#no but really. this was fun and very eye opening

[aureatelys]

adore you

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c. 3k a/n: written for @mggslover's 1k celebration event, congrats baby! i initially wrote 5k, hated it, and basically rewrote all of it but i swear i still had fun writing this. i hope you enjoy <3

summary:

Weird. You're acting like my boyfriend. - God Is a Freak, Peach PRC Your boss has essentially become your best friend. What the hell does Derek mean he looks at you a certain way?

c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, age gap ofc, feelings realization, reader is oblivious and tipsy but is a consenting party

read below or on ao3 here <3

“So, you and Hotch, huh?”

You had just finished putting your coat up, stepping through the massive entryway of Rossi’s mansion, when Derek approaches you with that familiar shit-eating grin and hands rubbing together like he’s scheming something.

You blink up at him, confused. “Yeah… he gave me a ride.”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head but still wearing that smile that made you want to lovingly punch him. “Yeah, I saw that. I meant, you and Hotch aren’t…?”

You squint at him, because you really aren’t sure what he’s hinting at. Also, a glass of wine has been calling your name since you started getting ready and Derek is very much in the way of that. Hotch was always annoyingly punctual, and today was no different because you were honestly about to open up a bottle when you heard his car pull up in the driveway. “We aren’t what?”

“Sweetness. You’re really trying to tell me you and Hotch aren’t together?”

You choke on your spit, coughing so loud in your fist that it echoes down the entryway and gathers the attention of Rossi and Hotch at the end of it. You wave them off when they both give you equally alarmed and concerned looks while Derek laughs heartily, like the asshole he is.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss at him, slapping him on the shoulder as he nearly makes himself tear up from laughing.

Derek puts a somewhat apologetic hand on your arm as he steers you to the kitchen and pours you a glass of red, finally. “Hey, I see the way he looks at you, I just wanted to make sure I’m up to date on everything.”

And that catches your attention.

Your chest still aching from your coughing fit, you give him another perplexed look. “What? He looks at me the same way as he looks at everyone.”

Derek’s face morphs into a nervous, almost uncomfortable one as he starts slowly backing away into the living room, as if you were an unpredictable dangerous animal. “I think I’m gonna… look for Garcia.”

And then he turns on his heel and is out of the kitchen before you can blink, leaving you with your lone glass of wine and the sounds of laughter emanating from the patio.

You’re still so fucking confused, because you and Hotch were only friends. In fact, you can almost consider him your best friend with the way you two are spending so much time together, even on the weekends.

One late night spent in his office to work on reports that were due the next day that you had procrastinated on and ordering Chinese food eventually turned into a habitual thing, now spending the last hour of the workday every night in his office. Then, he started inviting you to the park to play with Jack who had apparently been asking for you, then staying for dinner because Hotch was not eating the way he should’ve been and him and Jack didn’t deserve to eat pizza rolls with mac and cheese every night.

It's been a couple of months and now, you can honestly say you two are nearly attached at the hip. You’ve tried to tone it down for the office, because you knew you would get teased, and clearly you were right.

But dating Hotch? Honestly, the thought had never occurred to you.

You’ve been single for over a year and you were okay with that, because at least the job kept you busy. And you know for a fact that Hotch hasn’t even thought about dating since Beth moved a couple of years ago.

The sudden thought of Beth, her pretty blue-green eyes and perfect hair, causes a sour taste to form in your mouth. You had never met her, having only technically heard good things about her, but every time you thought of her or someone mentioned her in passing, you felt… upset.

For no reason.

When you glance at Hotch from where he’s talking with the rest of the team on the patio, you catch his gaze for a brief second before he’s turning his head back around to chuckle at something Rossi says.

You feel your heart start to race, your blood rushing through your ears, because what the fuck did Derek mean when he said Hotch looks at you a certain way? You were telling the truth when you said you’ve only noticed him looking at you platonically and nothing more.

Sure, Hotch was conventionally attractive, handsome even. You guess he hit all your boxes in a guy; tall, capable hands, and pretty brown eyes. He was a good boss, a good man, and was always putting other people first before even thinking about himself. He had an intense sense of justice, loves children, and would do absolutely anything for his team and even beyond for Jack.

He has a nice laugh once you break down his walls. For all he’s meticulous at work, his house is absolutely chaotic and it takes you nearly an hour sometimes to get him and Jack ready for a soccer game. He doesn’t prefer to cook but he seems to enjoy it more when you’re in the kitchen with him, laughing at his technique and groaning about the lack of certain utensils.

The sudden realization that you like Hotch, your boss that is older than you by 20 years, hits you like a ton of bricks. You nearly snap the stem of your wine glass, something like panic and mortification climbing up your throat before you could help it.

It’s fine, you’re fine. It’s normal to have a crush on someone you spend time with on a regular basis and is conventionally attractive. You can deal with that.

But the absolute possibility that Hotch doesn’t want you romantically was very real. In fact, it had to be the only possibility. You were younger and less experienced, both romantically and professionally. The only reason that he’s been spending so much time with you was because you needed guidance and reassurance as the newest member of the team.

He doesn’t look at you any differently than the others. That’s it. Derek has no idea what he’s talking about.

You take a shuddering deep breath, quickly composing yourself because, hello, you work with profilers. Which meant you couldn’t avoid or hide from Hotch tonight, no matter how much you wanted to.

When you make your way out to the patio to join the others with a full glass of wine and you spot the only space left in the circle was between Spencer and Penelope, you internally thank whatever God was out there. The sound of them talking over each other about something inane was oddly comforting as your eyes met Aaron’s from the other side of the circle.

His eyes appeared golden from the numerous fairy lights strewn across Rossi’s backyard, making his face appear softer and younger. You’re not sure how it took you this long to realize he was so handsome.

He raises his eyebrows at you, silently asking if you were okay because, somehow, he’s grown to learn your facial expressions like the back of his hand, which means he most likely will catch on to you having a silly juvenile crush on him.

You give him a weak smile, raising your glass slightly before taking a large gulp of it. You’re glad that Rossi is Rossi and that he doesn’t spare any expenses when he throws his parties, the strong cherry flavor refreshing compared to your cheap boxed wine you’re used to. You don’t even remember what you were celebrating tonight, or if you were even celebrating anything at all and this was just another much needed get together after case after case.

You catch something soft in Hotch’s eyes that makes your chest pang painfully as he raises his own glass of whiskey before taking a sip. No one else has noticed, too enthralled by their own conversations, so the intimacy of the private moment doesn’t escape you, in fact making you even more anxious.

It was going to be a long night.

-

You are absolutely going to give Derek an earful on Monday morning.

