea? Does anyone know?” There wasn’t anger in her voice, just hurt. 

He had to bite back his usual replies, the ones he gave to his family when they tried to ask questions or bring up the topic without him bringing it up first. Not that he ever did. 

“She’s-” he swallowed. Cauldron, when would he finally be able to talk about her without wishing the world would swallow him whole? “It’s not something I want to discuss right now, especially with present company.” He sent a pointed look at Bryce. He couldn’t hide the misery in his tone this time though as he took a deep breath and continued, “I will tell you about her, Nes. One day. I’d just rather do it on my own terms. On my own time.” Nesta opened her mouth, seconds away from arguing, when he put a hand on her shoulder, “Please.” he begged, softly. 

The glimmer of silver in his eyes caught her off guard, gave her such a knee jerk reaction of protectiveness that she gave him a crushing hug. It was strange, this feeling. Azriel, the broody, closed off, terrifying, annoyingly perceptive, kind, and unbelievably loving friend she never knew she needed had just revealed a part of himself she could tell he kept locked away for good reason. The thought that even the mention of his mate could bring him to tears made her heart break in a way she thought impossible after all she had been through. 

She took a deep breath as she pulled away, “When you’re ready,” she agreed.

He smiled back at her, while it was genuine, one of the few he reserved for his family, there was still insurmountable pain in his eyes. 

Nesta turned back to Bryce, “Can you play more of your music? Just none of that screaming one.” She asked, shaking her head at the memory of the Death Metal genre she hadn’t liked when the redhead had played it for them. 

She smiled softly as she felt Azriel squeeze her hand in a silent Thank you before he let go. 

The High Lord sat, feet propped up on his desk. “When do you head out for Rosehall?” He asked.

Azriel, standing by the window to the right of his brother, answered, “The morning after Solstice.” Rhysand grimaced when he heard the mask of indifference his Spy Master had in his voice. “I still need to pick up a gift before I go.”

Rhys took it for the invitation it was. “Would you buy her something from me? On my account this time.” He tried to put on his commanding-High-Lord voice as he said it, but he knew very well that Azriel wouldn’t listen to the last part of his request even as his brother smiled in agreement as he walked out of the room, sending an inclination of goodbye to his High Lady in the chair across from her mate. 

“Rosehall? What female is he visiting the day after Solstice?” Feyre spoke into her mate’s mind. 

Despite Rhys’ usual inability to keep anything from his mate, he couldn't bring himself to explain, couldn’t bring himself to cross the very clear lines his brother had set all those years ago. 

“It's not my story to tell. And don’t ask someone else, if any of them know, they also won’t talk.” 

Certainly not the answer she had expected, as was evident by the look on Feyre’s face.

“And if I ask Azriel?” she inquired.

“It will just bring up things he isn't ready to share. He will come to you- come to us- some day.” ‘One day’ Azriel had promised his family long ago, long before their family had been as big as it was now. “I just pray it's under better circumstances.” 

Feyre froze, feeling the weight of mixed negative emotions flowing down from her mate’s side of the bond. For once, she was even more confused after asking Rhysand for more information. 

“Well, I believe we’ve reached the threshold of faked amiability before one of us attacks the other. We should quit while we’re ahead.” Eris said as he stood up from his chair, starting to grab his papers without so much as a glance to his reluctant hosts. Even years after their alliance was set in stone with the agreement from the Night Court to back Eris’ claim to his father’s throne, even after fighting beside them in war, these faked niceties could only go on for so long before the claws came out. 

No one in the Night Court’s Inner circle could say there was anything but relief to see the Autumn Court’s High Lord walk away. But before they could let out a breath of relief, Eris stopped and turned to the Shadowsinger. 

“I have received word that your… gift has been finished. I will send someone to get it to you within the week.” 

Azriel’s head quickly snapped to Eris, “And they were able to meet all my requests?” He asked, not caring that everyone else in the room watched the interaction with fierce intrigue. 

The eldest living Vanserra boy scoffed, “I assured you they’d be able to.” Azriel let out a relieved breath at that. While he’d known Eris’ court capable of such a thing, it wasn’t much more difficult than lesser magics, but hearing it confirmed ignited hope he didn’t know he still carried.

“Thank you. She’ll love it.” The Spy Master replied earnestly, much to Eris’, as well as the rest of the Inner Circle’s, shock. 

The red haired fae simply schooled his features and nodded in response before winnowing away. 

Despite the heaviness all the secrets and questions caused, everyone remained silent as they watched Azriel slip out of the room. 

The dining room had been filled with loud chatter for the weekly family dinner. Love filled teasing and relentless jokes put everyone in a good mood. Nothing felt better to the Night Court’s Inner Circle than being all together. Unfortunately, it had to come to an end. 

“I’ll be leaving for a few days.” Azriel told Rhysand, who was sitting to his left at the head of the table. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He quickly added. 

“I thought you were leaving the day after?” 

“I was, but the package I had been waiting on came, and I’d like to deliver it as soon as possible. I’ll drop your gift off too.” With that, Azriel got up, nodding a quick goodbye to his family, before disappearing into his shadows.

It wasn’t a request to have a few days off. He hadn’t asked if his High Lord could spare not having his Spymaster for a little. He didn’t even wait for any sort of goodbye from the rest of his family. He just left, the house sending his place setting away to be cleaned, as if he had never been there in the first place. 

Once again, everyone had questions, concerns, for their friend. But no one spoke up, as per usual. 

Until the one fae in the room with truly no information in the matter grew concerned enough with everyone’s immediate change in attitudes. 

“Where is he going?” Elain asked, looking between her friends and family. 

She saw on everyone's faces, in their eyes that refused to meet hers, that no one would tell her. Till she sent a look, full of concerned innocence, to Cassian. 

“Rosehall” He blurted out. “Or at least, I assume that's where he is going.” The last part was directed towards his older brother. 

“Where is this Rosehall?” Feyre asked, feeling he invitation Elain’s question had opened into the untouchable subject. 

The High Lady, like her second oldest sister, sent a look to Rhys, knowing he'd break for her under an embarrassingly small amount of pressure. 

“None of us know,” he gave in, “He goes at seemingly random intervals. Sometimes he’s there, often, for months. Then he will go quite a while without any visits.”

“Is it his mate? Is that who he is seeing?” Nesta inquires. 

The word seems to suck all the air out of the room. His mate. Azriel’s mate. Their brother’s mate.

Nesta’s stomach drops at the looks she receives from Cassian and Rhysand. 

They didn’t know. 

As she opens her mouth to speak, she’s cut off by a palm smacking the table.

“Enough! You all know damn well this isn’t what he would want. The only reason you all seem so comfortable talking about it is because he's gone, too preoccupied to leave a shadow behind.” Mor argues. “He has asked one thing of us in the 500 years he has been by our side, to let him- let them- be.”

With that, she winnowed out of the room, leaving a suffocating mix of guilt, confusion, and concern behind. 

Everyone could feel his presence the second he got back to the house. The light and happy Solstice air seemed to vanish in an instant. The shadows suddenly alive and wreathing. 

Rhys and Cassian had gotten up to check on their brother. While he had said he’d be gone till Solstice, they had assumed he would be there the full day to celebrate with everyone. But he had missed celebrations, for both Solstice and Feyre’s birthday, had missed dinner, and had sent no indication that he was even alive. His mental walls had been as fortified as ever, not letting Rhysand nor Feyre in the numerous times they had tried to check in. 

Their walk over to their brother’s room became a run, followed by the rest of the family, as they heard a loud crash. 

The room was dark, but they could make out the faint outline of the broken mirror and Shadowsinger standing in front of it, holding his hand as blood seemed to drip from a wound. In the dark, the sight was unsettling, but in the light, it was far worse. 

Cassian moved quickly, leaving Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle by the door in stunned silence. 

“Woah-” Cassian said as he lifted Azriel’s hand, causing his brother to pull back in startled shock. He hadn’t known they were coming. Hadn’t sensed their presence even then they were right in front of him.

“It’s okay, Az. But we need to clean out the wound. Make sure there aren't any shards in-” The general stopped as he looked at the Spymaster, seeing the tears streaming down his usually stone cold face. 

All he could do was help him sit down as Mor, seemingly better equipped to handle the situation, came over to kneel in front of her long time friend. 

“Az?” She took his uninjured hand in hers, her other hand going to his face to wipe away the tears. “Come on, maybe you shoul-”

“She’s gotten worse.” He admitted, his voice noticeably wobbling, “So much worse, Mor.” 

Mor quickly looked at everyone else, seeing the shock, the empathy, and worse of all, the pity. She knew more than the others, not the full story, not even close, but enough to know that their reactions were part of why he kept all of it a secret. He couldn’t handle their emotions on top of his.

By the time she looked back, she saw that Azriel had noticed it too. She could see him shrinking back into himself, trying to hide everything. 

She couldn’t let it happen again. 

“Let me in, Azriel. Don’t pretend, don’t go through 200 more years of this.” She pleaded. Luckily, this seemed to pull him back out. “Let us all in, please?”

“I can’t- I don’t want pity.” He admitted.

Rhysand spoke up this time. “Is that what you think this is? Just pity? Az, come on. We all love you, we want you to be happy. But we don’t want fake happiness. Seeing you like this makes us all upset, because we love you. Please, let us prove it. Let us in.” Rhysand begged. 

Azriel gave them all a onceover, emotion showing so clearly in his face, in his eyes, that no one seemed to be able to breathe. 

He took a deep breath before speaking up, “Tomorrow. I’ll explain- show you all, tomorrow. For now, I’d just like to celebrate Solstice, and your birthday, Feyre, with my family.” 

The air lightened up a little bit at the promise. Tomorrow, they’d all face what Azriel had been dealing with alone for 200 years. But tonight, they would all celebrate Solstice, the return of light and promise of a brighter future, as a family. 

[arbitrarykiwi]

omfg i think i speak for everyone when i say we need more thanos and nam gyu boyfriend content bc OHMYGOD i need them i need them to pass ME like a blunt

Passed Around

omg uhhh..... YES??!!! there's just somethin about the idea of smoking with them and then getting absolutely RUINED by both of them. you would have to pull me out of a room with them by the back of my neck like a fucking DOG!!! I NEED BOAF EM SO BAYYYYDDDDD!!!! I hope you enjoy anon!!! <3

Warnings: smut (18+), bro..I took this and fucking ran with it omg, weed smoking, sex while high, threesome, oral (m and f receiving), they both eat you out at the same time, choking, squirting, multiple orgasms, recording sex (they both do it), missionary, doggy style, deep throating/ throat fucking, name calling (bitch, slut, whore) ((but they really mean it endearingly)) , facial, lil bit of cum play, spit, spanking, Thanos slaps you like once (not in a mean way), fuckeddumb! Reader, probably more, read at your own risk

If anyone comes across this that’s not familiar with my profile- first off hiiii!- second, this request bounces of a previous thangyu x reader request you can find here - it’s not needed to read it before this, just wanted to put it here if you wish to find more of my thangyu content :D

If someone asked if you were lucky, you’d say yes without a doubt in your mind. And it’s all because of your two doting boyfriends!

Thanos and Nam-gyu were admittedly like night and day, they couldn’t be more different from each other- but that’s what makes them work so well! You got the best of both worlds.

You hardly could ever spend a moment alone, they always had to be by you. If they both weren’t there, one of them was. But thankfully tonight, you have both of them at your sides. You’re sandwiched in between them on Nam-gyu’s bed. A blunt is being passed between the three of you, the room smoky and only lit by the bright colors of the TV that blares the show you guys were watching. You think you guys are on your third or fourth blunt of the night- you weren’t sure they just kept rolling anytime one was finished, and you just kept smoking them.

You’re laid back against the headboard of Nam-gyu’s bed. Your hooded eyes watching the TV with a dazed expression. The warmth of their body’s only helping to relax you further than you already are.

They’re curled around you, Thanos was to your left, he had his arm slung around you, your head on his shoulder, one of his tattooed fingers playing with your hair. He’d alternate between stroking your hair or just having his hand slung over your shoulder, going under the collar of your shirt to grab at one of your breasts- it wasn’t even sexual, he just loved the feel of your tits in his hands. It calmed him down! At least that’s what he always told you.

Nam-gyu is lying on top of your stomach, legs entangled with yours. His cold hands are under your shirt, drawing random patterns against the skin of your stomach. Your hand is in his hair, twirling the black strands around your fingers. Anytime you’d poke his head to pas him the blunt, he’d remove his hands from under your shirt to reach up and take the blunt, hit it, then pass it back to Thanos- returning his hands to under your shirt. Following in Thanos’ footsteps as he’d reach his hand up to your other breast that Thanos wasn’t occupying and copy his movements.

And that’s how you guys stay for a bit as you smoked, Thanos and Nam-gyu would occasionally have a hand on one of your tits, removing themselves from you only to hit the blunt.

You were either too high, too entranced in the show on TV or in such a calm haze by their gentle touches and presence, or a mixture of all three- but you seem to miss the look your two boyfriends give each other. It’s a silent confirmation that they both want the same thing-you. There’s a hungry glint in both of their eyes as they stare at each other. Thanos nods, his grin widening as he nudges you with his arm that’s skin around your shoulder.

Thanos takes a long drag, sucking in the smoke, and holding it in for a moment. You think he’s trying to show you something, why else would he get your attention by nudging you like that? You also feel Nam-gyu twist his head against your stomach. You look down to find his chin resting against your flesh, looking up at you with red tinted eyes and a hazy smile, “Hi my baby.” You coo quickly, with a confused giggle, hand running over his hair making sure to acknowledge him- god forbid you give Thanos more attention than Nam-gyu.

You’re then quickly turning your face back to Thanos, trying to see what he wanted to show you. You watch him as he stares at you with his hooded eyes. He lets his breath go, the yellow-ish smoke is billowing out of his mouth. Your eyes widen, “ooohhh! It’s yellow, you guys picked up really good shit this time.” You praise, figuring that’s that he wanted to show you. But it wasn’t.

They both chuckle, Thanos passes the blunt to Nam-gyu, reaching over you and skipping your turn in the rotation completely. You’re pulled out of your stoned haze as you whip your head to look at Thanos accusatorially. “What the fuck?! You skipped me.” You pout looking over to Nam-gyu who smirks at you and hits the blunt, staring at you mockingly from his spot against your stomach.

The purple haired man to your left just laughs, leaning in and beginning to trail his nose up your neck, inhaling your scent. His hand, now free from the blunt runs up your stomach, over your chest, and up your neck to your jaw, turning your face back to him. “You don’t need to be hittin’ that Señorita, you’re gonna be busy.” He mumbles, a wicked grin on his face as he brings you closer to him, capturing your lips in his.

You sigh into it, it’s slow and full of tongue. You always hate how easily they can make you melt. Your lips move in sync, Thanos’ tattooed hands come to cup the sides of your face, pulling you impossibly closer. His tongue is exploring your mouth, tasting you for all you’re worth.

You let out a surprised sound that was akin to a squeak as from your right side, Nam-gyu’s hands are all over you, gripping at your waist as he pushes your shirt up to begin leaving open mouthed kisses on your stomach, the blunt hanging loosely between his fingers as he pushes himself upwards to begin to kiss along your neck as you continue kissing his purple haired counterpart part. Thanos is suddenly pulling away from the kiss, biting your bottom lip as he retreats. His hands push your face to your right and immediately Nam-gyu’s lips are on yours.

Any time they do something like this, pushing you or guiding you to the other when they’re finished- truly sharing you rather than competing with each other- it has you spinning. The contrast between Thanos’ desperate, rough kiss to Nam-gyu’s forceful and needy one already has you feeling hot and bothered.

Nam-gyu always kisses you so fervently, like you’re a dream that he never wants to wake up from. His hands are working up your waist to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh in his hands. Thanos hisses, feeling his cock harden as he watches you two make out, gritting his teeth and drawing in a shaky breath when he sees one of Nam-gyu’s hands remove itself from under your shirt and come up to grip at your throat as he pulls away from the kiss.

It’s an instant reaction when his grip tightens on your neck, you whine out desperately, eyebrows upturning and pupils blowing wide. You can hear the both of them chuckle. Nam-gyu is pulling you up, guiding you by your throat to a kneeling position. Thanos situates himself behind you, hands reaching up under your shirt, immediately beginning to pull at your perky nipples. Thankfully, you hardly ever wore a bra when you were with them- why would you? It just gets in the way more often than not.

“See… all it takes is me choking her and she gets so worked up f’us. ‘S like a lil on switch ain’t it?” Nam-gyu chides with a mocking tone, punctuating his words by squeezing your throat harder. It causes you to bite your lip, your body temperature sky rocketing, you can feel your pussy begin to throb. The pressure that’s added to your neck causes you to arch back into Thanos, pressing your ass back into him.