It’s entirely his fault that you’re not enjoying Rossi’s party to the full extent, his words swimming in your mind.

Now, you’re psychoanalyzing and second-guessing everything Hotch does.

You had made sure to walk alongside Penelope on the way to the large round table for dinner, somewhat consciously as you continued to avoid Hotch but also because she was rambling about the show you suggested she watch. Spencer was on the other side of you, interjecting whenever he could, and you made a mental note that Hotch was still on the other side of the circle between Rossi and Tara.

So imagine your surprise when, after you tear your attention away from Spencer’s ramblings and back to Penelope, you’re met with Hotch’s pretty eyes and woodsy cologne instead.

“Oh, hi,” you say, hoping he doesn’t hear the shakiness that’s suddenly overtaken your voice as that familiar panic starts to crawl up your throat. This wasn’t going to be good.

“’Hi.” The corners of Hotch’s lips quirk up, eyes softening, and what the fuck is going on. “Can I sit next to you?”

You swear you’re going to have a heart attack. This man cannot be healthy for you. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

And then he’s pulling out your chair for you.

And it’s not anything new—he pulls your chair out for you all the time, in the conference room, in his dining table when you made not-pizza rolls, and even at restaurants the afternoons after Jack’s soccer games. You’ve never thought anything of it, but tonight, after your impeccably timed realization, your brain feels like it’s going to implode.

He’s just being a gentleman, that’s all.

“Thank you,” you manage out, heat starting to come to your face. Before Hotch, no one’s ever pulled your chair out for you. It’s nice.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, because of course not, just scoots your chair in closer to the table before he takes his seat on your right.

And he’s sitting really fucking close to you.

Have you always sat this close to each other before? You must have at least once during those late nights in his office, poring over case file after case file.

Not only could you feel the heat of his body just from sitting next to him, but his arm kept brushing up against your bare one while he ate, because of course you had to sit on the left side of a left-handed person. Every brush of the sleek fabric of his green button-up against your bare arm sent shivers down your spine despite the summer air, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

His hand kept brushing against yours as you ate and your eyes are drawn to how large his hands are as he handles his fork and the thickness of his forearms, having had rolled up his sleeves earlier. If you searched closely, you could find scars scattered over them through the dusting of hair, undoubtedly from his time on the job.

You don’t realize you’re staring at his Rolex and the way it glints underneath the lights, until Hotch is suddenly leaning into you. “Are you okay?”

Jesus Christ, hearing that smooth voice speaking lowly in your ear, breath warm as it fans over your cheek, causes all of the air in your lungs to escape. Has his voice always been that smooth, attractive?

When you risk a glance at him, conversations around the table slowly fading into the background, his face is merely inches from yours. His brows are pinched in concern and lips are pressed into a flat line. There’s something dancing in his eyes that you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

You clear your throat. “Sorry, I think the wine is just getting to me.”

He chuckles low underneath his breath. “Good thing I’m driving.”

And then he’s knocking the back of his hand against yours, the briefest brush of skin that causes electricity to zing up your spine, and then he’s back to listening intently to Derek and Emily’s bickering over who cheated at the last game of charades.

At this point, you think Hotch is able to read your mind. Why else would he be touching you, be sweet on you, if not to torture you?

You try to wrack your brain through these past couple of months, trying to find whether Hotch touching his hand to yours has happened before or any other sign that he actually is attracted to you. You come up short.

You chalk it up to him loosening up from his whiskey. He’s already moved onto water, because he was your ride, after all, so maybe this was a fluke. A one-off.

But it’s not a one-off. In fact, you think you’ve honestly died and gone to Heaven after suddenly tripping and breaking your head open in the entryway after Derek spoke with you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were actually on a date with Hotch, sans the rest of the team.

He must have noticed your distracted mood, because he’s making sure you’re included in almost every table conversation by glancing at you and giving you a smile that has started to make something flutter in your stomach. He’s participating minimally like usual, content to listen, but whenever he has a comment or thought he wants to share, he’s leaning in and sharing it with you.

He's leaning in to top of your wine, reaching over the table to get more of those green beans you like, and once even knocking his knee against yours underneath the table when you looked especially lost in thought while staring at your plate.

And then when the team has moved into the living room for charades, Emily wanting payback against Derek, it somehow gets even worse.

You’re quick enough to be the first to volunteer to not play due to there being an odd number of players, thus requiring Hotch to play. Everyone cheers teasingly, because Hotch is always quick to volunteer himself out of games, content to watch.

You blame the copious glasses of wine you’ve consumed and the decadent filling dinner, warmth thrumming through your entire body, when you poke at Hotch’s considerably firm bicep. “Show us what you got, old man.”

There are resounding oohs and aahs from the rest of the team. Something fuzzy settles in your chest when Hotch rolls his eyes good-naturedly at you and stands up from where he had sat next to you on the couch to JJ’s team.

You continue to nurse your wine, pleasantly buzzed, as you are thoroughly entertained by your team’s antics. Emily and Rossi argue at least 3 times, Penelope gets significantly close to having a private meeting with HR, and Hotch continues to stare at you.

Or at least, you think he’s staring at you. The alcohol has started making you second guess things even more than you already were. Because for some reason, despite JJ sitting on the other side of the living room and being on a team with her, he moved to sit in the empty spot next to you after the first round.  

He’s definitely participating in the game, even in second place behind Penelope and Derek, but you swear you feel his eyes on you now more than ever.

It’s distracting as you try to follow the game and guess along with everyone else. This time, the right side of him is nearly molded against your left side, pressing into you so hard that you’re starting to sweat from how much body heat he’s radiating.

When you glance at him to try and catch his eyes, he meets your gaze steadily. His hair is starting to come undone, a few strands falling against his forehead, and his dimple seems to have made a permanent appearance from how much he’s pretending not to laugh at his team’s antics.

It’s nice to see him enjoy himself—a flush rising up his neck and shoulders relaxed. Although you understand he has a certain image he maintains for his team, it’s become familiar to you.

By the time it dwindles close to midnight, there’s a chorus of yawns around the group. Penelope’s the first to call it, stumbling to grab a hold of Derek’s arm and dragging him with her out the door to drive her home, ruining your initial plans to catch a ride home with her instead of Hotch. After that, everyone starts to say their goodnights and exchanging hugs despite the chance you may get called on a case as early as tomorrow morning.

“You ready to go?” Hotch leans to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning over you again and causing heat to rise to your face.

“Absolutely,” you exhale, clutching the water bottle that Hotch retrieved for you in the middle of the game, hoping the breathiness in your voice could be blamed on how late it was.

When you get to Hotch’s car, heart full and warm after spending another wonderful evening with your makeshift family, he opens the passenger side door for you.

You think you’re going to lose your mind if he keeps this up. How are you supposed to stop having a crush on Hotch when he keeps doing things that justify that crush?

“Do you need to stop anywhere for anything? Are you hungry?”

You blame it on the wine despite the fact you’ve been drinking nothing but water for the past hour, thanks to Hotch silently getting you and only you a water. Your body and tongue feels loose, inhibitions naturally decreased, and it’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter if the soft lights of the driveway highlight the sharp angles of his face or the way his woodsy cologne has infiltrated your senses.

“Weird, you’re acting like my boyfriend or something.”

The silence that ensues is deafening. Your brain takes forever to catch up with you, but then you’re suddenly struck with humiliation and dread. You mind starts to race, as best as it could, when you realize that you may have just royally messed up the best job you’ve ever had and the best group of people you’ve ever met.

Before you can backtrack and say that you were just joking, Hotch carefully says “Do you want me to be?”

“What?” Wow, you really can’t hold your alcohol well, why did you drink so much wine?

And then Hotch is stepping closer, into your space, and you’d be worried that the rest of the team was going to see if the car door wasn’t shielding you from view from the front of the house. You get a whiff of whiskey on his breath again, but when you meet his eyes, there’s not a hint of the same full body dizziness you feel.

“Was I not being direct enough?” There’s amusement sparkling in his eyes, eyebrows raised. He looks like he’s politely trying to hide a fond smile. He’s teasing you.

This Hotch is the one you’ve grown to become familiar with over the past several months. Charming and unafraid to tease you when you’re away from prying eyes. Hotch is a private person, always has been, so it’s not a surprise that him essentially torturing you tonight was his version of being direct.

“You’ve been flirting with me?”

Hotch ducks his head bashfully to chuckle. It’s ridiculously endearing and you want to tug him closer and touch him all over. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you all month so I’m guessing I didn’t do a very good job.”

You stare at him as if he grew a second head, suddenly feeling much more sobered up than 5 minutes ago. Clarity sluggishly comes to you. The various invitations to spend the night or go out to dinner without Jack comes to mind. The touching had steadily increased, but you had assumed it was just due to Hotch getting more comfortable around you.

For a profiler, you weren’t very good at noticing what was happening right in front of you.

Hotch may be a ridiculously patient person, clearly since he’s been content to flirt with you for apparently a month while you didn’t notice, but you were not. You knew what you wanted. The wine still thrumming through your veins just gave you that little extra push.

You place your palms on his chest, relishing in the subtle firmness you can detect through his shirt, and you wonder if that’s his heart you feel thumping erratically or your own. “I promise I’m not that drunk and am fully aware of what is going on right now.”

Hotch hums and places his hands on your hips, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your dress. His eyes briefly flit to your mouth before back up at you. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Instead of providing a snarky response, and because you know Hotch wouldn’t make the first move since you did have some to drink, you finally lean in to close the distance between you two to kiss him.

It’s soft, chaste in a way that makes you feel pleasantly warm all over, the barest tendrils of electricity tugging at the pit of your stomach. The intensity of how much you like him, how much you adore him, nearly barrels you over, but Hotch’s grip on you tightens, steadying you. His lips only slightly move against yours, as if briefly testing the waters, but it does nothing to quell the sudden desire slowly twisting inside of you.

When he pulls back, chest only marginally heaving, you instinctively chase after him. He chuckles again, low and comforting, as his hands come up to hold you still by the shoulders. It shouldn’t feel as nice and soothing as it does. “I should take you home.”

“Are you coming with me?” You sincerely hope that Hotch doesn’t question you and your boldness tomorrow. Again, not entirely your fault.

“I’ll walk you to your door, how about that?” As if he already wasn’t going to do that.

On the drive back to your apartment, the tight ball of panic and uncertainty in your chest quickly unfurls and is replaced by affection, tenderness, and promises of the future. Hotch’s hand, large and protective, doesn’t leave your thigh the entire way home.

You make a mental note to send Derek a gift card and thank you note on Monday.

[reiding-writing]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.

a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.

cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism

“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.

“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.

“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”

“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.

Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.

“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”

We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”

There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.

“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.

You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”

“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.

“No.”

He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.

He does have some self restraint.

—

Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.

It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.

You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.

It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.

Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.

“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”

“So our unsub had his own key then?”

“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”

There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”

“Will do,”

“Got it,”

There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.

—

Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.

“Professor Callahan?”

“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.

Morgan and Spencer share a glance.

“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”

Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”

Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.

“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”

His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.

“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.

Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”

Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”

Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”

“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”

As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.

Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.

Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.

“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”

“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.

“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.

“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.

“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”

Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”

“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.

“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”

“We’ll let her know,”

—

“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.

“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”

She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”

“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.

The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.

“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”

Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”

You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”

It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.

You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”

Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.

“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.

“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”

“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”

She frowns. “it’s awful,”

“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”

—

“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”

Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”

“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.

“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.

“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”

“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”

“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —

“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.

“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.

The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.

“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”

Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”

“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”

You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”

You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”

“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”

“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.

“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”

“I hate you,”

”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.

The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.

“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.

The room erupts into motion.

—

When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.

“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.

You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.

Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”

Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”

Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:

“It was meant to be you.”

You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.

But you can’t say that. Not yet.

“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”

“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”

Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”

“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.

“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.

You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.

It was meant to be you.

The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.

—

“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”

Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”

He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”

“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”

JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”

You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.

“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”

Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

—

You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.

“It was meant to be you.”

You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.

You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.

“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.

—

Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.

But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”

Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”

“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”

Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”

Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”

JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”

You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”

You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”

Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”

“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”

The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.

“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.

—

Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.

You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You’re not fine.”

The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.

He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”

You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.

“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,”

His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”

You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”

The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.

“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”

Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”

“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.

“It was consensual.”

Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.

He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.

"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."

You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.

You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.

Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”

“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.

“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.

But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.

“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.

Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.

“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.”

Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”

Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”

“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”

You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.

“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”

“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.

“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.

“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

He lets out a sigh of your name.

“Promise me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”

—

The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.

He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.

“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”

He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.

“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.

You don’t move.

“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”

“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.

He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”

“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”

He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”

You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”

You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.

And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

There it is. The control slipping.

Good.

You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.

You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.

“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”

Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”

“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.

“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”

Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.

You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.

“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”

His face remains eerily blank.

“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”

His entire body stiffens.

“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, without warning, he moves.

His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.

But you’re faster.

Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.

“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.

Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.

For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.

—

The team is listening.

They hear every word.

Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.

They could go in. They should go in.

But they don’t.

Not yet.

Because this isn’t their battle.

Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.

And then—

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then a single gunshot.

—

“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.

His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile.

“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw.

For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.

The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.

“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.

“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.