You hear Thanos chuckle darkly as he hooks his chin over one of your shoulders his hands dropping from your breasts to your hips, his fingers slipping below the waist band of your shorts- which were actually a pair of Nam-gyu’s boxers- to feel you against his palms entirely- he honestly wished you weren’t even wearing those stupid fucking boxers, they just get in the way. He’s pulling your ass back onto his hardening cock, “I know right…” he hums back in response to Nam-gyu who’s still using one hand to hold your throat while the other works to roughly grope at your breasts.

Thanos begins to grind his erection on your ass, you can only begin to breath heavier when you feel the thick heat of his cock begin to grow against your back. “Cute little thing just loves being man handled…” Thanos mocks into your ear. “Bet she’s already dripping just by us fondling her a bit, so easy…” he adds, you can hear the mocking pout in his voice although you can’t see his face.

Nam-gyu is staring at you like you’re an ancient greek statue of a long forgotten goddess that he wants to devote himself to and devour, and you can only imagine that Thanos facial expression is similar. “Of course she is…” Nam-gyu hums, his hand pulls away from your breast, pulling your nipple with as he does.

You bite down on your bottom lip harder, your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a soft moan. It makes both of them become infinitely harder. As Nam-gyu releases your nipple, Thanos is leaning further over your shoulder. They both watch hungrily as the flesh bounces back to your chest, jiggling a bit before settling back into place. “Why don’t you check? Check to see how wet her slutty pussy is just from us barely messin’ with her.” Thanos directs at Nam-gyu.

Thanos is pulling away quickly working to pull your (his) shirt over your head. When the shirt’s is thrown off to the side, Thanos’ hand replaces Nam-gyu’s on your throat, pulling you back into him. His mouth is on your neck, teeth biting into the flesh. His other tattooed hand is attaching to the swell of your breasts his thumb rubbing over your nipples before pinching.

At the same time one of Nam-gyu’s hands is gripping at your hip and the other is slipping his hand down into the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing. His hand molds to your pussy, letting out a low growl when he feels how wet you’re becoming.

“She’s fucking soaked…” he directs towards Thanos, you can tell by his voice that with his discovery, a new level of hunger is reached within the dark haired male. Nam-gyu moves his hand on your hip reaches up and pulls one of Thanos’ hand off your breasts, “outta my way.” He grumbles before his mouth is around your nipple.

Thanos is behind you, grumbling under his breath, his cock rutting into your back harder, “fuckin’ selfish.” He scolds Nam-gyu. He releases his hand on your throat to drop it to the breast that his counterpart wasn’t occupying, “yer already playin with her pussy, bro, c’mon.” He continues. It only makes your chest heave faster. Something about them fighting over you always made your heart and pussy flutter.

Nam-gyu’s mouth always was, and currently is relentless. He’s sucking your nipple into his mouth and moaning into your flesh like he’s in heaven. His fingers are practically finger painting with your arousal, smearing the syrupy liquid that is gushing out of you around your cunt and thighs. “Mhm…” Nam-gyu responds, mouth still attached to your breast. He pulls off with a wet pop, looking up to Thanos who was still leaning over your shoulder “And she’s soooo fuckin’ wet dude…such a messy fuckin’ pussy.” Nam-gyu teases, knowing it would only piss Thanos off that he wasn’t tasting or feeling your sweet cunt like Nam-gyu was.

Nam-gyu’s fingers worked magic, playing with your folds and coaxing more and more sweet and wetness to drip out of your cunt. He’s practically massaging your pussy, moaning into your tits as he savors the soft feeling of your soaking cunt on his fingers. You’re a panting mess against Thanos, soft moans beginning to slip through your lips.

“Oh fuck you…” Thanos seethes at Nam-gyu, taking his irritation out on you- squeezing harder at your breast and grinding his hard cock against your ass. “I can’t wait any longer. I needa taste ‘er.” Thanos growls, lightly shoving you forward into Nam-gyu as he begins to move out from behind you, scooting on his knees around the bed. “Finally somethin’ we agree on.” Nam-gyu scoffs with a laugh.

It’s a skillfully rehearsed set of movements, one they’ve done hundreds of times. Thanos pushes you forward, Nam-gyu pulls you into him, removing his hand out of the boxers you wore and pulling them down your thighs. The boxers you wore are thrown haphazardly across the room. The raven haired male is then pushing you back onto the bed, your head hits the pillows. Thanos soon joins Nam-gyu in front of you.

They each take one of your ankles in their hands. Their hands mirror each other as they slide down your legs. At this point you know you’re fucking drenched, it’s embarrassing really. And as they look down at you like two wolves ready to pounce on a fawn you’re whimpering eyes frantically darting between the two, not being able to figure out where to focus.

They’re pushing your thighs open, spreading you wide, your glistening cunt on full display for them. “Oh-ho…” Thanos chuckles, “you were right, pretty thing’s dripping for us..” his hand comes to cup your pussy, grinding his palm into your clit. He exhilerated by your sloppy state, your thighs and pubic bone covered in your own arousal thanks to Nam-gyu’s earlier work. “‘Gyu did a good job huh? His fingers feel good?” Thanos muses down to you, his tattooed middle finger beginning to trace around the outside of your cunt. You twitch against his hand, the way your pussy clenches with the minimal attention makes the both of him draw in sharp breaths.

“Mhm..” you whine out in response to Thanos your eyes trained on him as you bite your lip and nod, your hips canting up into his touch trying to get him to touch where you needed it. Your eyes dart over to Nam-gyu who’s licking his lips, hand gripping at your one of your inner thighs, thumb pulling your cunt open for them to see you better. “Made me feel so good.” You direct towards Nam-gyu. His yes look up to you, a soft smile spreading across his lips at the praise- in an instant the hungry, devious grin is back.

They seem to think the same thing, they’re both laying down on the bed, their faces becoming level with your cunt. Nam-gyu is the first to touch you again, his hand coming up to rest on your pubic bone, hand turning down, his thumb and pointer finger coming to spread you nice ‘n wide. It’s a beautiful sight, pretty pink cunt just drooling milky white arousal that spills down to your ass.

“Fucking Christ….” Thanos says with a wide grin, the hand around your thigh gripping harder, he’s looking at your pussy like it’s the million dollar jackpot at the casino or a free ounce of weed. “Perfect fucking cunt..” Nam-gyu muses, his eyes staring at your pussy hungrily, his fingers pinching together slightly causing you to whimper and arch into his touch.

“You needy, baby? Wan’ us to eat your pretty ‘lil pussy?” Thanos asks, you let out a breathless laugh, pushing yourself up on your elbows to look down at the perfect view below you. “F-fuck yes. P-please I need it. Need both of you…” You beg them desperately. They seem to look at each other for a moment before either agreeing your begging was good enough or they just couldn’t wait any longer.

The feeling of both their tongues meeting your cunt at the same time is exhilarating. They’ve done it plenty of times before but you’ve never gotten used to it. They both watch you out differently, leaving you with two different patterns lapping greedily at your pussy. Your hands are gripping the sheets of the bed beside you in a white-knuckled grip. The obscene sounds of your wet pussy and they’re slurping is sure to be heard through the walls of nam-gyu’s apartment.

They’re messy, unforgiving. Their tongues intertwine on top of your clit. Both pairs of lips wrapping around the bud. You can tell they’re just as fucked out as you are, their eyes peer up at you from between your legs, taking in every one of your reactions. It’s a view you always will think about, both of their faces buried deep in your cunt, noses bumping against your clit in alternate movements.

You’re crying out, stomach tensing. Fighting your head from falling back in ecstasy on the pillows, you really don’t want to look away from the two men who are slurping at your messy cunt like your arousal is the elixir of life. “H-holy f-fuck…” you gasp out, hips grinding up into their mouths. You can feel the vibrations of their laughs, it only sends more shocks of pleasure through your body. Thanos pulls away, leaning his face against your thigh, Nam-gyu wastes no time to fill in his place, his mouth engulfing you- tongue thrusting into your tight head.

“Mhm…” Thanos coos at you, his eyes trained on the way Nam-gyu messily tongue fucks you. “So fuckin messy…” he mocks, “you hear how loud your pussy is? Needed us so bad, huh, princess?” Thanos asks, Nam-gyu’s eyes open again and lock with yours, wanting to see your reaction. Your eyebrows are upturned, your pillowy lips wet and swollen, heaving breaths causing your breasts to jiggle with each exhale. “F-fuck ohmygod ‘Gyu..” you cry out, “y-yes needed you two so fuck- so fucking bad.” You finish.

Thanos is leaning back down, shoving Nam-Gyu to the side so he can get his own fill. Thanos is always so much more erratic than Nam-gyu. While Nam-Gyu eats you out like a dog lapping at water on a hot day, long, languid, deep strokes of his tongue trying to savor the taste of you, Thanos eats your cunt like a man starved. It’s fast paced, messy, and he’s all over you. He’s even pulling back to spit on your puffy cunt before going back in for seconds

Nam-gyu watches Thanos, his face wet by your arousal, “Such a whore…” he says, even with the harsh pet name, there’s an odd softness to his voice, he’s praising you. His hand reaching up to your face, his middle and ring finger pulling at your bottom lip. You knew what to do, your lips part sucking in his fingers. “Mhm…” he says nodding at you as your tongue swirls around his digits, the pads of his fingers pushing at your tongue, “so good f’us, smart girl knows what she needs to do….” He adds.

The purple haired rapper is pulling away from your cunt, your clit sucked into his lips as he does. You’re crying around Nam-Gyu’s fingers, eyes rolling back at the wet ‘pop’ that sounds through the room as Thanos releases your clit. “We’ve trained her well.” He mumbles against your pussy. You’re shaking against the bed, whining around Nam-gyu’s fingers. His fingers pull themselves from your mouth, wet with your saliva. He’s quickly settling back down next to Thanos, his fingers beginning to play with your puffy cunt. Your head kicks back onto the pillow as you moan out a mix of both their names.

You can hear Thanos chuckle darkly and you’re weakly pulling your head off the pillow to look down. They both have their cheeks rested against one of your thighs, just staring at the way your cunt continuously gushes thick streams of your arousal, clenching impatiently. “Ya’ didn’t even have to wet your fingers…she’s already so fuckin wet…” Thanos hisses through grit teeth, like your pussy is the most delicious sight he could ever lay his eyes upon. “Just wanted your fingers in her throat you pervert.” He laughs, looking over to Nam-gyu with a wide grin.

“Can you blame me? You seen the way she looks at you with your cock shoved down her throat, ‘s the same look.” Nam-gyu scoffs, his fingers teasing your entrance. You’re trying to grind down into his fingers, wanting your cunt to finally be full but the weight of their heads on your thighs keeps you from moving.

They either seem to have come to the conclusion they teased you enough or have waited long enough because in a second Nam-gyu’s fingers are deep within your spongy walls and both their tongues were back on your clit. Your back arches off the bed, your head tilting heavenward as you let out a choked sob. They don’t ease you into it, no they’ve been fucking you- ruining you- for well over a year now they know you can take it. And with the weed coursing through their system their mind is only set on one thing and that is feeling you, tasting you, as you cum on their tongues.

It’s so fucking filthy, the sounds that come from in between your legs only turn you on more. Nam-gyu’s fingers are pistoning into your cunt, scissoring themselves inside you and reaching places you know your fingers never could. He knows you like the back of his hand, knows exactly where to curl his fingers to brush against that spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Nam-gyu pulls away from your cunt, his fingers never ceasing. Thanos wastes no time in shifting over the slightest bit to fully coat your throbbing clit with the soft, wet warmth of his tongue.

“Ya’ know how much of a slut you are?” Nam-gyu hums, dark eyes watching as his fingers disappear into your leaking hole, pushing out more of your arousal onto the bed and observing how Thanos’ lips suck on your clit, tongue playing with it in swiveling motions. “Letting two men eat your depraved cunt…” The black haired male chides. Your eyebrows are upturned, your wide eyes looking at him with a fucked out haze to them. You’re just nodding alone to his words dumbly, hips grinding down on his fingers as you let out choked ‘uh-huh!’s. “And you just love it.” His eyebrow quirks up when he feels you tighten at his words, “yeeeahhh you do…can feel you squeezing me pretty girl.” He muses, beginning to curl his fingers upward in a devine, fast paced curling motion that makes the wet ‘schlick, schlick, schlick” sound that comes from your cunt become even louder.

Thanos chuckled against your cunt, pulling off of you. Nam-gyu immediately takes his place, his fingers and mouth working at your raw pussy desperate to have you cum on his tongue. Thanos is sitting up and leaning over you, laughing when he sees how your head is tilted back and your eyes are screwed shut in ecstasy. He grips your chin, hard, yanking you to face him. Your eyes shoot open to look at him, your body jerking upwards with every harsh thrust of Nam-Gyu’s fingers. “Ohhhh….” Thanos lets out in a low hum, “you’re close aren’t you? Gonna cum f’us?” He asks.

You’re babbling incoherently at this point, the way Nam-gyu is sucking at your cunt as his fingers burry themselves deep in your twitching walls makes you not be able to even think straight. Thanos is laughing, his hand coming up to connect with the side of your face in a harsh slap. It wasn’t hard, it was enough to sting, and fuck, did it make your cunt throb. You can tell Nam-gyu feels it because he scoffs against your pussy, letting out a muffled ‘filthy fuckin slut’ against your puffy folds when he feels you tighten around his fingers when you’re slapped.

Thanos hand goes back to gripping your chin after the slap, shaking your head around in a degrading manner “Answer me sweetheart. We haven’t even fucked ya’ yet and you’re already acting like a brainless whore. C’mon now, tell ‘Gyu how good he’s doin’, gonna make you cum huh?” The purple haired man growls.

“F-fuck y-yes! Feels, oh shit, feels so fucking good, ‘m g-gonna, ohmygod.” Your eyes are fluttering back as the heat in your lower stomach grows almost painful, your words cut off by choked sobs, Thanos is reaching his free hand down to push on your lower stomach, a high-pitched squeal falling out of your lips as you’re hurled towards your orgasm.

“O-oh fuck! ‘m cumming! fuckfuckfuck!!” Your words are slurred and babbled, your eyes screwing shut as you’re cumming hard. You can hear the wet gush of your cunt spraying down Nam-Gyu’s hand, drenching the sheets below you, and he’s drinking you up for all your worth, practically sucking your orgasm out of you.

“Oho! There you go! Fuck you’re makin such a mess.” Thanos praises, eyes never straying from the view of you soaking Nam-gyu’s face. You’re thrashing against the bed, hips rutting into his face as he greedily swallows your cum. You have to reach a hand up and push at his head, his lips still wrapped around your clit even after your orgasm is over. When he pulls his face up you whine breathlessly- he’s covered. His face, neck, and chest are soaked with droplets of your arousal.

“Could fuckin’ eat your sweet pussy all day..” Nam-gyu says breathlessly as his dark eyes look down to see the mess he’s made of you. Your cunt is raw and puffy, coated in your arousal and cream they worked out of you. Nam-gyu is reaching into his back pocket with one hand and using the other to spread you open so he can see your pretty pussy entirely. His and comes back around, pulling out his phone and opening the camera to take a couple pictures of his artwork. You’re whining in protest- though you really love when they do that, you know they’re only ever shared between the two of them. Both of them have albums of pictures of you once they’re through with you- they have to have things to look at if you’re not around!!

You’re pretty sure they plan out every time they’re going to fuck you. It’s like they meet before and type out an itinerary of who gets to fuck your cunt when and who’s taking your throat. Like they plan a play by play so when it comes down to it they’re not wasting any time.

You see Nam-gyu typing and then hear Thanos phone go off a moment later. They’re both maneuvering back down to your cunt, tongues going back and enveloping your pussy. You cry out, entirely overstimulated at the moment but they have to clean you up!!

They’re pulling away from your cunt in a mess of spit and saliva, tongues hanging out like dogs panting. Thanos is looking at your fucked out form when Nam-gyu goes back in for seconds (thirds.), his lips wrapped around your clit and his tongue working against it. You’re moaning out broken syllables of their names, hips grinding against his tongue. Thanos looks down annoyed at Nam-gyu, obviously straying from whatever plan they had made up.

Thanos’ painted nails are tangling themselves into Nam-gyu’s hair, yanking him off your cunt roughly. You and the male between your thighs let out echoing moans. “Quit being greedy.” He scolds at Nam-gyu,

You’re still coming down from your orgasm as they bicker, you don’t think you could ever get used to the both of them eating you out at once. Your cunt is still leaking syrupy cum, a thick trail of the creamy arousal beginning to drop down to your ass. Nam-gyu fights against Thanos’ hold to drop back down and begin devouring the rest of your cum. He’s moaning in your pussy, the taste of your orgasm one of his worst addictions, he could never get enough and always needed a fix. Thank god you were a timely dealer!

He’s pulling away from your cunt and smirking, “Couldn’t let it go to waste, bro…’s a delicacy.” Nam-Gyu says turning back to Thanos with a shit eating grin. In no time, They’re crawing off the bed, ridding themselves of their pants and boxers, beginning to maneuver you expertly. Nam-gyu grabs a hold of your ankles, spinning you horizontally across the bed. Thanos is then gripping your wrists and pulling you towards him, your head hanging off the bed.