He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.

“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”

“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.

“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”

Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.

“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”

Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.

And he knows it.

The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.

For a moment, the world is frozen.

The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.

A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Then, his knees buckle.

He collapses.

The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.

Weak.

The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.

And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.

You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.

And then—

It’s over.

—

The gunshot sends the team into action.

Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.

But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.

Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then you move.

Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.

And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.

You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.

You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.

You just keep walking.

Because it’s finally over.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.

Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.

The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.

You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

You know it’s them.

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.

Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.

Then there’s Morgan.

He looks… shaken.

Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.

Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”

You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.

“I know.”

It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.

Morgan nods, accepting it.

Spencer is the last to approach.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.

You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

—

The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.

You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.

You should be exhausted.

You are exhausted.

But sleep won’t come.

Your mind won’t let it.

The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.

Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

He just sits.

And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.

Sleep comes a little easier after that.

[gf2bellamy]

HI IM BACK AGAIN!! just wanted to say a huge thank you for doing my request :DD

anyway i had this really cewl idea where the reader kinda dresses up as spencer one day for a prank or a joke and he LOVES IT

idk how he’d react or anything but i thought it was really cute !

YOURE THE BEST!!

- 🐚

dress up — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: Of course !! You're so very welcome <333 THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE AND FUN i love it so creative - thank you for requesting i hope you like it !!! also the first picture is what i'd imagine the outfit would look like but ofc you're free to imagine any other outfit !

You held your coffee tightly, the warmth seeping through your fingers as you stepped into the elevator. You tapped your foot impatiently against the metal floor. 

The brown satchel hung at your side, an almost identical match to Spencer’s. The moment you saw it at the store yesterday, the idea struck you like a lightning bolt.

What if, just for a day, you dressed like him?

The thought had been amusing, almost childish in its excitement, but you couldn’t shake it. After all, Spencer had an undeniably good sense of style—classic, intellectual, effortlessly endearing. 

So, you woke up early that morning, carefully piecing together the outfit. A checkered button-down, layered under a cable-knit sweater, topped with a brown blazer. Dark slacks and your best attempt at his signature satchel completed the look.

You had smiled at yourself in the mirror, suppressing a laugh. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. Close enough that he would notice.

You grinned to yourself as you stepped into the BAU, the usual hum of conversation and rustling papers filling the air.

You made your way toward your desk, your fingers wrapped around the warm coffee cup as you stole a glance at Spencer. 

He was deeply engrossed in the pile of case files before him, his eyes darting across the pages in that rapid way of his, completely unaware of your presence.

But the moment you set your coffee down with a soft thud, he stirred, lifting his head with the beginnings of a familiar smile—one he always gave you in the morning. 

Except this time, it never fully formed. 

His mouth fell open slightly, his brows knitting together in visible confusion as his gaze swept over you.

His eyes lingered on the checkered button-down peeking from beneath your cream-colored sweater, the structured blazer draped effortlessly over your shoulders, and finally, the brown satchel at your side. 

You watched the gears turn in his brilliant mind, the way he pieced it together like he was solving a puzzle. The realization hit him all at once. 

"You—" Spencer started, blinking rapidly, before his voice caught in his throat. He looked back at you, then at your outfit, then back at you again, as if trying to confirm whether his brain was playing tricks on him. 

You simply raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes. 

A teasing smile played at your lips as you leaned against your desk. "Something wrong, Dr. Reid?" 

His lips parted, but no immediate response came. Instead, he let out a short, breathy laugh—equal parts bewildered and amused. "You’re… you’re dressed like me." 

You feigned a gasp, placing a hand on your chest. "What? No. This is just my natural sense of style." 

Spencer narrowed his eyes playfully, clearly unconvinced. "The satchel—it's nearly identical to mine." 

You casually adjusted the strap on your shoulder. "Great minds think alike." 

"And the sweater over the button-down?" His voice held an unmistakable note of amusement now. 

"Classic, isn’t it?" You shrugged. "I figured if I’m going to be the second smartest person in the BAU, I should at least dress the part." 

Spencer huffed out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his curls as if still trying to process it all.

For a moment, he just stared at you. And then, with the smallest shake of his head, he muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable." 

You smirked. "Believe it, genius." 

His lips twitched as he finally broke into a full smile—the kind that made your stomach flip. 

Mission accomplished. 

"Oh, wait! Let me show you the most important part," you announced with a grin, making your way over to his desk. 

Spencer’s eyes followed you, still filled with disbelief, as if his brain was struggling to catch up with reality. You stopped beside him.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, you bent down and lifted the hem of your pants, revealing your socks. 

"Mismatched," you declared proudly. One sock was patterned with tiny astronauts, the other with bright yellow ducks. "It’s not a Spencer Reid outfit if it doesn’t include mismatched socks, right?" 

You shot him a cheeky smile, waiting for his reaction. 

For a second, he just stared. 

Mouth slightly open. 

Eyes wide. 

Silent. 

Then, in the span of a breath, he let out a sharp laugh—genuine, unfiltered, and completely caught off guard.

"You—" he tried, but another laugh escaped before he could finish. "You really committed to this." 

You straightened up, feigning offense. "Of course I did! I take my role as Spencer Reid 2.0 very seriously." 

He shook his head, still chuckling as he ran a hand through his curls. "Unbelievable." 

"Believable," you corrected with a smirk, plopping down in the chair next to him. 

Spencer studied you for a moment, his gaze softer now. Then, as if making a silent decision, he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk. 

"You know," he said, voice quieter but no less warm, "I think you might be pulling it off better than I do." 

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip at the compliment, but you masked it with an easy shrug. "Well, I do make everything look good." 

He huffed out another small laugh, shaking his head before looking back down at his papers. "I don’t know whether I should be flattered or worried about my own fashion sense now." 

You nudged his shoulder lightly. "Definitely flattered." 

And though he didn’t say anything, the faint pink dusting his cheeks told you he absolutely was. 

[tangerineastronaut]

can you do a yunho reader thigh riding where shes his gf

Missed You | j.yunho

Pairing: Idol!Yunho x Nonceleb!Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff (MDNI) - mostly smut, very little fluff but still a main theme. Requested: Yes w.c. 3.5k Warnings: Thigh riding, established relationship, praise, slight degradation (nothing in a hateful way), size kink if you squint, namecalling, pet names, humping, I think that's it? If you notice any potentially triggering content not listed here please let me know. A/N: Hello lovelies ~ it feels so good to be back. I haven't written in a while but after browsing some of the amazing fanfic writers here it really made me miss it. Thank you to anon for my very first request! Also, this is poorly edited so please don't mind any errors. I will likely edit it in the future if I find any. Please excuse my rusty skills as well, I promise I'll get better! Requests: Open ~ please see the guidelines for requesting here.

5 months. 

For 5 months, your gorgeous golden retriever boyfriend had been gone on tour, and you were expected to endure a meal with him and the members. They’d landed just hours ago and were no doubt exhausted, but Yunho looked as unfairly beautiful as ever. There were shadows under his eyes and he definitely seemed to be craving home, but the moment he’d spotted you when you walked into the restaurant…god. His tongue had slid over his lower lip, likely thinking about the way you taste, long fingers raking down his pants as if to stop the tingling spreading through him. He was wearing casual clothes, just a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but nothing could hide the art of his figure. Tall and lean, toned where it counts. His broad shoulders, his chest and stomach that you loved peppering with kisses. And those thighs. 

You’d never really considered how sexy a man’s thighs were until you’d met Jeong Yunho. Muscular and thick, perfect for sitting on when he was in the mood to game for hours. Fine with you—was there anything more fun than teasing your lanky gamer boyfriend in the middle of a match? Squirming in his lap, making him fumble the controller and lose until you were bent in half, said boyfriend sinking into you?

Dinner. 

Dinner dinner dinner. 

You were proud of the boys and knew this was important, so despite wanting to jump his bones, you kept yourself in check and listened to the bickering between Woo and Jongho, beginning to wonder if Seonghwa had opted to dye his hair white to hide the grey caused by his children. 

You were about to scold them yourself to give the poor Captain and His Wife™ a break, but a warm hand sliding up your thigh made the words die in your throat in an embarrassingly high pitched sound. You coughed to cover it up—thank god for Woo as no one was paying attention to you—and glanced up at Yunho.

“I missed you baby,” he hummed, low enough that only you could hear. His pretty lips formed a smirk that wasn’t as sweet as his words. You smiled up at him, placing your smaller hand on top of his and squeezing, silently begging him to leave you the fuck alone before you drag him to the bathroom. 

“Missed you too,” you reply, making a visible effort to turn back to the conversation you weren’t part of. 

You’d hoped he was just being coy, teasing you a bit, but he apparently wasn’t satisfied with your reaction as his hand slipped inward. He wasn’t far above your knee, but it didn’t matter, making you clamp your legs together and grip his wrist beneath the table. The smug bastard smiled, hiding it in his glass as he took a sip of water. 

It was irritating, the mere fact that his large hand spanned much of your upper leg making you squirm. It was far too easy for him to rile you up, while he managed to maintain composure most of the time. You bit the inside of your cheek and released his wrist, your own hand moving to his lap. Yunho stiffened a bit, but that was it. You spread your fingers over his thigh, squeezing once before gently moving your hand side to side. 

When he turned to San and casually asked about next week’s practice schedule, it felt like a slap to the face. 

You’ve been dating for 3 years. You’ve fucked countless times on many, many surfaces. But when your fingers slid toward his crotch and found his cock already fully erect, you tore your hand away as though it had burned you. The bickering had died down, so to hide the flush on your face you took a sip of water. Yunho hadn’t even flinched, still conversing, unbothered, and wearing that cocky little grin. 

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

You almost felt guilty about the buzz you felt as everyone began to say goodbye, promising to rest before work started up again next week. You could’ve sworn Yunho was purposefully talkative tonight, as you knew damn well he didn’t care whether or not Yeosang’s apartment had more than one elevator. By the time he was willing to humor you, you were all but vibrating next to the company’s black SUV, the driver waiting much more patiently than you. 

Yunho had the audacity to ask if you were ready to go, his warm hand sliding over the small of your back. You nodded so quickly you were almost dizzy. 

The SUV was quite tall, and you were…quite not. So when he opened the door for you, you prepared to climb inside ungracefully, but your boyfriend placed both hands on your hips and lifted you into the vehicle. You had no time to react, as he was climbing in after you. You prepared to shuffle across the seat to give him space, but he easily caught your wrist and yanked you across his lap. One hand gathered both of your wrists, the other resting calmly over your ass. You both glanced over at the same time to make sure the divider was closed. 

“Someone’s horny,” he chuckled warmly, the hand on your ass moving in a slow circle. You frowned, tugging your wrists out of his grasp so you could sit up. Your hands found his shoulders and you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him but not letting your full weight rest against his cock just yet. 

“Jeong fucking Yunho—I have been waiting 5 months for you and not just so you can grope me in a restaurant,” you grumble, fisting his hoodie. 

“Technically speaking, all I did was touch your thigh. You, however, grabbed my—”

You shut him up with a kiss, mushing your mouth against his so hard you could feel your teeth pressing the inside of your lips. Yunho’s large hands found your waist, squeezing, trying to pull you down against his aching groin. You resist by using your knees, the grunt of irritation escaping him making you laugh.

“What’s funny?” Yunho asked, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. The shock made you gasp, and he used the opportunity to buck off of the seat of the car, hips meeting the plush underside of your ass. 

Unwilling to let him win whatever the hell this was, you moved a knee between you, coming dangerously close to his clothed cock. 

“Nothing, just my desperate boy acting like a dog,” you hum breathlessly. “All worked up, trying to call me out as the slut here.”

“You fucking—” Yunho grumbled. He wrapped both arms around you, crushing you against his chest and leaving you no choice but to straddle him again. This time, he hugged you tight; you could hardly breathe as he rutted against you so hard that it made you squeak. 

You wanted to do more than pitifully submit, but you thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a dress, as each dry thrust pushed his cock right against your clothed clit. It was shameful how needy you felt, already able to feel a second heartbeat between your legs, the familiar ache as your cunt woke up from its 5 month hibernation.

“Thought about you every night,” Yunho groaned, his breath coming out in pants as he did all he could to create friction between your bodies. “You have no idea, baby. ‘m gonna fuck you until we pass out.”

“Yeah?” you manage to weakly spit out, your fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. You knew you should do more, give more, but your head was spinning, mouth dry from moments of contact after so long. 

“Yeah. You’re gonna make those sounds for me, just like you did over the phone. Want you to say my name,” he says, his head falling back against the seat. “Fucking pillows…nothing looks as pretty as you.”

“P-Pillows?” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him, his hips still working against your body. He licks his lips, eyes squinted as he looks over your face, nodding. 

“Mm.”

“You…you fucked a pillow?”

“Mhm. ‘s soft and I can hold it down just like you, pretend it’s my girl taking me so good,” he rambles, not an ounce of shame in his tone. 

Fuck. 

You’d used fingers and toys, nothing doing what he could do for you. You assumed he used his hand—knew it, actually, based on the sparse dirty phone calls you’d managed to have. But the idea of Yunho, your gigantic boyfriend, desperately fucking against a pillow because it reminds him of you…it did something to you, woke something up that you were not proud of. You wanted to see it. 