You’re looking at him upside down as his tattooed hand begins to fist his hard cock over your face, his other hand reaching down to slap one of your breasts sharply then grabbing at the flesh. You’re whining out looking up at him, his grin is nearly sadistic as you know what’s about to come next.

Since this arrangement has been going on for a long while now, they’ve come to have favorite positions for both of them to use you in. It was a long and arduous task to try and find the happy neutral ground. Hey! No one ever said having two boyfriends was easy work.

This position happened to be one they compromised on. Thanos loved seeing the imprint of his cock sliding in and out of your throat, he loved being able to choke you. And Nam-gyu loved nothing more than to be able to see your cunt stretched out around your cock and your tits bounce as he fucked you. And you? Well, you were getting absolutely destroyed by them either way so you were just happy they found something that they didn’t have to fight over.

You feel the bed shift under the weight of Nam-gyu crawling back onto the bed. He’s kneeling between your legs, hands reaching down to your hips to lift you up, your legs resting limply over his hips. You can feel the weight of his heavy cock against your stomach. His ring clad hands are running up and down your thighs.

“Been waiting for this all day…could never get enough of this tight cunt…” Nam-gyu growls, looking up to Thanos as he nods in agreement, his hips beginning to move back and forth to grind his cock in the mess that was spread around your cunt and pubic bone. The underside of his dick catching your clit with each motion.

“Best pussy and mouth out there, aren’t we lucky….” Thanos praises, eyes flicking down to you. He quirks up an amused eyebrow when he sees your desperate state, your mouth hung open nice and wide, already waiting for his cock. He releases your breast from his grip, Nam-gyu’s hands now sliding up your stomach to replace them.

Thanos’ hand that isn’t occupied by fisting his cock runs up to your neck, dragging a squeezed hand up the expanse of your throat. “What a greedy slut you are, beautiful..” Thanos mocks, “Just had two men devour your sloppy pussy and now you just can’t wait to get stuffed…”

“Wouldn’t be nice to keep her waiting, would it?” Nam-gyu hums, hand coming to splay itself on your pubic bone, thumb reaching down to flick at your clit. You can feel him begin to rub the leaking tip of his cock between your folds, a breathy falling from your lips.

“Yeahhh…” Thanos grins watching as Nam-gyu teases your cunt, “Wants it bad doesn’t she…” he continues, his thumb pinching at your pert nipple as he lowers his hefty cock to your face, you know exactly what to do. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth beginning to press open mouthed kisses down his thick shaft, lathing your tongue over the hot skin as you twitch against Nam-gyu.

Nam-gyu pushes the tip of his bulbous cock-head into your sopping walls, it’s a stretch you don’t think you could ever be prepared for no matter how many times he’s fucked you. You let out a cracked whine, the blissful fullness of his cock entering you being quickly ripped away as he pulls back out. Maybe it’s some kind of obscure fetish he had, but he loved just sinking his fat cock-head into your tight cunt, watching as you greedily suck him in and consume his tip in a wet, sopping warmth. He’s edging himself while edging you.

Thanos laughs as you moan out, head falling further off the bed as you throw it back in pleasure. “So mean…” he directs at the raven haired man who fucks you shallowly, “She jus’ wants to be stuffed and you’re teasing her..” Thanos says, you can tell he really doesn’t feel bad for you, in fact he likes watching as Nam-gyu rocks into your cunt, he loves being able to see your face twist into a contorted expression of bliss.

“‘M not stopping you from fucking her slutty mouth..fill ‘er up if she’s wants to be stuffed so bad..” Nam-gyu grunts, pulling all the way out and slapping his thick cock against your weeping cunt with a wet ‘plap plap plap’ before beginning to sink back into you.

And only a few moments later, stuffed you are. Thanos is balls deep in your throat, heavy balls hanging over your eyes as he slides his cock in and out of your tight throat. Your face, his balls, and anything in the vicinity is covered in your spit. It’s sloppy. Debauched. Hes thrusting into your throat without abandon, one of his hands coming down to caress your throat feeling the bulge of his thick cock slide down your esophagus. You’re helplessly gagging and moaning around him, fountains of spit bubbling out of your throat- making it all the more sloppy which only urges Thanos to fuck your throat harder. “Takin me so well…letting me use this fuckin’ throat.” He growls, “Can feel how fuckin’ deep I am ohmygod…” he’s hissing, his words punctuated by him grabbing your throat harder, his teeth clenched.

Nam-gyu finally sinks fully into you, wasting no time to begin thrusting into your sopping cunt. It’s damn near violent, every thrust jolting you forward, shoving Thanos’ cock deeper into your throat. All you can do is let out choked muffled moans. “‘Gyu makin’ you feel good, sweetheart?”

You let out a muffled ‘mhm! mhm!” The vibrations making Thanos stiffen. His hand grips harder at your throat, “easy, girl..fuck!…Fuckin do that and I’ll cum too quick” Thanos is growling, beginning to choke you with his hand as his cock stuffs your throat.

Between your legs Nam-gyu’s hips jackhammer into yours at a damn near evil pace. Your pussy is stretched impossibly wide, yet you still grip his thick length with a tightness that could fool him into thinking he’s never ruined your sweet cunt before. It’s one of the reasons he can never get enough. Anytime he draws his hips back a streak of milky-white coats his cock, forming a ring as the base of his dick anytime he slams back into you. He reaches so deep, filling your cunt until you’re moaning out mindlessly, though your sounds come out choked and garbled around Thanos’ cock that’s shoved in your mouth.

Thanos’ hand was still on your throat, his head kicked back as his hips thrust brutally into the tight cavern of your throat. Your tongue sliding along the top of his cock as his tip bullies its way down your throat. You’re gagging and spitting around his length, choked moaned muffled by the thick dick sliding up and down your throat. “F-fuck.” He stutters out in a breathless laugh, a blissful grin stretched across his lips. “Such a good cock sucker, so fuckin sloppy.” He says pulling all the way out of your throat with a sickening wet sound. You’re gasping for air, a messy string of spit coming out of your mouth and connecting your mouth to the tip of his throbbing cock. His hand releases his harsh grip on your throat, hand moving up and down the expanse of your neck in a soothing motion. “Look at you Señorita…” he says in a proud tone, “such a beautiful sight..” he hums.

You then watch from an upside down view as he fumbles for his phone that was on the ground. You se him unlock it and presumably go to the camera app. He comes back closer to you, resting his heavy cock on your face. Your suspicions are proved correct when the flash of his camera flicks on, you only get impossibly righter- clenching around Nam-gyu who lets out a choked, “slut loves to be filmed”

Thanos is pointing the phone down at you as he slides his cock past your pillowy lips. He watches through the phone screen as he sinks deeper into your mouth, you’re gagging around him as he begins to push past the tight ring of your throat. “Mhm…” he mumbles to himself, eyes trained on the bulge that begins to show in your throat on the image displayed on his phone. His hand is back on your throat, squeezing it before trailing down, his phone camera following his movements. He leans over you, his cock sinking deeper into your throat. His hand grips at your tits that bounce with Nam-gyu’s thrusts. He then pans the camera up, catching how Nam-gyu fucks into your cunt.

The corner of Nam-gyu’s bottom lip is caught in his teeth, one of his hands is around your hip, holding you up slightly as he thrusts into you, the other is reaching up to take his hair back and out of his face before dropping back down to his side. The wet sound of skin slapping on skin is resounding through the room, most certainly being picked up by the camera recording you three. Thanos cannot deny how fucking hot the view is that the phone camera captures. He watches on through the screen as Nam-gyu reaches his free up and begins to play with your clit. You sob out in pleasure round Thanos’ cock. The vibrations cause him to nearly fall over, he has to stop his recording abruptly- throwing his phone to the side before pulling out of your throat.

“C’mon man I gotta fuck her cunt.” Thanos nearly begs Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu thrusts into your pussy once more, sinking balls deep in you, wanting to hear you cry out for him without Thanos’ cock muffling the sounds. And that you do, it’s a choked, wracked whine, it’s a cute sound that has both of them groaning in response. Nam-gyu is pulling out of you, looking down to see how your cunt holds the shape of his tick cock for a second before desperately clenching around nothing. “Fine, fine….i wanna feel her choke on my cock too anyway.” The longer haired male is scoffing.

Once again, they’re moving you with a swiftness that leaves you no time to process what position you’re in until you feel the tips of their cocks touch you. You’re on all fours, back arched so prettily. Thanos is behind you painted nails digging into the flesh of your ass as he rocks his dick against you. Nam-gyu is in front of you, one hand gripping the base of his cock as he runs his leaking tip against your lips- smearing his pre-cum on your lips like a new personalized lipgloss- his other hand gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

In tandem they’re sinking back inside you. Your moans muffled by Nam-gyu’s cock. Despite being stretched out by Nam-gyu fucking you previously, you’re were still gripping down on Thanos’ cock like a vice. His hips are drawing back, watching the way your cunt sucks him back into your tight walls. Your eyes look up at Nam-gyu his head tilted back and his mouth hung open singing praises of your name as your tongue swirled around him.

“Still so fuckin’ tight…” Thanos growls, his hips slapping into your ass violently, his painted nails leaving crescent moon shaped imprints in the far of your ass. One of his hands releases its grip to smack your ass, it’s hard and painful, making you sob out and choke around Nam-gyu’s cock. “Dirty fuckin’ bitch.” The male in front of you growls, feeling your moans around his dick when Thanos spanks you. It’s resounding through your head as deep rumble that only makes your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

“Creamin’ all over my fuckin’ cock.” You hear Thanos growl from above you, his thrust becoming rougher, jolting you forward and further down Nam-Gyu’s cock. You feel one of Thanos’ hand grip at one of the globes of your ass, pushing up and spreading you so he can see the mess that is your pussy. Anytime he draws his hips back, sticky strings of your thick arousal coat his thighs and pelvis, dripping down to his heavy balls that slap against your clit with every mind numbing thrust. “Just love getting ruined by two fuckin’ cocks, don’t’cha pretty girl?” Thanos says, and you feel him spit downwards, the warm saliva dripping down the valley of your ass and mixing with the mess between your thighs as he pile drives into you.

Nam-gyu’s hand that holds your tightens, a signal for you to respond. You let out a muffled ‘mhm!’ your eyes fluttering closed and screwing shut as you feel yourself about to cum. Every time Thanos thrusts into you the fat tip of his cock brutally fucks into your g-spot. “Oh you’re close…fuckin milkin’ me” Thanos growls lowly, your eyes are welling with tears at this point. Thanos looks up at the black haired male in front of him, “she already squirted and she still wants to cum again…how fuckin’ greedy.. makin’ us do all the work.” He finishes, one of his hands reaching diagonally across your back to grip at your ass.

“You’re right..” Nam-gyu responds, pushing your mouth impossibly deeper down his shaft, your tongue lapping at his balls. “Make her to the work this time…” And you can hear the smirk in his voice.

Thanos nods in response, his hand coming down to slap your ass, “You heard him. Work for it.” He hisses. “Wanna cum so bad? Fuck yourself on my cock like the slut you are.” The purple haired male finishes in a deep rasp from behind you.

You can do nothing but obey, lest you don’t want to cum. You’re grinding back onto him, looking up at Nam-Gyu as he releases the make shift ponytail he has your hair in and begins to cradle your face in both his hands, “C’mon you can do better than that….” Nam-gyu says lowly, looking down at you, beginning to fuck his cock down your throat, “Don’t you wanna cum? You’re not actin’ like it…” he says, you know it’s a threat.

You begin to fuck your self back onto the purple hairs man behind you, a loud ‘slap’ of wet skin resounds through the room every time your ass connects to the fronts of his thighs, the flesh recoiling against his skin. “That’s it. F-fuck.” Thanos hisses out, his hand on your ass moving with the flesh that jiggles each time you sink him balls deep, “Look at that fuckin’ ass…” he grumbles in a low voice, more to himself than anyone, but Nam-Gyu hums in approval as he watches on, low moans of praise falling from his lips as you suck him down eagerly, moaning around him with more ferocity.

“Yeah…you’re gonna cum, can fuckin feel it, go on make a mess f’me, pretty girl.” Thanos says, his hand wrapping around you to play with your throbbing clit in erratic circles. The stimulation immediately throws you over the edge, you’re clenching down on Thanos’ cock so hard it stills his movements. Nam-Gyu pulls out of your throat, his hand fisting his cock as you gasp, catching your breath. Immediately you’re moaning and whining out, your hips are simultaneously thrusting back onto the thick length in sloppy motions and trying to bring your clit into his fingers.

You’re orgasm sprays out of you in a violent fountain, and Thanos adjusts his hands to grip both of your hips, brutally pulling you back against him and fucking your cum out of you in gushing spurts. You’re sobbing out a mix of their names, babbled and choked as you see stars. Your breath is heaving, you would have fallen down if it wasn’t for the both of them reaching down to hold you up.

And as fucked out as you are, overstimulated beyond belief- you can only think of the fact they have yet to cum. You look at them desperately, like it’s the one thing you truly need to be satisfied after all this. Your adrenaline keeps you coherent enough to keep wanting more. You wouldn’t be satiated until you felt them cum on you or in you- you never were.

They’re working together to pull you off the bed and you follow excitedly, being this position all too many times- it was one of your favorites. As you situate yourself on your knees in front of them and look up at them teary eyed and fucked out- hair matted and sticking to your face and lips swollen from taking both of them in your mouth- they’re fisting their cocks over you, singing praises of your form as you kneel below them.

“So fuckin pretty, cryin’ f’us.” Nam-gyu grunts out, squeezing the tip of his throbbing cock before working to fist the rest of his length. “Such a good girl…knew just what to do…” Thanos mumbles, his words broken by a moan, “fuck…look at you kneelin’ like the good whore ya are.” He finishes. You’re addicted to the way both their fists work furiously against their cocks, each having their own rhythm and particular way of doing it.

“Gonna be a good girl and let us paint y’er face?” Nam-Gyu says, quirking an eyebrow up at you. When you nod and part your lips, sticking out your tongue they both groan. “F-fuck you look so good, wanna record this.” Thanos grunts, Nam-gyu seems to have the same idea as they’re both reaching over and grabbing their phones that were scattered about the bed. They’re quickly returning in front of you, looming over you as they work their hands along their cocks above you.

You look up at them, your face stained with tears, eyes red, puffy and covered in mascara- but you still eagerly await what they’re gonna give you with your tongue out. Your eyes are squinting against the harsh light of the flash from both your phones. It should make you embarrassed that you’re letting them record you in this state but you’re not- you love it.

“Yeeeahhh….” Thanos growls, his hand fisting his cock rapidly, “that’s it pretty girl, you look so fuckin good.” He praises, his voice becoming shaky. You look over to Nam-Gyu who is obviously just as close to cumming, his hand jerking his thick length, using your spit as lube. “Gonna look so fuckin’ good covered in our cum, princess.” Nam-Gyu is hissing out.

You nod, moaning out, wanting nothing more than to be painted by the both of them. Thanos kicks his head back, moaning out your name in a low hiss, his cum beginning to fall to your face in pearly white ropes. Nam-gyu is right behind him, phone in his hand shaking slightly as he jerks his cock over your face.

You can feel the alternating ropes of their warm cum covering your face. Your eyes shutting as you collect what you could on your tongue. You feel a large drop land on one of your eyelids, thankful you closed your eyes, but something about the raunchiness of it just makes you sigh out.

They’re both stepping forward, placing the tips of their cocks on your tongue. Like the good girl you are, you’re eagerly cleaning them up. Tongue rolling between the two thick cocks and taking them into your mouth, you open your one eye- looking up to the camera as you make more of a show of stretching your mouth around the both of them, sucking them both dry.

They’re ending the video and throwing their phones to the ground almost simultaneously, their chests heaving with heavy breaths. When they tilt their heads back down to look at the mess they made, you’re swiping a finger across your face to collect the mix of their cum and suck it off your fingers. You smile up innocently at them and they both groan, smiling down at you.

Nam-Gyu is picking you up off the floor like you’re a rag doll, “you’re gonna be the death of us” he chuckles. He’s throwing you onto his bed and you bounce softly on the plush mattress letting out a giggle. You didn’t even realize Thanos had stepped away until he’s hovering over your face from the side of the bed and wiping you clean with a cool towel.

You can help but giggle and smile as he does it. It’s so odd, they just fucked you like a whore and now they’re doting on you. Nam-gyu is filling up your water bottle that you kept on the bedside table and begging to roll another blunt while Thanos is trying to fight your giggles to keep you still enough to clean you. Something he knows you love after being so completely ruined, it allows you to relax.

They really were the best boyfriends. You really don’t know what you’d do without them and you’re glad that you’re able to see the two varying sides of the both of them.