“Gonna hurt you…”

“H-huh?” you stammer, your cheeks flushing red despite your current state as you were caught daydreaming about Yunho and the poor pillow.

“It’s gonna hurt, baby. Need you wet,” he breathes. He reaches his hand between you, catching you off guard as he swipes beneath your panties, rubbing the sticky wetness of your cunt. You let out a broken moan, your hole clenching around nothing like muscle memory as you think of those long fingers pumping into you. 

“I’m wet Yuyu,” you say, silently praying he gives you something, even just a finger to the first knuckle. But Yunho shakes his head, hands settled on your hips. 

“Not enough…I’m telling you it’s going to hurt. Need you to cum first.”

“When we get home—”

“Now, y/n,” he says. His voice isn’t mean, not even commanding like it can be, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. 

“O-Okay,” you mumble shyly, glancing back as if the driver might decide to open the divider. He didn’t, probably knowing better. “Use your fingers.”

“No,” Yunho mumbles. He easily manipulates your body until you’re perched atop one thigh. “Like this. Love it when you ride me.”

You exhale, situating yourself until your cunt is pressed against his jeans. Your hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, and you meet his eyes as you begin to move, grinding against his leg. Yunho’s mouth opens, a gasped curse leaving his mouth as you lick your lips. 

“Faster baby,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you as you rut against him, “want you desperate. Want you to whine.”

“Fuck,” you say to no one, rolling your hips forward. Yunho grips the seat on either side of you both, fingers twitching like he wants to grab you and move you himself. But he just watches, licking his lips and nodding as you drive yourself to the edge on his thigh. 

You feel him flex, the hardened muscle beneath you offering a firmness that makes you shudder. There’s a hotness between your legs as your juices coat his thigh, creating a wet patch on his jeans. After so many months, you’re sensitive, but unfamiliar with the movement as you struggle to hit the mark. 

You falter, pausing to catch your breath. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” Yunho says, his voice almost a whine. Your head falls forward on his shoulder, shame making your face warm. 

“It’s been a while,” you mumble. “Sorry, yu.”

“Want me to help? Hm? Need me to make you feel good?” he whispers, lips catching your cheek. You nod weakly, fisting his hoodie again as his warm hands move to your waist, squeezing once before he begins to move you. Your body is like putty to him, and he grinds you down against his thigh like a doll. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, burying his face against your hair. You nod, unable to say much. He does it just right, somehow knowing your body better than you do.

Yunho reaches between you, hooking his thumb into the front of your panties and tugging them to the side. You gasp as your bare clit makes contact with his jeans, able to feel just how much you’d soaked through them. The thought makes you buck against him, catching the friction yourself with a choked gasp. 

“That’s it, baby,” Yunho says, one hand going back to the seat while the other keeps your panties pulled to the side. “Like that. Let me see you use me to make that pretty cunt wet.”

“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, your hips beginning to move in a steady rhythm. He hums in approval, biting his lower lip hard as he watches you carefully. You groan and wrap both arms around his shoulders, squeezing your eyes closed as you grind hard against his thigh. The scent of his cologne is stronger now that he’s sweating, the smell making you dizzy and needy. You lower your head to his throat and kiss him there, tasting the saltiness of his skin while your tongue leaves a wet trail.

“There she is,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. You whimper and mouth at his skin, nipping and sucking as you work yourself to destruction on him. He groans as you latch onto his pulse point, using his free hand to grip your hair and pull you off of him.

“Be good,” he chuckles softly. You bite your lower lip, eyes wide and brows tight, hands moving up to scratch gently at the nape of his neck. 

All it takes is a few seconds of you staring at him like that, still rutting helplessly against his thigh, needing to mark him up. Yunho sighs and leans back to get his hands between you, grabbing both his hoodie and shirt and tugging them over his head. His chest and stomach are revealed, your hands immediately palming at his skin. He nods and runs his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Go ahead baby,” he hums. “Nothing above my collar bones, yeah?”

You nod obediently and kiss him softly, his lips plush and warm as always. You want to cry at the sensation of coming home, despite the fact that you were currently humping your hot boyfriend’s thigh during the longest car ride to your apartment ever. 

You go for his shoulders first, you bite down and get your hips back into rhythm, relishing in his hiss of pain. Your teeth leave marks as you let go, breath hot against his skin. 

Your nails leave half moon crescents as they work with your teeth, leaving a trail of love bites over the expanse of his chest. You’ve momentarily forgotten the goal here, though Yunho has no trouble reminding you. When you go in to kiss him again, he catches a fistful of your hair once more. 

“You don’t want my cock going in like this,” he murmurs, free hand gently smacking your thigh. “Running out of time, babygirl.”

“I’m wet, Yunho,” you whine, bouncing in irritation. “Jus’ wanna kiss you. I can take it.”

Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, eyes trailing over your form where you’ve paused your movement. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Since when can you not take his cock? He was huge, sure, but it’s not like you’ll break. 

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much?” he repeats, his hand slipping between you again. You try not to react as his thumb goes beneath your sticky panties, easily sliding over your swollen clit. 

“All of it,” you scoff, unsure of what he was saying. Yunho smiles. 

“No, I mean how much? How long can you take it? I’m not gonna stop, baby,” he says roughly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Gonna fuck you until you can’t move…still gonna fuck you until you ask me to stop.”

You pause at this, licking your lips and jolting at the heat sprouting from between your thighs. 

“I-I can take it still,” you mumble, grinding down against his hand. He moves it, tugging your panties again, the cooled wetness of his jeans making you shiver. 

“I’m gonna take my fill, baby,” he says, watching you move against his thigh. “Been practicing. Edging myself for months. Gotta make sure I use that pretty pussy until it’s wrecked and full of my cum.”

You squeak, your brain trying to think of a good response to that. Yunho chuckles and lifts his knee, making you involuntarily buck against him. 

“You gonna shut up now and make sure you can do that for me? Get that little cunt wet enough so I can use it as much as I need to?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer. His dark eyes drop to see the result of your grinding, the wetness beneath you. 

“Good girl,” Yunho nods. “Come on. Harder baby, need you to make a mess on my jeans.”

You do as he asks, grinding hard against his thigh, biting your lower lip as he alternates, flexing and relaxing the muscle beneath you. You move your hand to his and push it away, tugging your panties aside in one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other, looking down with parted lips because holy shit—you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet. 