Buut…They never fail to remind you of their other side of them, the raunchy personalities that originally drew you towards them. Like days later with your out to dinner with your friends and you see they both send a couple videos in your group chat, and you open it unexpectedly to see the most sinful pictures and videos- trying desperately to shield the very obvious image that blares across your screen.

Up next on requests I got another thangyu non-squid games request focused on silky dynamics of the relationship

After that is more thangyu with thick!reader smut. Including double penetration n thick thigh love!

3rd in line we have a namgyu smut with naive! / innocent! Reader >:)

4th we got a new ask for a dead beat baby daddy! Namgyu x reader smut involving hate fucking

As always thank you all for reading and requesting! It’s always so much fun getting to interact with you guys and write them!!! - love always <3 kiwi

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you gave up, too?”

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

“That's an infinite number of games.”

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

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

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

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

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

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

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

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

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

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

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

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

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t let that happen.

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

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

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

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

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

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

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

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

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

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[beomiracles]

the way I read this two weeks ago and have yet to reblog... anyhow, cam already heard me absolutely CRASH OUT reading this on vc. but it's a lot more fun to host a public crash out too.

FIRST OFF ALL.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

second of all.

the UNIQUE concept is to fucking die for. the idea of vampires feeding off of other vampires is something I've never even thought about??! much less them becoming literally fucking soul bound after that.

You hadn't put your mouth on anyone since that night, not even when it felt as if you had been scooped out with a spoon, carved open, and laid bare from hunger. If it wasn't him you would have nobody. 

PACK IT UP PACK IT UP. "If it wasn't him you would have nobody" YES YES YES. like I'm tearing my heart open and giving it to you rn just take me as I am.

Feeding from vampires was anything but a rush, that first mouthful was a wash of exhilaration. It made one dependent on each other, one taste and it was never the same.

mother of all things holy.

next, the way they were both yearning for each other. cam was yapping this nonsense about the smut feeling weird, BUT LET ME TELL YOU. the smut in this fic is absolutely DIVINE. it portrays the longing and the yearning in such an immaculate way I'm literally out of breath writing this rn. like just opening the fic back up to find my favourite parts has me in shambles, so you can imagine the out of body experience I had reading this.

You would never feel full again unless you had him back. 

AH YES YESYYEYSYEYSYEYSWYE.

You still remember the sound his human heart made

see. i. I'M UNWELL. the way she remembers him even after DECADES passing. the longing of a vampire is so painfully beautiful I'm going to actually pass out on the floor may one of you guys come pick me up again once I've had a moment to collect myself.

AND WHEN SHE SEES HIM AGAIN --- It wasn't the butterflies of newfound love but sickening maggots wriggling in your stomach.

cam I'm going to actually bend you over.

But he was wrong, he hadn't known how full the world felt, how full he was after one drop of love from you. And now he was empty, starved clean from his own doing. “I was ashamed,”  The confession was so quiet matching your question, “And now?”  Beomgyu looked up from under his lashes, he was close enough now that your scent was suffocating him, begging him to give in and just sink his teeth right over your heart. Find the same place they had last been because no one had been able to tempt him to even pull his fangs down, not since you. “And now I'm starving,” 

AND NOW IM STARVING BITCH COME HERE IM GOING TO GIVE YOU MY BODY MIND AND SOUL FOR BREAKFAST DINNER AND LUNCH.

“Now look at this,” you can feel the pad of his thumb running over the bite mark scars he's left on your inner thigh, his grin wicked enough to make your knees twitch. “I wonder if your pretty cunt will remember me as well as your skin has,” 

im so normal about this paragraph its insane lol.

everyone shut up and read this part:

Beomgyu whines, breath quickening as he shoves in the last few inches. He lets his body fall onto yours, needing to be closer, needing to drag his lips over your neck, teeth scratching at your pulse, “say it again, tell me how much you hate me,”  But he knows you can hardly speak, your legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him down closer. “Shut up,” you gasp, his hips rolling against yours.  “then beg me,” he doesn’t even have to say for what. Not when your neck is rolling back to give him better access to your vein, his lips brushing against your skin with each word. “If you don’t hate me, beg me to taste you. I know you remember how much I love to mix the flavor of your blood with your cum still in my mouth,”

I want to declare a moment of silence. for my sanity, for my pride and the person I have become after being bestowed such an honour of a fic. I want to lick every part of cam until there's nothing left of her and I want everyone who I've never came in contact with to have read this fic at least once in their entire life to get at least some use out of it.

this fic is my favourite ever.

bitten

beomgyu x fem!reader

synopsis: it’s been a century since the last youve seen him, why come back now?

warnings: 🔞!!! vampire!beomgyu, vampire!reader, mentions of blood, blood drinking, biting, angst, mentions of a break up,mentions of bite mark scars, a bit of soulmate trope, oral (f!rec), no protection,mentions of subspace, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 3.8k (now this flung the 2k limit out the window )

an: thank you for the request! I hope that this captured the essence of the request because vamp!gyu was consuming my thoughts after I read those lines. I love vampire fics and im so sad I don't have more on my page already and this was the perfect time to add one. not proofread im so sorry my sweet angel darlings have mercy on me and forgive me of any mistakes found.

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

The bar was dark enough to keep the bruised necks and wrists of the occasional lost traveler hidden. Spots of blood dripped onto crisp white shirts scenting the air in coppery sweetness. It was a sickening smell to those who didn't need to feed, the alcohol keeping the rest of the occupants held over enough to ignore the twinge. 

You didn't come to places like this often, the back room filled with half-drunk vampires and humans, desperately grasping at each other as they took from one another. Even the drinks didn't call to you, not when he wasn't standing there behind the bar passing them to you, constantly working his eyes up your body like a desperate plea to have even a taste. He hadn't been turned then, not when you first met. The pull towards you always accounted for the fact you were tainted with blood lust. A moth to a flame, he felt that pull, your hunger enough to send him right into the fire without even glancing at him. 

It wasn't often that a human found themselves offering their bodies up to vampires. Most of them felt the hair rise on the back of their necks, the prickling of fear telling them that whoever was standing just round the corner was a wolf in perfectly tailored sheeps clothing, how tight that human look held onto you after your change. The uncanny glow seeping that poisonous warning off in waves, a trap waiting for the truly reckless to trip. 

The ones who wandered closer instead of away always found themselves in the back of bars like this, bruised and hazy eyed laying in beds done up in silk and candlelight. Beomgyu, although working behind the bar for years knew never to offer himself up to the ones who sunk his stomach, that warning to run ringing in his ears as he slid a drink across the hardwood. But you, the second the door had pushed open and your skin washed in that low down glow, tripped him up; your waiting trap snapping shut around him like a rib cage around fluttering lungs. Even the echo of fading hoof beats on stone sounded so close to the beating of his heart that he couldn't tell the difference between flight and flush. 

But that had been years ago, so many that you couldn't even remember the shade of his irises. You remember they were brown, staring up at ceilings casing empty houses trying and failing to conger up the image. Well over a century's worth of time to hate yourself for forgetting the one thing that drew you in at first glance. But it wasn't as if you didn't try to work your way through the fading memories of him, all flickering by like the passing pages of a notebook you forgot you wrote and held so dearly. All you could see was that empty bed, the sugary taste of his blood still on your tongue, your breast still tender from where he bit you over your heart, so hard the soft outline of his teeth, like a stain you desperately wanted to rid yourself of. 

You had come here, back to this bar only three times after he had left to check in. That night with tears in your eyes, heart crumbling, the second taehyun had confessed that beomgyu was gone, packed up with only a shrugged goodbye. “He said he doesn't know when he will be back,” 

You had waited ten years to return the next time, so little time when you counted decades like snowflakes, not the glass shattering hail you assumed beomgyu would have still thought of as a recently turned fledgling. But no one had seen him, heard from him, hardly even thought of him. But he plagued you, ran around your head until you could taste the blood coming from overworked joints. 

The third time was no better, not when you entered and Taehyun shook his head, apologizing for a friend he wouldn't recognize anymore. 

You had given up, moved away, and swore to never think about beomgyu and his puppy stare. That follow you everywhere look that seeped into your bones and begged you to never turn away from him. Only now you were back, sitting in the far corner you fell in love, sinking into the leather seat wishing you could have that first glance back. 

Taehyun felt pity when he saw you, knew that you had been locked away in some house countries away, only sending in orders for blood long since cold. He poured you a glass, the same drink you asked for with tears in your eyes that first night back alone, chugging so many of them back he's sure your blood tasted of fire, too sour, burning all the way down one's throat. 

“Thank you,” neither of you wanted to bring Beomgyu up but he was the first thing on both of your minds. 

“He hasn't-” 

“I don't care,” you tossed back your drink, the ripples of mixed in blood making your fangs tingle, ready to push through soft gums and piece flesh not yet provided. It's why you came. Tired of the empty flavored pints of blood brought to you by Soobin and his sorry eyes. You hadn't put your mouth on anyone since that night, not even when it felt as if you had been scooped out with a spoon, carved open, and laid bare from hunger. If it wasn't him you would have nobody. 

But that declaration was a century ago, so many cold cups later it was tiring to swallow another. “I want a girl, preferably quiet, business only,” Taehyun nodded to your order, already knowing the best pick. 

“Room 615, she can be brought back in about thirty minutes,” there was no room for judgment, not after the years of working behind this counter, sneaking into those beds just like everyone else had. But he knew what it took from someone who hated to drink from a vein, it's why they had the services, those who couldn't go out and find someone or someones to keep up a constant full belly. 

But human blood wasn't the same as drinking from a vampire, humans went out too quickly, blinking back their faintness, never able to take more than a few deep pulls before they were at capacity. Feeding from vampires was anything but a rush, that first mouthful was a wash of exhilaration. It made one dependent on each other, one taste and it was never the same. Taehyun could tell Beomgyu and you drank from each other. Could see it in the years after, the way you turned your nose up even at the bitter drink in your glass. 

You would never feel full again unless you had him back. 

Thirty minutes was enough time to go home and call soobin for a late night order. But your hunger was clawing up your throat, nails on a chalkboard begging for anything else. Having the time to think, sitting here, filled your mouth with the memory of him. Not just the taste of his blood but the faint drum of his turned heartbeat. You still remember the sound his human heart made. The way it pattered at the sight of you, that irregular beat speeding up every time you sat down in front of him, entered through the cherrywood door. 

How even after you had turned him his heart still acted as if it was tied to your presence, fluttering weakly even if it was all it could muster. 

It was that sound that made you turn, conjured up from memory only now to show up right behind you. Taehyun was frozen, face pale at the sight of his lost friend. He had only seen him once or twice after he had been turned but now he was no half human fledgling. 

Beomgyu and you were caught in a web of your own disastrous weaving, stuck in place witnessing the crumbling of love because seeing him only settled the grievances you held into stone.

He wasn't hollow like you were, empty from the time left alone, the bloodlust having fully settled over his skin making him shine in that uncanny beauty. Everything about his gentle human features has been frozen in place, the warmth in his brown eyes only enhanced in the light. How sickening to have to now face the reality of what you had done to him, what he must have run from once he realized he couldn't truly love the monster who infected him. 

It wasn't the butterflies of newfound love but sickening maggots wriggling in your stomach. You stumbled as you stood, not even worrying about the key taehyun had left for you next to your drink, not even a meal could keep you from running as far as you could. 

It had been too long for him to come back when you had given up on trying to wait for him. How many nights had been spent waiting for this exact moment? Only now for you to run away. How cruel fate could be. 

He was calling your name, that twinge of hurt mixed in with something close to pity, every syllable weaved through with the words, no, don't do this, don't make me feel sorry. Even his voice made you waver, the back and forth shake of your head confusing you as you walked down the wrong hallway. 

Even through the doors, you could smell the blood from the occupants behind them, like overripe fruit left to sit on the counter, nothing smelled the same after one drop from him. And now with Beomgyu right behind you, weak heartbeat still mimicking that first sight, it was impossible not to pinpoint the smell of him. Wrapping around you like fog; a haze you tried desperately to claw your way out of but you knew it was no use. You had never felt so hungry until then, carved clean through with the need. 

“Please, let me explain,” he tried, grasping at straws. He didn't intend to see you first, only planned on catching up with Taehyun and apologizing for leaving him behind without answers. Save this conversation for when he built up the courage. “Please,” 

His fingertips only brushed your arm, the shock of it going right down to your toes. It was instinct to turn and slap his hand away, and even in your exasperated exhale, that first acknowledgment was enough to make Beomgyu weak again, as if he had ever been anything but when attached to you. “What is there to explain? You left, you left me there, alone in our bed,” 

“I-” The words were stuck in his mouth, hanging right at the edge of his tongue and yet all that came up was a frustrated laugh, “well did you miss me?” even just hearing his own words he could tell you would fume. 

“Did I mi- you left me! You fucking left me, if anything now I just hate you,” 

It was so easy to fall back into it with you, as if you had woken up alone a few days ago not centuries, “look what you did to me. What I've become, don't act as if you're so innocent in this, don't blame me for decisions we both made,” 

The words felt like a slap in the face. That night you had turned him so clear in your mind, the way he had begged, the way he had burned. It was one of the hardest things you had ever done, most vampires went their whole lifetime without infecting anyone because of how hard it was to complete and yet you had. 

“I turned you after you asked me. Do you know how much it takes? And then like some love-sick fool, I drank from you and every day I think about how stupid I was to believe you would stay. After I left behind everything I knew just so that I could have some human boy stay with me. How pathetic,” the last word was thick, sticking to your throat and pulling your tears forward. “You should go back to wherever you ran away to, climb into some feeders bed to keep warm for all I care,” 

You turned, ready to close the door on a life you wished you had. The one you begged for after nights spent alone clinging to the sheets that still smelled of him. But Beomgyu wouldn't have it, his grip tight on your wrist as he pulled you back, “It was never about changing me, I left because I wanted to know if it was real- that intensity was so…consuming, I was scared and so I ran. I ran and I looked for some way to replicate it because I'm a fucking fool who can't see right in front of himself. You made me addicted to you, I begged you to do this to me and yet I ran. Im sorry,” 

“You can say that but you stayed away so long I'm sure you found some poor soul to swallow down by the mouthful,” he could feel your resentment coiling around him, snapping back at his desperate attempt to explain. Because there was no way for him to get the words out, even after running them around his head for the years he had lost all because of his own fear. 

That night was stuck right behind his eyelids, replaying over and over. Your body pressed to his, soundlessly sleeping as he looked up at your shared canopy bed. Your blood was still singing through his body, staining his perception of life before you. He didn't know he could be so utterly infected by someone so much so that it colored his sky differently. Your soft breathing was enough to tear him apart, he wanted countless nights spent exactly like that one, just watching you, listening to you sleep. And it scared him. He thought humans had been over-emotional, feeling things as they came, wallowing in them because they had little time to let it spread out. But he was wrong, he hadn't known how full the world felt, how full he was after one drop of love from you. And now he was empty, starved clean from his own doing. “I was ashamed,” 

The confession was so quiet matching your question, “And now?” 

Beomgyu looked up from under his lashes, he was close enough now that your scent was suffocating him, begging him to give in and just sink his teeth right over your heart. Find the same place they had last been because no one had been able to tempt him to even pull his fangs down, not since you. “And now I'm starving,” 

Even just the word from his mouth made your fangs ache. You had been getting by on so little for so long. He was the only thing your body needed and you knew he must feel the same. Your mouth was filled with saliva, that venom that numbed prey or set them ablaze. You tried to swallow but you could already taste him, the movement of your throat making his eyes zero in on your pulse. You were no better watching his adam’s apple bob, connecting the dots on long since gone trails of hickeys you’d left before. 

Neither of you knew who moved first, moaning against lips you were sure you’d never kiss again. His sweet venom singing on your tongue. His hands were heavy on your body, pulling you closer as he pushed you against the hallway wall. He wanted to melt into you, his desperation crawling up his skin, hips keeping you in place. 

You chuckled into his mouth, the sound rattling in the back of his throat like a prayer he wanted to keep to himself. “You always did get hard from kissing,” his whimper in response is followed by the grind of his bulge against you. How fast his body reacted to your touch didn’t change when he did. 

His heart was picking up speed, your fingers running through his hair, the groves of your fingertips slotting back into place amongst the strands. Beomgyu’s fangs were already elongating, nipping your bottom lip. He had always felt so good about his self-control, accounting those early days of overfeeding on you for the simple fact of being so recently changed, he should have known you were the variable that cracked the hold he had on himself. It was only worse now that he'd nicked you enough to mix blood into the kiss, his throaty moan rumbling against your body, sinking into your soul. 

You're both stumbling to find a room, twisting knobs until you find an empty one. The silk bed envelops the both of you as you fall into it, peeling off layers of clothes. Beomgyu can smell your sweet arousal between your legs the second he's pushed them apart to kneel between. 

“Now look at this,” you can feel the pad of his thumb running over the bite mark scars he's left on your inner thigh, his grin wicked enough to make your knees twitch. “I wonder if your pretty cunt will remember me as well as your skin has,” 

“You're impossible to forget,” and when you expected him to bite you, following the pattern of his usual ravishing but he skipped it, shocking you with his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking deeply. 

His mouth is on a direct line to your spine, your back arching off the bed. His tongue is hot on you, tracing the lines of your folds, and moaning into your slick. He missed these desperate whines you let slip, the perfect backtrack to the messy slurping sounds he's started. You hadn't even realized how much you had missed his mouth, your fingers twisting into his hair the second he brushed a fang against your swollen bud. He loved to tease but it had been too long since you felt your orgasm rise so fast. 

Beomgyu was eating you like he missed your pussy, your stomach tightening, hips sinking into the sheets. It only takes a few more precise sucks with his puffy lips before your toes are curling, eyes rolling back as you cum for him. His chuckle vibrates against you before he pulls away, chin shining with your wetness. “I missed the taste of you,” 

He hasn't even tried to find someone else to take care of his needs, not when he knew no other cunt could compare to the way yours perfectly molded to him, sucking him in to the hilt. The memory alone is what had him rushing to get inside of you, cock already leaking rivets of precum. 

You've never felt so needy in your life, fangs and pussy aching for him. The drag of his tip from your clit to your weeping entrance makes your knees fall open. One of his hands guides himself to push into you and the other tenderly holds your hip in place. Your mouth drops open at the stretch, slow as he lets you take in the feeling, needing you to remember how full he kept you. 

Beomgyu whines, breath quickening as he shoves in the last few inches. He lets his body fall onto yours, needing to be closer, needing to drag his lips over your neck, teeth scratching at your pulse, “say it again, tell me how much you hate me,” 

But he knows you can hardly speak, your legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him down closer. “Shut up,” you gasp, his hips rolling against yours. 

“then beg me,” he doesn’t even have to say for what. Not when your neck is rolling back to give him better access to your vein, his lips brushing against your skin with each word. “If you don’t hate me, beg me to taste you. I know you remember how much I love to mix the flavor of your blood with your cum still in my mouth,”

As many times as he's crossed your mind, thinking about his fangs in your neck was something that would never compare to the moment they finally sunk in. You had never let anyone feed from you, not until he was there in front of you pleading. You were no better, not after you had changed him, needing to drain him of almost everything. But with one nod he was biting you. 

Beomgyu’s mouth was flooded with your blood, the familiar flavor of iron mixed with the undercurrent of sweet delicacy. He’d dream about the first bite, mouth tingling, fangs brought forward on nothing but the memory of you. Now he was ravenous, so shocked by his own hunger with its pounding fists on nailed shut doors. His hips stuttered in his thrusting, caught on the ecstasy of quenched starvation. 

You felt your mind slip into that hazy space, anything he asked would be answered, every action would be taken, and all you knew was him and him alone. To have that numbing venom injected into your bloodstream was enough to break even the strongest down into puddles of simmering whimpers. 

It was hard to pull away and keep himself from overfeeding like he wished he could. But he felt his orgasm cresting, stomach flexing as his balls tightened. Beomgyu shoved his wrist to your waiting lips, your fangs stinging as they pierced his weak flesh. You drank deeply, thick swallows of the ichor you had prayed to get back on your tongue.

Everything was crashing down around you, beomgyu groaning as you clenched around him, fluttering walls sucking him in as you came, taking everything he had to give. He was a mess of moans, clinging to you as if that could keep him grounded when he felt this good. Every slow shallow thrust only pushes his cum further into you, still being pulled from him with every pulse of your greedy pussy. 

Neither of you can believe how lost you had become, falling into each other like stars crashing into nothing but pooling darkness, so full of energy the only option was to collapse. And it's just what you did, twisting into each other's hold, beomgyu’s kisses pressed over the puncture marks he's made on you, nose brushing up and down your skin trying to keep your scent close. 

Breathing evening you fought back the worry settling in. He had left before, walked right out the door without you knowing anything wrong had been on his mind, what was keeping him from doing it all over again? 

“Stop thinking,” he muttered, mouth finding yours, mixing the flavors of your blood together as he kissed you. “I don't think I could find it in myself to ever leave again,” but he was pulling away, his playful smirk lingering on his lip cleansing your worrying mind if even for a movement. “How could I ever leave again after seeing how happy and full you are after only one round?” he pulled his still hard cock from you, the gush of cum slipping out, pooling on his ready fingers only to shove them right back into your waiting cunt. “No, nothing could keep me from this sight ever again,”

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @chasingthatjjunie @no1likemybbgcharlie @beomiracles want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Teacher's Pet Baby

First Time

Cg!Professor!Wanda Maximoff x little!student!reader

Summary: You slip during class for the first time and it doesn't go unnoticed

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: Age regression, mild anxiety, emotional vulnerability, fluff and comfort

Authors notes: After writing the first part this had started to come to mind so it was nice to get it all written out~

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

The first few weeks of class were nothing out of the ordinary—except for the way you found yourself drawn to Professor Maximoff. There was something about the way she spoke, how her voice carried both authority and warmth, that made you want to listen more intently. You were eager to impress her, to ask every question that popped into your head, just to see that soft smile she reserved for students who showed genuine curiosity.

You didn’t know what it was that made you crave her attention so badly, but you knew that every time she praised you, something deep inside you warmed, a feeling of safety and validation that you couldn’t quite explain.

Then, one day, as you flipped the page in your textbook, your eyes landed on the title printed in bold letters at the top:

Coping Mechanisms: Age Regression

Your stomach twisted immediately.

Two whole pages on the subject, defining it, explaining how it functioned as a response to stress or trauma. You barely heard Wanda begin her lecture, your mind spiraling as you felt yourself slipping, your fingers tightening around the edge of the book.

It wasn’t until you heard the soft laughter—quiet, but unmistakable—that the dread fully set in.

"People actually do this?" one student muttered under their breath.

"That’s so weird." Another scoffed, shaking their head.

Your breath hitched, and you had to blink rapidly to stop the tears from forming. They didn’t know. They had no idea that right here, in the same room, was someone who did—who couldn’t help it, whose mind sometimes reverted without warning. You wanted to shrink, to disappear, but before the panic could settle in further, Wanda’s voice cut through the murmurs, firm and unwavering.

"That’s enough," she said sharply, silencing the room in an instant.

All eyes snapped toward her, and you dared to look up. Her expression was serious, her usual soft demeanor replaced by something strict and protective.

"I expect professionalism in my class," she continued, her gaze sweeping over the students. "We are here to learn, not to ridicule others for coping mechanisms that are valid and often necessary for mental health." She let her words settle before adding, "If anyone here finds it difficult to show respect for psychological concepts that people actually experience, then perhaps this is not the right field for you."

Silence.

Your hands trembled slightly in your lap, but for an entirely different reason now. No one had ever defended you like that before. No one had ever made you feel like what you did—what you were—was okay.

Wanda’s gaze flickered to you for just a moment, softer now, like she knew. Like she had already pieced something together but wouldn’t call attention to it. Instead, she resumed her lecture, effortlessly guiding the class back on track, leaving you sitting there with a heart racing for a whole new reason.

From that moment on, you weren’t just drawn to Wanda Maximoff. You needed her.

As the lecture came to an end and you were trying to pack up Wanda called you over, "Have a good night everyone and remember to do the reading and get your assignment done for Monday's class! Oh and y/n please stay a moment. I'd like to discuss something with you." 

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure Wanda could hear it. You weren’t in trouble—at least, she didn’t sound upset—but you still couldn’t shake the nerves twisting inside you.

She had never asked you to stay after class before.

You stayed frozen, hands gripping the edge of your desk as you watched her move. But instead of standing over you like a professor scolding a student, she did something entirely unexpected—she walked to the door, locked it with a soft click, and then made her way over to you.

Wanda crouched down in front of your desk, leaning against it with an easy, open posture. Her smile was gentle, and when her warm eyes met yours, something inside you softened, though your body still trembled slightly.

"Hi, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice filled with nothing but kindness. "You're feeling pretty small right now, aren’t you?"

You swallowed thickly. It was impossible to hide, not when she knew, when she could see right through you. Words felt too hard, too big, so you just nodded, blinking rapidly as emotion threatened to well up in your chest.

"That’s okay, sweetie," she assured, her tone soothing as she reached out, resting a hand over yours for just a moment. "This was your last class, right?"

You nodded again.

"I have papers to grade," she continued. "You and I can stay right here, okay?"

Another nod. This time, accompanied by a tiny, shy smile.

Wanda’s expression softened even further. She stood up, her fingers reaching out to gently comb through your hair, the touch grounding in a way you didn’t even know you needed.

"You’re safe with me, Malyshka," she whispered.

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

While Wanda graded her papers you decided to draw, pulling out your crayons and drawing pad. Wanda let her eyes flick up every so often to watch you. Her expression softened as she saw you so concentrated, your tongue just poking out past your lips. 

She wanted to giggle, but worried it might upset you so she held back, turning her attention back to her papers until she heard you get up, feet padding over to her. She looked up past her glasses. 

"Yes sweetheart?" She asked softly, "Do you have something to show me?" You nodded eagerly and turned the page around.

Wanda let a warm smile tug at her lips as she examined the drawing, her heart melting at the sight of it. You had drawn yourself much smaller, hand held securely in hers, your features simple but unmistakably you. Wanda’s own figure was a little more detailed—her hair a mess of crayon strokes, her glasses perched delicately on her nose—but the most touching detail was the way your hands were clasped together.

Wanda ran her fingers over the crayon lines, her chest tightening in the best way as she admired your drawing. It was simple, childlike, but so full of love that it made her heart ache.

"You did such a good job, sweetheart," she murmured, looking up at you with a soft smile. "I love it, Malyshka."

Your lips curled up, eyes sparkling at her praise. You rocked on your heels, waiting, hopeful, and Wanda knew exactly what you needed. She set her papers aside, focusing entirely on you.

"Come here, baby," she said gently, opening her arms. "Come sit with Mama."

The second the word left her lips, she felt it—the way you froze. Your happy sway stopped, your hands clenched slightly at your sides. You blinked at her, uncertainty flickering in your expression as you searched her face.

"Mama?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda stayed perfectly still, giving you space to process. She hadn’t called herself that before, at least not out loud, though she had thought about it more times than she could count.

"Only if you want me to be, sweetheart," she assured softly, her voice steady, warm. "I would never make you do something you’re not comfortable with."

You shifted on your feet, fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeves. "But... do you want to be?"

Wanda’s breath caught for just a moment before she exhaled, nodding. "I do," she admitted, her hand resting gently on her knee, not reaching for you, just waiting. "I’d love to take care of you in whatever way you need."

You stared at her, the hesitation clear in your expression. But beneath it, Wanda could see something else—longing, hope, the deep desire for safety and care.

She kept her voice soft. "You don’t have to decide right now, Malyshka."

You bit your lip, shifting your weight from foot to foot before, slowly, you stepped closer. Wanda didn’t move, letting you take the lead, and after a brief pause, you finally climbed onto her lap, settling hesitantly against her.

Wanda wrapped her arms around you carefully, rubbing soothing circles along your back.

You stayed stiff for a moment before you melted into her, resting your head against her shoulder. A soft sigh left you as your fingers grasped at her sweater, holding onto her like you were afraid she might disappear.

Wanda pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, her lips brushing against your warm skin. "I've got you, sweetheart. Always."

And this time, you didn’t hesitate to believe her.

[finelinevogue]

Hi babe! I absolutely love your work and read it everyday! Do you think you could do a blurb where its aaron x bau reader and the reader has a toxic/abusive family and hotch and the team find out about it on a case or something (angst but turns into fluff)? I LOVE YOUUU!!!

family is everything

hiya my lovely!! love you too :(( oh stop you’re far too kind omg 🥺 of course i can give this a go - hurt/comfort fics >>>

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau!reader

word count - +5.4k

cw: pre-established relationship, bad coping methods, mentions of childhood abuse, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Spencer was performing one of his magic tricks.

He had captivated the audience of more than half of the room, much to Hotch’s dismay.

“And this gets you girls?” Morgan questioned, perched on the corner of the desk adjacent to Spencer - which happened to be yours. “How?!”

You laughed along with the others as you spun yourself side-to-side in your office chair.

“It’s all in the mystery, my sweet one.” Garcia pinched Morgan’s cheeks. She was the only one who could get away with it.

“Oh I can do mystery.” Morgan added.

“But can you do… magic?” Reid asked as he ended the magic trick by holding out the correct card that Morgan had picked earlier.

“What?!”

“Yes Reid!”

“Pfft.. Whatever.”

Everyone started clearing away from Spencer’s desk, Morgan walking away with a sulk. Garcia lingered by Morgan’s desk no doubt attempting to cheer him up with her endless flirting.

When you’d joined the BAU you had seriously thought they were together.

Why wouldn’t you?

They constantly flirt. They’re almost crude with each other. Yet they had never even entertained the idea of being with each other.

It didn’t matter to you whether they were single or not though, because your heart was slowly being given over to someone else. Someone who happened to be your Unit Chief; Aaron Hotchner.

The relationship was still very new.

Your team knew about it, but it was still being kept quiet. That was just you and Aaron, though. You didn’t feel the need to be flashy with your relationship. In fact, you enjoyed living with each other in those quieter moments because it meant you had each other all to yourself.

It was that moment that you found yourself looking up to his office.

Aaron happened to walk out of his office at that exact moment, reading a case file in his hands.

You bit down on the pen you were holding as you watched him walk past, eyeing him up because you could now without consequence.

Aaron didn’t return the look but you did notice the smirk as he walked down the ramp towards the briefing room. It was like he could tell that you were looking at him. That made you smile, turning around in your chair to hide the blush from anyone.

"Think we've got a case?" Reid asked you.

"Probably. It's been at least two days since our last."

Both you and Reid stand up, prompting the others on your team to do the same. You as a team of profilers had gotten so used to what it looked like before a case was briefed that you just knew now, before JJ could even call you in.

JJ, Hotch and Rossi are all in the room already.

The case files were set out on the table - one at each seat. JJ had the screen set up ready to present and Hotch and Rossi were already looking through their files.

You sat down on the chair next to Hotch. They had kind of become your unofficial assigned seats.

"Okay JJ." Hotch nodded.

"We got a call from San Fransisco Police Department after a string of murders have been loosely tied together."

"Loosely?" Emily questioned.

"Several domestic abuse victims have been found murdered. Isla Hubert was strangled, Beth Fountain stabbed and Meredith Cole shot."

JJ flicked through the pictures of the women and you could feel your face go pale at the sight.

Your breathing hitched, but luckily nobody noticed.

Your hands scrunched up into fists so tight that your nails were digging into the skin of your palm. It was the only way to cope with this situation without drawing attention to yourself.

You focused as much on JJ presenting as possible.

"At first it was hard for the police to put them together since M.O.s were so different with each murder - hence, loosely - but after they looked more closely it turns out that each of the victims had recently left an abusive relationship."

"Suggests a possible revenge-motivated unsub." Reid added.

"Yeah." JJ nodded.

"How did the PD make the connection?" Morgan asked.

"All of the victims were women who had either filed restraining orders and, or had sought help from a domestic violence shelter." JJ switched the image on the screen to the shelter.

You looked down at your lap, your fists still enclosed.

You were normally very collected when cases were presented, but it was really hard with this one.

Not only is San Fransisco the city you grew up in, it also hosted that very domestic violence shelter that you used to go to every day.

It made you feel sick, because had this unsub been around ten years ago then that could have very well been you up there on the presenting screen.

<.><.>

You were gathering your stuff up on your desk when Aaron came over to you.

"Hey." You tried to smile but Aaron knew you better.

"Something's bothering you, so rather than have me tiptoeing around it I'm asking you to tell me what's wrong."

He sure doesn't beat around the bush.

Even though this case is horrendous for you, it did warm your heart a little to know that Aaron knew you so well only after a couple months of dating. Maybe it was the profiler in him, but you chose to believe it was simply because he cared about you.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Every man should know that when a woman says she's fine... she's not. Aaron did know that but he also knew not to push it right now.

"Okay."

After you stuffed your water bottle in your bag, Aaron caught your hand with his. He carefully opened your palm. You could feel the panic in your chest as he did so.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

He pointed out the crescent moon shapes you'd imprinted on your palms from your finger nails. He wiped his thumb over the skin as if they would magically just disappear. He probably wanted to kiss over them, but you knew he'd never do that in front of everyone here.

You couldn't answer verbally so you nodded your head instead.

<.><.>

Rossi and Hotch were the last in the room before leaving.

They both left and locked their offices at the same time. Both of them had their coat and bag hanging off an arm.

"Hotch."

"Yeah?"

"Y/N..."

"I know." Hotch cut his friend off before he could finish the sentence, already having an inkling of what he was going to say and not knowing whether her could stomach hearing it being said out loud.

<.><.>

On the plane there was more time for a brief.

You were sat leaning against a window at the table with four chairs, listening carefully to what was being said but making no effort to contribute.

"So there were no signs of sexual assault?" Emily asked.