He feels so fucking good, there’s so much more you need from him, want to do for him, but you promised you’d cum. So you rub and grind and clench your teeth until you’re mumbling incoherently, much to his delight. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl. So fucking pretty and stupid when she gets desperate, can’t understand a word you’re saying,” he says, hands finding your waist. You sob and begin clumsily rutting against him, no rhythm whatsoever, just desperation and chasing physical sensations. Yunho loves to see it, coaxing you over the edge the closer you get. 

“That all you’ve been thinking about, baby? All your holes getting stuffed? Bet you miss waking me up with my cock in your throat.”

You whimper and nod, eyes shut tight as your orgasm remains just out of reach. You need him to do it, to finish you off, you’re not sure what that would be, just that you want him to help. 

“M-More yu, gimme more,” you whine softly, mouth open like a dog as you pant. 

“More? More what? I haven’t given you anything, babygirl,” he chuckles. You’re not in the mood to play with words, but Yunho suddenly grabs your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. You feel the burn of tears as you squirm and rut, his eyes full of satisfaction. 

“You still gonna ask for more when I’m stuffed inside you?” he asks roughly. You nod eagerly, but Yunho only smirks. 

“Knew you would, baby. Such a fucking slut for me. I tell you to ride me and here you are, too needy to realize we would’ve been home half an hour ago.”

“H-Huh?” you mumble out, that knot in your stomach untwisting. “F-Fuck, ‘m… g-gonna—”

“Gonna what? Ruin my jeans with your pretty pussy? All so I can get my cock inside as soon as I get you home?”

“Yunho,” you sob, a gasp on your lips as you begin to cum, eyes squeezing shut. 

You ride out one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, mouth open, nothing coming out but pitiful squeaks and choked sobs. Yunho watches, lip caught between his teeth, holding you tight as you briefly leave this plane of existence in his arms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes when you finally open your eyes, releasing a mixture between a cry and a sigh. “My good girl. I’m the luckiest man on this planet, baby.”

You choose to breathe rather than respond, but he’s fine with that, hugging you to his bare chest and cupping the back of your head. 

“I love you so much, you know that?” he says, words muffled as he speaks against your hair. “Can’t wait to get you home. Gonna show you how much I missed you.”

He runs his fingers through your damp hair. You know you look wrecked already, and you’ll be shocked if you last more than one round tonight. But you’ll try for him.

“M-Missed you too, yuyu,” you weakly reply. “Why…why aren’t we home?”

Yunho laughs, brushing your hair back to kiss your temple. 

“Arranged for us to ride around for a bit beforehand. Figured one of us would cave at the restaurant,” he admits. You look up at him, the stupid boyish grin on his face making you smile. 

“I love you,” you huff. He leans down, lips soft and unhurried against yours for what feels like the first time that night. He tastes no different, feels no different than he did 5 months ago, and it livens you up a bit, much to his amusement. 

“I love you too, pretty.”

[theeyecrab]

Closing my eyes, I knew my life was about to end. I was old, loved, and had the chance to see my own children and grandchildren grow, and it was time. I was sick for a while, but it was not painful or sad. I've had a good life, and I was at peace. I just needed one last thing.

“Lisa, darling, could you please give me Everdell?” I asked.

She looked at me, confused, and said “Eh sure dad, but what do you need it for? I thought you wanted to sleep.” I didn’t answer, just smiled, and she brought the game to me anyway. I think she knew my end was near as well. 

I held the game over my chest, and closed my eyes one final time.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was in a very white space, and there was a cloaked figure standing near me. YOUR TIME HAS COME. I heard a voice. Well, maybe heard is not the right word. More like felt. I felt the words inside my head. “I’m sorry if this is insensitive, but, are you Death?” YES. I heard the voice again, and smiled. Then I handed Death my copy of Everdell, and said "I hope you don't mind my assumption, but according to our legends you really like games…This one is my favorite. I just wanted to give you a thank you gift for taking me peacefully." THANK YOU. I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PLAY THIS GAME, BUT I LIKE IT NONTHELESS. I felt the voice echoing inside my head. “Would you like me to teach you? We can play now if you want.” YES. PLEASE.

And so we sat down, me and Death, and we played Everdell. After a long and fun game, I ended up winning. I didn’t think much of it, and expected Death to take me, but then they spoke again. SINCE YOU WON THE GAME, they said, YOU CAN STAY. ALIVE. IF YOU WANT, WE CAN MAKE THIS A WEEKLY THING. PLAYING THE GAME. I was surprised, but thought, why not? “I would very much love that,” I said, “and if you want we can try different games as well.” YES. Death said, and disappeared. When I woke up the next morning, I was no longer sick, and the game was scattered all over the floor.

And that, my darlings, the story of how your great great grandmother is still healthy at her very old age, and how she plays board games with Death themselves every week. Now, it’s time to sleep. Goodnight.

You hand Death your copy of the board game Everdell. "I hope you don't mind my assumption. Acording to our legends you really like games…This one is my favorite. I just wanted to give you a thank you gift for taking me peacefully."

[angelltheninth]

When Arcane Men Get Jealous

Pairing: Viktor, Jayce, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Finn, Marcus, Loris, Steb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, jealousy, possessive behavior, being protective, kissing in public, biting, holding hands, public display of affection, canon typical violence, suggestive

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would die if they were jealous over me. Melt into a puddle. Gone.

When Viktor gets jealous he gets a bit more withdrawn than he usually is. Not that he was ever a social butterfly, however he was always more open and happy to talk when it was with you. So his behavior is odd, he even seems to get quieter whenever you walk into the room. Like he's trying to remove himself from you with silence.

"I am not avoiding you. Look, there has been a lot to do for the past week, I'm sorry if you got a bad impression but I was simply busy. If you want more company, go ask Jayce, or Skye, I'm sure they will be more than happy to entertain you, darling."

Viktor is short with his answers, saying as little as possible to minimize the amount of time he spends talking to you. Not because he doesn't want to talk to you, he loves talking to you, but if he keeps talking there's a chance he might say something he's going to regret. And end up hurting you.

"There you go again with these ridiculous accusations. You won't leave it alone will you? So now it's my fault that your project is running late? I would have been happy to help but someone was too busy talking with... you know what, nevermind. You're right, we both have a lot to do, so let's just drop this conversation and focus on work."

If you keep getting in the way of his work, Viktor will eventually come to a breaking point. Him not being able to work is only adding to his emotions, and he's never been the best at dealing with them. While he doesn't exactly yell at you, it's very rare that he ever raises his voice there's a notable frustration in his words, and pain, fear that you'd leave.

"If I'm being so unreasonable then leave. Go. Have fun. I know it's not idea to be cooped up in the lab all the time. There are so many more things to do out there. if you... want to go with other people I suppose I can't stop you, nor can I stop my own jealousy. How am I being even more unreasonable? I know you wouldn't leave me without talking about it. Look... I do not... want you to leave, working is more fun with you. But am I truly all that you want? Me? This lab? Because you're all I want. All that I can think of."