"No." JJ shook her head.

"Well that eliminates some motives." Rossi said.

"Such as?" Garcia asked through the video call.

"Well we know he's not a sexual sadist now. It's almost like whatever he is doing is because he believes it's right. It's the only way." Reid explained.

You swallowed back the growing lump in the back of your throat as the team continued to talk.

The situation almost felt dissociative. You were physically here and physically involved and yet your brain kept trying to zone out of the conversation.

You looked out the window just as a memory flashed.

You laid on the floor of your bedroom - a room that was supposed to be yours and supposed to be safe. You had been sleeping when he had come in.

The door was wide open because you hadn't found the strength to stand back up again since he'd been in.

Your pyjamas were long length and yet you felt completely exposed. Tears fell down your cheeks as you stared up at the glowing stars on your ceiling, imagining a world where you could visit them right now. A world that was a little more silent and a little bit brighter.

All you could hear though was his voice saying, "I have to. It's the only way you'll ever learn."

"...And Y/N and Reid, you work on the geographical profile. Hopefully we can narrow down where these victims are being taken from." Hotch's voice brought you back from the memory.

You had clearly missed a lot of the conversation but no one pointed that out for the rest of the flight.

<.><.>

San Fransisco was just as dull as you remember it.

A lot of people who lived here, commuted through here or even visited here would think quite the opposite, but when a bad thing has happened to you in a certain place then that place becomes unworthy of its beauty.

As you continued to get set up in the police station Hotch asked you to step aside for a minute to talk to him.

You both stood in the cold and dark interrogation room so you could speak privately.

Your arms were folded over your body defensively as you stood waiting for Hotch to talk.

"Y/N, if this case it too much for you then..."

"Too much?" You chuckled, "Why would it be too much for me?"

Hotch sighed, "I don't know."

"Exactly Agent Hotchner, you don't know." You uncrossed your arms and walked towards the door - done with this conversation.

Aaron knew not to touch you in order to catch your attention, so instead he stepped in front of the door so you had no exit.

"Hey, don't do that." He said softly and you knew he was referring to the way you had called his name.

He had never really been Agent Hotchner, or SSA Hotchner, to you. He'd only been Aaron or recently in the quiet of your homes it had turned into a loving 'honey' or 'love'.

You could see the hurt in his eyes that you had put there.

"I'm fine." You repeated, feeling like you might be sick over saying those words again and again.

You thought you truly had been fine.

For the longest time all of this had been buried deep within you. Your job was so busy and hectic that you never really had the opportunity to think about your past. You had also been fortunate that there had been no domestic abuse cases so far in your year working for the BAU.

Yet it was all flooding back now you did have this case. Your mind was constantly active with the haunted memories of your past.

Memories that you were too afraid to speak out loud.

"Okay, but if I think for a moment that you aren't capable I will pull you from this case." Hotch said seriously. He was done playing nice.

"That won't be necessary. I am more than capable."

Hotch looked at you for a moment and saw the challenge in your eyes. However, he could also see the emotion deep within them like there was a part of you that was screaming to be let out.

"Morgan and I are going to the women's shelter. You and Emily can interview the families of the victims."

Your heart stopped a little. You're sure that your eyes must have given you away as you lost eye contact with Hotch to try and keep composure.

"I thought I was with Reid?" You asked.

"Not anymore. Families are coming in in half an hour." He said before leaving the room, leaving you in there with the door open.

"Fuck." You muttered to yourself.

You wiped under your eyes before any tears could run. Messy mascara wasn't something you wanted to explain today. You let out a shaky breath, trying to not let it sound too loud. The last thing you wanted was to attract unnecessary attention.

You were fine, after all.

<.><.>

"Mr and Mrs Cole. Thank you for being here." Emily started off the interview.

Mrs Cole was crying. Mr Cole was not.

In your eyes that told you everything you needed to know. Unfortunately you couldn't claim you knew anything without sufficient evidence. Evidence that the team was looking for now.

"I can't believe my baby is gone." Mrs Cole cried, sniffling into a tissue that you had provided for her.

"I know this is hard Mrs Cole," You said, empathising with her more than she could know, "But if you could both help us answer some questions it could be really helpful in helping find out who did this to your daughter."

"Okay." She nodded.

"What kind of person was Meredith growing up?" Emily asked, wanting to know what kind of childhood Meredith had.

"She was always so bright. She just wanted to be happy." Mrs Cole answered shakily.

Mr Cole scoffed and looked off to the side.

"Something to add Mr Cole?" Emily prompted.

"What my wife means to say is, Meredith was difficult."

Your mind alerted you then. You knew what was meant for a daughter who was deemed as difficult by her father.

Your fingers clenched to dig your nails into your palm but the second you did Aaron's face came across your view.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

You could still feel the brush of his thumb across your skin. His warms hands against your cold ones. His soft touch the lightest you had ever felt from a man.

Your hand unclenched, resting them on the table instead.

Emily had been carefully watching you, having been asked by Hotch to keep on eye on you. Your near slip-up didn't cause any interruption to the interview and Emily took the lead to continue.

"We understand that Meredith recently left her relationship with Adam. Do you know why?" She asked.

Mrs Cole looked nervously at her husband.

He huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, "She was always so dramatic. I mean, every couple fights but that doesn’t mean you throw everything away."

You took note of how Mr Cole minimised the abuse that Meredith was clearly receiving.

"Did Meredith ever tell you that Adam hurt her?" You asked.

Mrs Cole sniffled but it was Mr Cole that answered, "She exaggerated things."

"So you’re saying she lied?" You prompted, seeing how twitchy Mr Cole was getting in the metal chair.

"She always wanted attention." He said.

That's what they all say but really the attention was just another way of saying they were looking for somebody to give them a way out. They were desperate for someone to see them and know that they weren't safe - that they needed saving.

Lots of women can't save themselves and the ones that do are never safe again.

"Did she ever come to either of you for help?" Emily asked.

Mrs Cole nodded, "She… Meredith wanted to leave so many times, but she didn’t think she could. She was scared."

"Scared of him?" Emily said encouragingly.

It was only a small gesture but both you and Emily caught the small glance that Mrs Cole gave her husband.

If it wasn't clear to you before then it was ridiculously clear now what had happened.

"Of everything."

"Or scared that no one would believe her?" You muttered to Emily. She nodded in agreement.

Mr Cole must have heard though because he angrily slammed his hands on to the table. It took absolutely everything in your professional career to not flinch. The loud noise caused your heartbeat to skyrocket.

This is not him. This is not before. You kept reminding yourself.

"What exactly are you implying?" He shouted defensively.

"Robert..." Mrs Cole tried to calm him.

"No! What are you saying?"

You and Emily looked at each other and you gave her a nod to signal she could continue this, even though it was you that taunted him.

"Mr Cole. When your daughter was younger, was she ever worried about her current or future. relationships?"

"I raised her to be tough. Not weak." He spat.

You were curled up in a ball on your bed. The room stank of ammonia thanks to your nervous tics and the fact he had walked through the door angrily.

You had run away from an argument downstairs but he had caught up to you.

"You need to learn to be tough, child. I didn't raise you to be this weak."

The room went quiet for a moment. Only the sound of Mrs Cole's sniffles filled the room.

Mr Cole's words sparked the last question you wanted to ask.

"You didn’t believe her, did you?" You asked.

"She made her own choices." Mr Cole said.

You promptly stood up from your chair, "And now she’s dead."

Mrs Cole burst out crying as you spoke, but you charged out of the room before you could console her. She knew anyway. She knew what her husband was doing to her daughter and still she did absolutely nothing, either because she was terrified or she simply didn't care.

But she was just a child.

You were just a child.

<.><.>

The bathroom was as depressing as the rest of the police station.

You had needed a moment to collect yourself.

Interviewing someone who had these whacked beliefs about raising children triggered you in a way you didn't think possible.

The way Mr Cole spoke was chilling and it made you remember all those dark nights when you didn't think you'd ever be loved again. In fact, back then, you don't reckon you knew what love was.

Your grip on the bathroom counter tightened as you tried to ground yourself.

You were so in your own head this whole case and you hadn't caught who was responsible yet. This case was only going to become more triggering as you went along and as you potentially uncovered more bodies.

Right when you felt like you might just let every emotion out Emily opened the bathroom door, you leant back off the counter and tried to look composed.

"Just wanted to let you know that the team's back. Oh and there's someone here who wants to speak to you." She gave you a small smile.

"Okay, thanks." You smiled back and it felt like the fakest thing in the world.

<.><.>

The last thing you expected when you returned to the main area of the police station was to see your father.

Your footsteps halted, like you couldn't physically move any closer towards him.

The rest of the room kept carrying on like normal, but you felt your words completely dry up and your hands begin to shake. You tried to process all the questions you had for him being here all at once.

"Y/N!" He raised his arms out like he was ready for a hug but you stepped back, knocking your hip into the corner of a desk in panic.

The rest of the team watched the situation before them.

They'd never seen you look so lost.

“There you are!” He smiled but you heard the venom behind each word. He was putting on his charm in front of all these people, but really he restraining himself from showing his true colours.

"W-what are you doing here?" You asked.

He scoffed like that was a silly question, “It’s been a long time.”

You can feel the weight of people's eyes on you. Other agents. Cops. The team. Aaron. The last one makes you nervous.

You have an inkling that Aaron knows something and yet you have never managed to tell him. Aaron makes you feel safe like no one ever has, but you still can't find the courage to speak up. You're also worried what he might do should he find out.

This doesn't need to become a thing. You don't want to become one of the teams victims.

So you tried to take control of the situation for once, "If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, please leave. We have work to do.”

"I just wanted to check on you.” Your father's jaw clenched as he spoke.

Check on you? After all these years of no contact?

You didn't want him checking up on you. You didn't want him anywhere near you.

After all these years you still feel trapped near him - even when he's not touching you.

Aaron must have been watching closely, because he could tell that you were done with this situation but it was clear your father wasn't. It didn't take a profiler to work out the cause of that tension. Aaron needed the situation handled before anyone could do anything - his own fists were readying to swing should your father take one step out of line.

"She's asked you to leave, Sir." Aaron said stoicly.

You could feel Aaron right next to you, arms crossed over his chest to make himself look more dominant. Your father was only small anyways, but next to Aaron he was nothing.

Your father looked between you and Aaron, chuckling to himself.

"You Y/N's boyfriend then?" Your father asked.

You stiffened next to Aaron, your palms flexing as you tried to remember Aaron's words from earlier.

"Aaron Hotchner." He gave your dad a small nod.

You noticed how Aaron didn't flex his credentials. It was a classic profilers move of undermining the man who thought he was in charge, because then they never really know what to expect.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised.” Your father chuckled. “Never figured Y/N would be the type to get involved with someone like you.”

Aaron's facial expression didn't change. In fact, if anything, he looked a little more pissed off.

Your mind was trying to get you to choose between fight or flight. Normally you would fight, but having your dad so near really triggered your flight response. So you tried to cut the tension and deescalate the situation. before anyone got more hotheaded.

Although seeing Hotch punch your father would feel pretty good.

"Okay. I think we're done here."

Your father shrugged, raising his hands in defence, “Watch your tone. There's no need to get upset. I'll go.” He said, making it seem like you were being the unreasonable one.

Your father's words and the way you immediately shut down after he said them were a dead giveaway to your past.

It was impossible to hide it.

And for the first time in your relationship with Aaron, you felt exposed.

This was part of your story - part of you - that you never wanted him to have to see. Aaron had far too many of his own demons to suddenly take on yours as well.

Your father makes the effort to walk towards the main door, but not before stopping to speak again. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

He was baiting you.

“Still running. Still pretending. Does he even know?” He continued.

His words made you look towards Aaron and it hurt to see him look so angry. Was he upset that you had hid something so personal and traumatic from him? Would this alter your relationship?

You turned to look at the rest of your team too. Emily looked heartbroken. Morgan looked angry. Reid looked so sad. You were making your favourite people feel sad.

Your own eyes welled with tears as you thought about all the people that you were hurting by just being here.

Aaron had clocked on from even before the briefing of this case that something that happened in your childhood. He just didn't think it was as sick and as twisted as this.

Aaron watched your head dip, your fists scrunch in the way he hated to see and your lips continuously mouthing; 'I'm sorry'.

How on God's Earth could you ever think you had something to apologise for?

“That’s enough." Aaron's voice cut through the room, making you look up at him with fear. Not fear of him, but fear for him. You knew all too well what that man who called himself your father could do. Rossi had been more of a father in a year than you actual father had in ever.

Your dad turned and smiled. He'd won.

Your darkest secret was out in the open and your father didn't care if he was taken down with it. The heartbroken look on your face would last him a lifetime.

You couldn't breathe.

Even after all these years your father had still had a hold over you and he could still win. He could still make you feel worthless with a simple few words. That's all he needed.

The tears fell over your cheeks as your chest heaved.

Policemen were watching your breakdown and your team looked as heartbroken as you felt.

You felt disgusting, crying over your own self when you were supposedly on a case to save other people like you. This time wasn't meant to be about you and yet somehow it now was.

You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to hold back a verbal sob.

Everyone's eyes were on you.

Watching to see you break down into nothing.

You couldn't do this. You never wanted it to be like this. You thought you were stronger than this.

Saying nothing more, you excused yourself politely and ran out of the room towards the back of the station - far, far, away from your father. But far, far, away would never be far enough.

<.><.>

Hotch hadn't moved.

He stood his ground as he watched your father - that piece of scum - chuckle once you'd fled the room.

"Get. Out." Hotch gritted out through his teeth.

Your father nodded.

Morgan moved closer to your father, looking at Hotch briefly to silently tell his boss that he had this handled and that you would need him more than he was needed here right now.

Hotch nodded, but not before getting one good last look at your father's face here. The next time he would see his face was going to be when Hotch put him behind bars.

<.><.>

Aaron found you out the back of the precinct.

You had one hand to your chest as you tried to control your breathing, the other holding yourself against the cold wall for support.

Your crying was calmer now but the tears still fell.

You turned to face Aaron when he walked out of the door. You tried to stand taller, pulling your shirt down to fit properly.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean for that to happen.” You sniffled, wiping the back of your hand over your cheek.

"Don't apologise."

"N-no. I should’ve handled it better. Shit." Your voice was so shaky that Aaron was surprised you could even speak.

"Sweetheart, no."

You should’ve controlled the situation better.

“This isn’t on you.” Aaron reminder you gently.

“Everyone looked so—Aaron, I just made everything worse.” You said as you remembered how the team looked and how you could taken emotional control of an already vulnerable case. It was unprofessional.

"This isn’t on you.” He repeated. “None of us are upset with you. We're devastated for you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but that felt too hard to accept.

You shook your head as you tried to calm down the tears and hiccups that were reappearing.

"Honey... Listen to me and listen carefully. Nothing that just happened was because of you. Nothing that has happened was because of you." Aaron took a step closer to you.

"But, he..."

"Ssh, ssh. Listen." Aaron said softly, close enough to reach out for your hands now. "Hey, look at me."

When his hands touched you, you became completely grounded. You felt like you were right here instead of back there. Aaron was right in front of you and he wasn't running away. He was right there.

"You're still here." You said through a hiccup of tears.

"Of course I am." He said with a frown.

"I thought you-you'd leave, o-or not want me and..."

"Stop that. No. I don't mean to cut you off but I won't have you convincing yourself that I'm not anything but with you for the long haul, okay?" Aaron was so close now, linking his fingers through yours so that he could help you release all the anger from your fists.

"That first day you came into the BAU I was so low. I was. And I felt like you had been sent to our team not only to fix our capacity issues but also to... to fix me. I felt, for so long, like I had lost a part of me and yet the minute you walked through those doors... Well, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That the part of me returned." Aaron's fingers squeezed yours to continue to ground you, "So if you think for one moment that I'm letting you slip away from me, with that part of me, so easily... Well I'm not even entertaining the idea." He gave you a smirk.

"So we're okay?" You asked for reassurance. Aaron was more than happy to give it to you.

"We're okay." He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a little while to keep you close.

Aaron had noticed you pushing him away all day, so to have this time right now to be close with you was something he wasn't giving up so easily.

You were too busy embracing Aaron's touch to realise he was holding back tears of his own.

<.><.>

Both you and Aarons stood out back for another ten minutes or so, just talking through everything.

You didn't want to go into any details with him right now, but you did admit what your father used to do to you when you were a child and why this case hit far too close to home for you.

Aaron almost berated you for being so careless with your own emotions and mental state, but thought now was not the best time for that conversation. Instead he filled his talk with comforting and reassuring words. He had to make sure that you felt safe again.

He also promised to make your father's life a living hell - in whatever capacity legal...

That sort of terrified you but also made you feel a little lighter.

Morgan opened the door out back soon after, smiling at the way you and Hotch were holding hands and comforting one another.

"Hey. We got a call off the anonymous tip line. Girl called Sheree Rockstead called in to say that she's noticed some guy following her around the past few days. She's also just got out of a violent relationship and she's attending the women's shelter. She's seen the news and is worried."

"It's definitely our guy." Hotch said, not breaking his hand holding with you. "Let's set up an evac. plan. for Sheree and a trap for our unsub."

"You got it." Morgan nodded before leaving again.

Aaron turned back to you warily. You gave him a half smile in return.

"I'm going to stay here." You said.

"Okay." Aaron nodded. He would've benched you anyways if you demanded on going, knowing that field work was not the right thing for you right now.

"Be safe. Please."

"You too."

"Aaron..."

"I know. I'll be safe, I promise. Just want to make sure you are too. I mean if your father comes back when I'm not there I..."

"He won't." You shook your head. "Plus Reid can fight him off."

"Reid?"

"He has magic, after all." You laughed and Aaron had never been so happy to hear something in all his existence. His only hope was that he could continue hearing it with every day he had left.

<.><.>

On the way home on the jet everyone had passed out asleep other than you and Aaron.

There was still too much to talk about.

You had made your own announcement to the team about your past - a more revised version than what you would be telling Aaron - because you thought it was important for them to know.

Morgan threatened to become an undercover spy and "beat his ass" - his words. Hotch threatened to give him a pysch test if he kept throwing those words around, so he shut up - but only when his boss was present.

Garcia tracked down your father's whole life and it turned out he was drowning in debt and your mother had left him. His life was pretty crap and that made you feel really good.

Aaron, though, he had been a crutch for you throughout.

You were so lucky to have him.

But he would say he was luckier to have you.

And that would be the only competition that you and Aaron would ever have.

[chleem]

request idea? thinking about how Drew would drop everything for his girl ❤️‍🔥 like if she showed up at his house crying because she needs him (something with her parents or something? maybe they forgot something important to her)

and Drew is with his roommates or friends (who love the reader) but as soon as he sees his girl sad, he has a soft spot for her and for taking care of her 🫶🏼

⋆.˚ Warnings: none, pure fluff (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: enjoy! sry i haven't replied for so long, i was spending cny w/my family.

word count: 2.2k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

The sound of the basketball game is practically vibrating through the walls—close to the end, with the score tied and everyone on edge. 

Drew’s lounging on the couch, leaning back, eyes glued to the screen. 

The room is full of his friends, all hyped up, throwing out their commentary and joking around. It’s guys’ night, and it’s a vibe they’re all soaking in.

Then the doorbell rings for the second time tonight, and Drew’s eyes flicker to the door.

"Did we order pizza? Again?" Drew asks. 

“Dunno, man, check,” his friend says, not looking up from the game, clearly too invested. 

Drew sighs, a little annoyed at the interruption, but his feet move automatically toward the door.

When Drew opens the door, he doesn’t see pizza. 

He sees you.

His expression shifts instantly—his confusion giving way to something deeper. 

Drew notices the smudge of mascara under your eyes first—the dark lines trailing down your cheeks. The rest of your makeup isn’t much better: foundation starting to fade where the tears have blurred it, the eyeliner long gone from where it used to frame your eyes.

His heart skips a beat. The noise from the game and his friends’ laughter suddenly feel miles away, as if the room has gone quiet in an instant.

Then, through your teary eyes and blushed cheeks, you give him a smile. It’s weak, almost forced, but you try. You shrug your shoulders, like you're attempting to downplay whatever’s hurting you.

“Hey, Joseph,” you say, your voice cracking just enough that Drew hears it. Your smile fades, and the act you’re trying to put on crumbles just a little.

Drew’s heart sinks. He knows you too well. The moment you said his name like that—broken and vulnerable—he realizes just how much you’re holding back.

Without a word, Drew steps closer.

The easy-going grin he had on earlier is gone. His brows furrowed with concern as he reaches for you, hands cupping your cheeks. 

He holds you gently, but firmly—like he's grounding you, keeping you steady.

His gaze softens, and he watches, helpless for a second, as the first tear escapes and trails down your cheek. His heart aches seeing you like this.

His eyes never leave yours, and there’s an unspoken promise in them—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you speak again, the apology slips out almost before you can stop it. “I’m sorry…” you start, feeling bad for interrupting his night with his friends.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He says, as if he’s trying to erase that sense of guilt before it can settle in. 

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, “don’t ever apologize for needing me.”

He takes a moment, watching your eyes carefully, making sure you understand that he means it. There’s no disappointment in his gaze—only warmth, care, and an overwhelming need to protect you from whatever’s hurting.

Your eyes flicker away, sparkling with unshed tears as you struggle to catch your breath, trying to muffle the cries threatening to break free.

“It’s just- it’s just my parents-“

Your words falter as his friends cheer loudly in the background, their excitement rising with each point scored in the game. 

Drew notices immediately—your discomfort, the way you're struggling to open up in this moment—and it hits him: you’re still standing out in the hallway, exposed to everything.

“Let’s, let’s get inside,” he murmurs. He doesn’t need to say more than that—his hands move to your shoulders, guiding you toward his room, tell you everything.

His friends, too absorbed in the game, don’t notice the subtle shift in the air. They’re still yelling at the screen, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend has showed up crying. 

As he leads you down the hall, you finally feel the air change—calmer, quieter. 

The second the door of Drew’s room closes behind you, the outside world fades.

Unknowingly, you’ve sat down at the edge of his bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight. 

Drew quietly moves around his room, as he finds a box of tissues on his dresser. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, though—watching the way you sit, the way your shoulders shake with each breath, how your chest rises and falls, unevenly.

Once he hands it to you, Drew settles beside you. His arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you closer but not forcing you.

He listens carefully to the soft hiccups that escape from you, tiny gasps caught in the air. 

He just continues to rub gentle circles on your back, his touch light and comforting. 

Finally, Drew speaks, but it is barely above a whisper, “what’s wrong?”

You grab a tissue, dabbing your cheeks where the mascara has ran down. 

When you see the dark spots on the tissue, your chest tightens. The tears come faster now, and you let out a shaky breath between sobs, “now my makeup’s ruined!” 

Drew can’t help but chuckle lightly at your reaction, the sound soft and gentle. His hand, still resting around your shoulders, takes the tissue from your trembling fingers.

With a small, reassuring smile, he dabs at your cheeks, wiping away the smudged makeup with care. 

“Don’t, don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. 

The tenderness in his words feels like a balm to your frayed nerves, and for a moment, it’s the only thing grounding you.

As you look up at him, your breath catching in your throat, you notice how close he is. 

His face is inches from yours, and his eyes hold nothing but softness, nothing but a promise of comfort. His hand lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I…i had dinner with my parents,” you start. 

“I know,” he murmurs softly, his gaze never leaving yours. He'd seen the date marked on his calendar weeks ago, the reminder of your private dinner with your parents, and he had known it might be a tough night for you.

It was a dinner just for you and them—an attempt to reconnect, to have a moment where things might feel normal again. But Drew knew, from the way you’d talked about it in passing, that it wasn’t going to be easy.

“They still think, I made a huge mistake,” your voice cracks once again, and you swallow hard, as if trying to force the pain down, but it’s no use. It bubbles up too quickly.

Drew knows exactly what you mean. He remembers you telling him about dropping out in the middle of your final year. How it had been a decision made for yourself, even if your parents couldn’t understand it.

Drew watches you quietly for a moment, then speaks softly, “You did what was right for you. If they don’t get it, that’s on them, not you. Who cares what they think?”

He gives you a small, reassuring smile, before adding on, “you should see yourself through my eyes. You’re beautiful, smart, and more than enough as you are. You don't need a...certificate to prove that.”

His words settle over you, and for a moment, you feel your heart soften at the quiet sincerity in his voice. But you quickly look away, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. 

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, “we got into this huge fight, and I just stormed out- and look where I am. Ruining your - your guys’ night.”

“No, no,” Drew immediately interrupts, “you’re not ruining anything.”

Then, unexpectedly, without missing a beat, Drew throws the tissue in his hand toward the trash can in the far corner, and you watch, distracted by the sudden movement. 

You can’t help but let out a small chuckle when he makes a perfect shot, the tissue landing neatly inside with a satisfying swish.

Drew turns toward you, his smile both confused and amused, clearly unsure of what exactly made you laugh but happy to see you smile. “What?” he asks, his voice still holding that easy charm.

You stare at him for a moment, your eyes catching on his lips, the way they curve just slightly in that grin, and for a fleeting second, the urge to kiss him overwhelms you. 

It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, quiet moment.

Your breath catches in your chest, and before you can even think, the space between you seems to vanish.

Without a word, you lean in, your eyes fluttering shut, letting instinct take over. His hand gently cups your cheek, warm against your skin, as he tilts your head just slightly.

And then, you feel it—his lips against yours, and everything feels…right.

The kiss is calming, full of quiet affection—comforting in a way that eases all the tension, like a safe place where nothing else matters.

You could taste your own tears, salty on your lips, but somehow they only make the moment feel more real—more human. There’s something about the way Drew holds you, his lips soft and patient, as if he's absorbing all your hurt without needing to speak.

You pull away just briefly, catching your breath, but before you can even fully regain yourself, Drew leans in again, this time with urgency, as if he needs this kiss more than you.

His lips press against yours, deeper this time, gentle but insistent. His hand moves to your back, pulling you closer as if he’s anchoring himself to you, or to this moment.

You smile against his lips, hands wrapping around his neck. 

You want to push him against his bed, take him right there, show him how appreciative you are of him, but seems like, the rest of the world wants him too.  

The sound of his friends cheering from outside breaks through the moment, reminding you that Drew has guests over, and this isn't just your time with him.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes for just a moment to catch your breath. 

When you reopen your eyes, you find Drew’s gaze already on you—soft, steady, and full of something unspoken. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he looks at you, like he’s taking in every detail, as if he’s memorizing this moment, just as you are.

“You have- you have people, in the other room,” to your own surprise, you’re stuttering. You pull your head away slightly, finding the fun in tracing the line of his jaw. 

“I wanna stay here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place, but you feel it in your chest, a quiet certainty. 

He doesn’t break his stare, and in that moment, it’s like he’s asking you to stay with him too—not just in this room, but in everything he’s feeling, everything you’re both sharing.

“Ask them to leave,” you whisper back, a small smile tugging at your lips, though the words are more playful than serious.

You both know it’s not that simple. 

“Join me,” he says, referring to his guys' night, to his friends in the living room. 

“Well, at least let me... change, and redo my makeup.”

“I don’t know…” he lets his words trail off, his eyes scanning your features with mischief lurking in them, “they might like- like having a panda around.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch, unable to hide the small smile. You hear Drew’s throaty laugh escape his lips, a sound that makes your heart skip.

“Alright, just… take your time,” he says, his playful tone softening as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer than expected, like he wants to make sure you feel it.

You watch him, your chest warming at the gesture, as he moves across the room to his dresser. 

He pulls it open, rummaging through his clothes, and then, almost casually, he grabs the hoodie you recognize to be 'yours'. It’s his, but with how often you wear it, it’s practically yours now. 

Then, in one smooth motion, he opens the top drawer and takes out your shorts, underwear, and bra. He places them beside you, not even needing to say anything—just a small, thoughtful gesture that tells you he knows exactly what you need, even before you ask for it.

You look up at him, surprised by the simplicity of it, but somehow it feels even more intimate than words could say. It’s the way he just gets you, without needing to make a big deal of it.

And because it felt right, you whisper, “I love you.”

Drew’s gaze softens, the teasing smile melting away into something more sincere. His eyes hold yours as he says, “I love you more,” his voice quiet but filled with warmth. 

There’s no playfulness now—just honesty, raw and real.

“…now get out of here,” you tease, the corners of your lips lifting into a smirk.

He leans forward, his finger lightly tapping your forehead in a playful push, “so eager to get rid of me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, and he smiles, shaking his head. 

With one last glance, he turns and walks to the door.

And once the door closes behind him, you’re left with a warm feeling in your chest—safe, loved, and entirely at peace.

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

happy cny! angpao for everyone <3

i apologize in advance if this isn't good and has mistakes- i wrote it in a rush! (also, i realized there was a sudden pov switch- tf

other

[shurisneakers]

hey I wanna say I absolutely love your writing ,English is not my first language but your writing cracks me up every time I absolutely adore your work! I wanted to throw in an idea for misery loves company because I really like the grumpy×grumpy ,what about them being loners/grumpy in a wedding,maybe it's Steve's or someone else on the team and they share a quiet dance on the balcony or something so yeah that's my idea ,again love your works ♥️♥️♥️♥️

a/n: hello! thank you for your kindness and for sending this in, I hope you like it <3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don’t need to read anything before this

warnings: swearing, light angst

You slip out before the first toast.

The balcony is quiet, the air sharp against your skin. Below, the city hums, distant and indifferent. The music is still loud behind you, but out here, it’s muffled, softened by the wind.

You don’t belong inside.

The thought comes unbidden, bitter in your mouth.

So the balcony is cold, the air sharp against your skin. The city sprawls below, distant and untouchable. The music inside is muffled now, voices blending together, champagne bubbling in glasses. It’s still too loud.

You lean against the railing, fingers gripping the cold marble. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you don’t care.

You exhale, press your palms against the railing, giving yourself five seconds before you call an Uber to get home.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

"You gonna jump?"

You hear the shuffle of his shoes against the floor as he leans beside you.

You close your eyes. "Go back inside. Make someone else's night worse."

"Yours already looks terrible, I've got a headstart," Bucky says, stepping up beside you.

You don’t turn, but you can feel him watching you, his presence taking up too much space in a very spacious balcony.

"You left early," he grunts out.

"So did you," you mutter.

"Yeah," he says. "People started looking at me like they wanted to ask me to dance."

You scoff. "You just think everyone’s in love with you."

"You're not proving me wrong," he points out.

"You're the most insufferable man I know."

"Honoured."

You finally glance at him. His tie is loose and he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

"Why are you out here?"

Your grip tightens on the railing. "Why are you?"

You know he sees it.

"You gonna actually answer," he says coolly, "or are we going to keep doing this?"

You exhale sharply, looking ahead. "DJ’s shit."

"It’s a live band."

"Then they should’ve hired a DJ."

His mouth twitches, but his eyes don't move off you.

"Try again."

"No," you say flatly.

He tilts his head at you, expression unreadable.

It makes you feel like your skin is on fire. Weddings are hard. Weddings with him around are even harder, for reasons you can't put words to.

A beat passed and he finally pushes himself away from the railing.

You're about to make some biting comment, when instead--

"Dance with me."

You blink. "Are you concussed?"

"Not recently."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "If this is some kind of sympathy thing-"

"Jesus," he mutters. "Yeah, I wanna pity dance with you, that's exactly what's happening here."

"Then what?"

He shrugs, "You think you're the only one who's angry?"

Your jaw tightens, teeth harsh against each other.

"We don’t have to talk," he mutters, like he's tired. Like things are hard for him too. "Just dance with me."

You stare at him, skeptical. He stares back, unbothered.

Instead, you grab his hand, passive-aggressive, like the universe owes you something for putting him in your life.

"Step on my feet, I break your kneecaps."

"For the record, I was a good fuckin' dancer."

"There is not one person left alive that can corroborate that," you scoff.

It's a joke, but you're acutely aware that maybe it's exactly why this is hard for him.

He pulls you in, a little stiff, like neither of you actually know how to do this anymore.

The music filters in from inside, something soft, but the two of you aren’t moving right to it.

He sways, slow and easy, like it makes all the sense in the world.

It pisses you off that somewhere, it starts feeling that was for you too.

"You're terrible at this," you mutter.

"So are you," he grumbles.

You scoff. "You said you were good at dancing."

"Yeah, well," he exhales, "people say a lot of shit."

You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go.

Neither does he.

The wind picks up. His palm presses a little firmer against your back. You don’t know what to do with that.

"You think you’re mad now," he mutters, "just wait ‘til I do this."

You frown, "What are you plann-"

You barely have time to react before his lips brush against your forehead.

It’s quick, warm, and a little unpracticed, like he thought about it too hard but did it anyway.

Your fingers tighten against his shirt. Not because you want to hold on. But because you don’t know what else to do with your hands when something shifts in your chest.

"Jes—"

"Shut up," he says, and it's the closest you've heard him come to pleading. "Five more minutes."

The words sit between you, heavy and unspoken.

You don’t know if he’s talking about the dance or something bigger.

Five more minutes.

Like you’re not running out of time. Like something in the world could belong to you, even if just for a little while.

You close your eyes. Breathe him in.

And five minutes stretch on longer than they usually do.

[pedgito]

well, january is finally over. i feel like this month has dragged, but the surplus of fics have kept me going. this one includes a few wildcards (and a lot of smut) that i'm blaming on friends. as always, i can't wait to see what everyone is cooking up as the year progresses!

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 24

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ the warden by @arcanefox207 — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.

↝ hotline to heaven by @chaotic-mystery — 🌶️

An inquisitive man gets more than what he's used to when he pushes the wrong number on a phone sex hotline.

↝ me and the devil by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️, ☄️ (dubcon)

Joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. He finds you in the process. 

↝ cake by @/wannab-urs — ☄️

You make a cake for Joel on his birthday, but it doesn’t go well. 

↝ father figure by @gutsby — 🌶️

Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ strangers by @joelmillerisapunk — 🌶️

You meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

↝ read it again by @almostfoxglove — ☁️

Your best-selling novel is being turned into a Hollywood blockbuster. Ordered to tweak some awkward lines with the lead actor, you've got no clue that the Javier Peña is a massive fan of the source material. He has no idea that the script doctor Stechner just sent to babysit him is the author of his favorite book.

✎ — 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃

↝ the impaler by @kiwisbell — 🌶️

Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.

↝ cuffed to the grind by @whocaresstillthelouvre — 🌶️

You're working late 'cause you're a detective. Oh Tim looks so good handcuffed to a chair.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ bedroom hymns by @saradika — 🌶️

mand'alor!sub!din x wife!dom!reader

↝ pas de deux (series) by @burntheedges — ☄️, ☁️, 🌶️ (finished)

When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

↝ the apostate (series) by @murder-wife

Din Djarin is the most beautiful Angel in existence. The only thing that matches his beauty is his pride. He just can't help but meddle in the affairs of the Mortals. This time, he's gone too far and must be taught a lesson.

↝ beg by @amanitacowboy — 🌶️

Din tortures and edges you with a remote control vibrator.

↝ your king & lionheart (+ marcus acacius) by @kedsandtubesocks

Trouble grows & you’re in need of a personal guard, thankfully Rome’s grand general seems to be perfect - not just for you (but maybe for your husband as well)

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐎

↝ never have i ever by @wannab-urs — 🌶️

You and Dieter play never have I ever and it gets spicy.

↝ chaos angel by @always-andromeda — 🌶️, ☄️

It's Emmy night. And your infamous ex-boyfriend is stirring up all kinds of trouble for you.

✎ — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒

↝ she keeps me up by @iamasaddie — 🌶️

After having sex with you, Lucien is losing his mind over it, unable to let you go from his m

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ the man whose hands are stained by @jolapeno — 🌶️

This week, a man (single) recounts an intimate encounter with his neighbour—a woman who’s lingered in his thoughts far longer than he cares to admit.

↝ pretty in pink by @/gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

You don't stay awake for Dave's arrival. He finds you in bed in a compromising position.

↝ yes, ma'am by @sizzlingcloudmentality — 🌶️

Life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. He needs professional help aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. Good thing he has your number.

↝ ice cold by @punkshort — 🌶️, ☄️

Dave ghosts you, so you get even by dating someone else in the office. That doesn't sit well with Dave.

✎ — 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄

↝ just once by @eupheme — 🌶️

You know you shouldn’t look for the handsome stranger that shows up, night after night. Should lock your window, forget you saw him. That’s the smart thing to do, after all. But you think you might like that he needs you. That you can’t stop thinking about him. That you can’t stop wanting more.

✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

↝ cotton mouth by @/gracieheartspedro — 🌶️, ☁️

You need a new dealer and you know a guy through the unfortunate grapevine you used to be wrapped up in. But I mean... the banter is great, and you cannot help but fall for him. But don't fret, he feels the same way.

↝ my, my those eyes like fire by @the-unforgivenn — 🌶️

You’ve heard of the classic Same Bed Trope? Well, what would you call it when all you expect to do is fall asleep in luxury after a missed flight, only to find the room already occupied? Same Hotel Room Trope?

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[felassan]

Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 6. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Two, Post Three, Post Four, Post Five]

User: "after [Emmrich and Rook's] argument they don’t really bring it up again, is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" // Sylvia Feketekuty: ""is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" I think either one is valid. There's some time skips, so I figured if you imagined your Rook and Emmrich talking about the argument, it could've happened while, say, they're traveling to the Necropolis. Flow-wise it seemed best to rely on that passage of time to smooth that part over, and get to the point where we enter the talk by the coffin. Or perhaps they're so in-sync that, like you said, Rook and Emmrich feel they can just move on. (If you bring Emmrich to Isle of the Gods he's apologetic there, and Rook picks up on it, so maybe that was enough short as it was.) (To my mind it's not a huge thing to declare one way or another, but I'd prefer this one to be player's choice)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "had a question about emmrich's last name. i know there is a banter with harding that confirms it is a commoner name, but i was interested in what his surname breaks down into meaning? I assumed volk=folk perhaps, but is there any other meaning/significance? thank you!" // Sylvia: "You pretty much have it right with "volk" = people. I liked the idea that Volkarin would sound fancy to someone speaking English (well Harding's not speaking English per se, but you know), but have its roots in something that plain. So yeah basically I got a kick out of the thought that in Nevarra, Emmrich's last name is the equivalent of Smith, or Jones, or Wilson. (The "arin" part is just because I thought together it paired well with "volk")" [source, two]

User: "With Hezenkoss, as a romanced rook, it feels like she's a bit jealous and was stuck in a one sided crush with her "friend" Was this intended? Or was she just competitive and annoyed at his popularity with everyone?" // Sylvia: "I always pictured Hezenkoss as annoyed that as they grew up, Emmrich become popular and effortlessly well-liked, while she, with her sheer brilliance, was clearly resented by jealous fools. Fools!!! (I pictured Johanna needling Emmrich over his romance mostly her going 'now there's some nice sore-spots I can press' because she has correctly anticipated his insecurities.) "become popular" Arg I meant to write BECAME. Cripes." [source, two, three] // Sylvia: "TBC I also don't want to invalidate any head-canons! My general rule is that if it's not stated outright in game, it's up for interpretation, regardless of my thoughts. La mort de l'auteur, etc." [source]

User: "I recently made an appreciation post on reddit how relatable he is for me and how it helped me with my anxiety. There were also other users agreeing and sharing their love for the character." // Sylvia: "I read your post and the others, and I'm glad meeting Emmrich touched people like that. His story was a team effort, and everyone making him knew we needed to hit this theme right. (His actor Nick Boraine deserves especial praise for nailing those lines.) I have indeed experienced what Emmrich does, and from the thread and other fan interactions, it's not an uncommon thing. If I can offer something I read a long time ago: you have the right to think about death without being in a state of absolute fear. I don't know why, but that thought helped me focus when things were rough. Maybe because it was correct: we DO have that right. Even if life and our own psyches conspire against us, it's ours." [source, two, three] // User: "I felt seen in a way I never have when Emmrich said he is terrified of dying. I've had panic attacks about it since I was old enough to understand what death is. Thank you for making so many feel seen and helping people realize its not just *them.*" // Sylvia: "I'm really glad it helped, because the conclusion I've come to is this is more common than we think, it's just not something people talk about." [source]

Sylvia: "(Full credit to the great feedback I got from the other writers and editors early on [re: Emmrich], he wouldn't be as good without them.)" [source] // Sylvia: "All credit to the team, especially the writers and editors who gave feedback that made him so much better during those early days and beyond." [source]

Sylvia: ""who came up with Davrin's "hand-to-bone combat" line?? 🤣" Haha that was Davrin's writer, John Dombrow! I'll let him know you (and other people) got a chuckle out of it!" [source]

User, on Manfred: ""I'm so curious -what about the almonds caught his fancy, and why so many?" Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" // Sylvia: "Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" [source]

User: "When Rook romances Emmrich, through banter we can see that Emmrich is surprised that the other companions know about the relationship, and also h says to Johanna that it's a private matter. Is it because he wants to keep things private only, is it because he is worried that Rook may not be the one true love, or is he worried about the age gap, or all these reasons and/or others?" // Sylvia: "In this particular case, I think Emmrich just wanted to be discrete because he didn't want to assume it was a serious thing, and for people to think HE thought it was serious. (Though his line to Hezenkoss is snappish specifically because he knows she's needling him, haha.)" [source]

Sylvia: Down Among the Dead Men and Luck in the Gardens "mean a lot to me, being my first published stories in a book.)" [source]

User: "Are there any other areas of Thedas that you think young Altus mages would tour? Poor Dorian looked like a fish out of water in Ferelden." // Sylvia: "Completely talking off the cuff here, but Orlais and Antiva, certainly, and some of the "better" Free Marcher states seem like good candidates. (Poor Ferelden! Always forgotten by the north.)" [source]

User: "I know you said previously that emmrich doesn't really vibe with cats or dogs But like if rook already has a dog or something (that someone is like pet sitting for them while they're kicked out of their faction and traveling with varric) would that be a deal breaker" // Sylvia: "Nah that'd be fine, they're not his favorites but he'll put up with them for Rook." [source]

Sylvia: "I have indeed seen Cushing's version of Hound of the Baskervilles, for some reason that part where he whirls around and throws the knife is embedded into my brain. What a great Holmes he made." [source]

User: "1. Where did Emmrich live in Nevarar when he was a child? 2. When do you think his birthday is? 👀 3. How did Johanna know him?" // Sylvia: "1. He lived inside the bounds of Nevarra City itself. He's always been a city boy. 2. For some reason, he feels like a January/February birthday to me. 3. They met as young students in the Mourn Watch." [source]

User: "if Emmrich didn't think it was serious when he'd always wanted one true love -apparently-, why did he embark on this relationship, especially with so much passion?" // Sylvia: "I think he thought it wouldn't be so serious at first, but then things progressed. And people want conflicting things, sometimes." [source]

User: "I really love Strife being a love interest for Emmrich! What lead to him as the choice if he isn't romanced?" // Sylvia: "The writing team discussed who felt right, and I liked that Strife was from one of the factions because it gives the feeling of your followers interacting with the wider world. And I felt Strife would provide a nice contrast with the romance with Rook. Unlike them, he's more established in his place in the world, like Emmrich is. Just felt like a different dynamic." [source, two] // User: "Strife balances Emmrich well since they are both interested in study but have gone about it differently." // Sylvia: "Agreed! (I wish I had thought to put it like that.)" [source]

User: "how are pets and animals honoured in the Necropolis and by the Mourn Watchers? The same as any other being?" // Sylvia: "Beloved animals are absolutely permitted to be buried with families. Mild Necropolis exploration spoiler: inside the passage you unlock after finding all the wisps in the belfry area, there's actually some caskets for faithful hounds interred in the crypt." [source]

User: "My question is do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" // Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "how long has Manfred been under Emmrich's care?" // Sylvia: "That's a good question, yet another thing I left a little vague in case I needed to define it concretely in the future. And since I've left, the answer is very much in my head only. But I feel it's likely to have at least been a decade. (Hezenkoss acts like she knows about Manfred, I figure she could've met him during an earlier clash. But I don't think Manfred was around when she and Emmrich were young students.)" [source, two]

User: "if Emmrich had tattoos, on what theme would they be?" // Sylvia: "Something anatomical/surgical, patterned on the MW's mystic theories of the body and death, feels appropriate to me." [source]

Sylvia: "BioWare put out an infographic about choices a few weeks ago, and "lich" was winning out. 1) When Emmrich says how he feels will change did he just mean his senses or is it on an emotional level?" He's definitely talking about his senses in that scene. On an emotional level: unknown. (I imagine it WOULD change someone because it's such a big shift, but exactly what does it do, mystically, if anything, is something I'd like to leave alone since I didn't really cover that in the game, and it feels like it'd been bigger consideration if that makes sense.) I kind of want how the lich-romance proceeds to live in players' imaginations, purely so people can tailor it to their own story. I'm afraid any writer-declaration would narrow the possibilities instead of expanding them, if that makes sense." [source, two, three, four]

Sylvia: ""I've been waiting for Nevarra for years and it was everything i could have dreamed of and MORE!" I'm very glad to hear it. The rest of the Necropolis team and I were very excited to finally get to portray even a small portion of the ancient and hallowed graves of Nevarra." [source]

User: "If I remember correctly, we only really see Emmrich use necromantic magic in-game. Are there other types of magic (elemental, healing/spirit, etc) that you think he would gravitate toward?" // Sylvia: "Hrm. He does have a bit of healing magic, mechanically in combat. It coudl work, but somehow I don't think Emmrich would ever be a high-level healer. He could maybe get the basics but it's not his great gift. Something about the gravic magic of the force mage specialty feels appropriate though." [source]

Sylvia: "I'm so glad you liked meeting and getting to know our necromancer. (Huge props to our cinematic and audio team on that garden scene, it was incredible seeing it come in finished for the first time.)" [source]

Allegra Clark: "I just wanted to say that I miss you so much and I’m so excited for whatever comes next in your career. Josephine means so much to me and I’ve fallen utterly in love with Emmrich (how dare you, he’s perfect). Thank you for trusting me with your child over a decade ago ❤️" [source] // Sylvia: "Allegra! Thank you so much! I'm so excited you've been digging our gentleman necromancer. I hope you've been seeing people ping me about their love of Josephine. I heard someone very good did her voice.. Thank YOU for embodying her so quickly and completely!" [source, two]

User: "how was Emmrich doing when Rook was trapped in the Fade?" // Sylvia: "Probably very poorly! Poor man would've been incredibly anxious and working all hours towards a solution." [source]

User: "So i asked you before what music emmrich does like but um is there any music he hates I feel like he'd die if someone took him to a death metal concert XD" // Sylvia: "I think that's a good one to pick, lol. "It's all just noise!"" [source]

User: "Did Emmrich teach (or at least attempt to teach) Manfred how to read?" // Sylvia: "I think that was beyond his skillset, beforehand; Manfred could be taught to recognize objects, but the abstraction of reading was one step too much at that point." [source]

User: "Do Mourn Watchers undergo a Harrowing?" // Sylvia: "They do! You may've missed it but there's a MWer in the Necropolis who mentions MW Harrowings if you go by them. (The MW has had to suspend theirs because chaos in the Fade.) But that's a temporary suspension, probably resolved by the time the credits roll. In general: I figure that if you're a mage who underwent a harrowing in some other circle, that stands, but that the MW would also perform harrowings for students they took in early. Also: not a silly question! It doesn't really come up with the MW except that one ambient line, and it's very easy to miss." [source, two, three]

User: "Doing a 3rd MW playthrough after not playing one for a couple of months feels like coming home again" // Sylvia: "That's some commitment to the dead! The Mourn Watch approve." [source]

User: "if two mourn watchers were to share a piece of grave dowry between them, that's grounds for a serious relationship?" // Sylvia: "You mean like each one having the half of a necklace, or having the same bit of gold made into matching rings? Or swapping jewelry? Either way, what a nice idea. It could be!" [source]

Sylvia: "Emmrichwas very much the work of the team, including some very good feedback early on from the other writers and editors." [source]

Sylvia: "The team and I were also super excited to get to explore the Necropolis. It was an honour to open up the tombs to everyone." [source]

User: "Emmerich's particular respect for trans characters was extremely enticing to me." // Sylvia: "Thanks, I'm glad he resonated. (Some trans colleagues kindly spent the time to give me some feedback on the wording of the lines, which I think made them way better.)" [source]

User: "Emmrich is so amazing" // Sylvia: "Thank you again, that is incredible to hear. (And I want to mention, only possible with the team; they helped improve the story every step.)" [source]

Sylvia: Tevinter Nights "was a fun collection to work on" [source]

User: "Does lich Emmrich feel anything when Rook kisses him or touches him?" // Sylvia: "yeah, I don't think he's "numb" so to speak, he can sense a touch (with his new powers from beyond the graaaaaave 🪦💀🌹)" [source]

User: "about Emmrich so i know he's into flowers and botany but is he into plant meanings and symbolism" // Sylvia: "I think he is - Emmrich mentions some flowers that are "famed in verse and song", I think he'd enjoy reading up on the cultural importance and symbolism layered on to them." [source]

User: "Obv the game mechanics require Rook to make the choice but would a romanced Emmrich choose to become a Lich if the choice was in his hands? Would he abandon his dream for love?" // Sylvia: "I must refuse to answer on the grounds that it's too melancholy to contemplate. ;_;" [source]

User: "On the dinner date in the Necropolis I loved how Emmrich felt philosophical, it was so relatable, especially when he talked about the connection to something finer than we are. It was magical!" // Sylvia: "I'm really pleased that last part of the dinner date, resonated with you, I was trying really hard to get a certain feeling across." [source]

User: "What month do you think Emmrich was born in? I really wanna know what my guy's zodiac sign is" // Sylvia: "I don't know anything about zodiac stuff but weirdly, I do have a range, for some reason I always thought it'd be January or February." [source]

User: "1. How does Emmrich feel about children, both in general and possibly having them? 2. Would Emmrich be into gift-giving?" // Sylvia: "1. In general, he likes kids okay, and tries to be kind, but his students are mostly older so he doesn't really chat with many. Regarding having them, if circumstances aligned so that was the case, I think he'd be excited if maybe a little overwhelmed by the thought. 2. I think so! Not overbearing about it, but he would like to show some tokens of affection at appropriate times. (There's no way he's not delighted to get gifts.)" [source, two]