When Jayce gets jealous he keeps invading your personal space when you're around the person or people he's jealous of. His behavior is nothing innapropriate or pushy. It's just his arm around your waist, just him bringing you that drink you wanted, just him bragging about you a bit too loud and saying how much he loves you.

"You really are great, babe. How in Runterra did I ever find a beauty like you huh? What's that bashfulness for now, I always praise you, and I'm never gonna stop. You're my girl right? I can be a proud boyfriend and talk you up every once in a while."

Physical affection a big deal to Jayce and a way he shows he cares but also a giveaway to his jealousy. He holds your hand longer, his eyes flicker between you and the one he's jealous off, his smile is a bit more nervous when he has to leave you alone. Then there are his kisses, not as gentle, not a little, quick peck on the edge of your lips but a real kiss, lips pressed against yours until you let him know you need air.

"Got a bit carried away there. Ah, sorry, I can't resist you sometimes. All the time. Do you expect me to when you wear lipstick like that? Makes your lips look like they're made to be kissed. By me specifically. I'd kiss you all night long, for the rest of our lives and never get tired of it."

Jayce keeps denying that he's jealous when you bring it up in a teasing way. Logically there's no reason to get jealous, everyone knows your relationship is doing great, in fact you're hardly ever fighting and even when you are it doesn't last too long. How does he turn that part of his brain off? How can he not get jealous when all those people look at you the way he looks at you?

"They're always looking at you. How can you not notice? It's so obvious. You don't notice because... you're only looking at me? That doesn't even make sense! Of course they're looking, you're breathtaking everywhere you go. I just hope that wherever you go, you'll always take me with you, because I want to be by your side forever."

Ekko often jokes about being jealous so you don't pick up on him actually being jealous. A little jealousy is fine but not when it's getting in the way of his missions and operations with his team. He'd been a bit distracted in the past, by one of the Firelights flying too close to you, so he pushed his way between you two.

"It was the formation! Which you would have remembered if you weren't too busy chatting. Come on, Firefly, get your head in this. Otherwise you're gonna make your leader jealous. Wouldn't want that right? What if... what if you get demoted for it? Hey! Ow! I wouldn't demote you, who would listen to all my plans?"

When you have free time together Ekko makes sure to spend as much time with you as possible. If you're together all the time there's less chance that someone else will swoop in and flirt with you. He would never describe his behavior as being clingy, all he wants is to spend free time with his girlfriend. That is perfectly normal behavior.

"What do you say we go out to get some food? We don't have to spend all our time here. Not like the tree is gonna burn down if we're away for a couple of hours right? Besides it's been a while since it was just you and me all alone. Miss being alone with you. Don't you miss it too?"

If the person he's jealous of ever puts you in danger in any way Ekko will go off on them. Harder than he scolded others in the past. He might let some of his jealousy show then, but he storms off, well flies off before you can talk to him. As much as he wants to be alone he also makes room for you on his hoverboard when you float down next to him.

"Shouldn't have went off on them like that. I know, you don't gotta say it, I'll say I'm sorry. Let cool off a bit. You'd think that if they were flirting with you that much they could have been looking out a bit better. I'm always looking out for you. Maybe a bit too much. Sorry if I've been weird about it lately. Would you forgive me if I took you on a romantic hoverboard ride?"

No one wants to piss off a big man like Vander by flirting with his wife. Everyone values their life and their bones too much. But... they stare at you. Quite openly actually. You see it, and you bet he sees it too. He sees everything that's happening at his bar and he won't stand for someone ogling his wife, even if he has to get aggressive about it.

"It's my damn bar, I've got the right to break the table with their heads when they're looking at ya like that. Tell ya what, a lot more people would avoid this place if I started beating up every asshole that looks at ya wrong. Only reason I don't is cause I don't want ya to be mad at me after."

He hasn't banned anyone from his bar in a very long time. Vander knows he tolerates a lot, this is Zaun, and some people don't have the best manners, that's not exactly their fault. But on the other hand if they start something with him then he will finish it. When he tells them to stop looking at you like you like you were one of Babette's workers and they get in his face he will pick them up and throw them out.

"Bastards had it coming. I tried to be nice, then they had to go and call ya names. Ain't no way in hell I'm gonna let anyone insult my wife. Not here, not on the streets, not anywhere. I went there and I wanted to talk to them, tell them to fuck the hell off, they were the ones who started getting violent. So I responded in kind."

Vander calls you over to the bar a bit more often if he sees a particular table is trying to monopolize you. He carries some of the drinks over, the food plates too, or he simply walks up behind you when one of the guys is getting flirty. Seeing his imposing, huge frame behind you, his muscles bulging, is enough to get most to back off you.

"See, darlin', I can talk things out just fine. When people are being smart about it that is. Might have to stop selling so much booze in this place, then they won't be so bold with ya. Ya are a pretty sight, I can't say otherwise. But ya are a pretty sight for me, not them, ain't that right? Mhm. I know, I'm all yer's too."

Silco never ever says he's jealous of anyone. He is the most powerful man in all of Zaun, everyone is scared of him and with good reason. As the Eye of Zaun he knows when people are looking, talking too, and might even try to touch you. Those people are often payed a not so nice visit by his men.

"I did hear about that gang, yes. It's very unfortunate that they don't know how to keep their noses where they don't belong. It's not that big of a loss on our end. There are a hundred people who can do their work, and better. All that matters is that they won't even have to think about not touching you again."

He rarely has to get his own hands dirty when he gets jealous. All it takes is him saying who the target or targets are and he makes them dissapear from Zaun. That doesn't always have to be deadly, but if they're really dumb it is. If Silco feels that you're in some kind of danger then he will keep you close by. He tries to distract you from seeing he's jealous.

"All I'm saying is that we could take a break from work. Sevika and Jinx can handle a week of it. And you and me can lock ourselves up in our home and not come out. The bedroom works perfectly fine too, if you'd rather spend our time in there. And what is it that I'm doing, darling? Jealous? You are an observant one. I wouldn't want you any other way."

The only time Silco will threaten someone in person is if that someone is bold enough to flirt with you in front of them. He can scare people within an inch of their life just by talking to them, he's not just a good businessman, and some people tend to forget that. He has Zaun in the palm of his hand, and everyone in it.

"He did not actually piss himself. Did he actually. Hm, I wasn't look at him anymore to be honest. He was spineless, surprising given he talked to you like he did. Guess he was thinking with his other head a bit too much for his own good. Why are you looking at me that way? Ah, I see. Looks like someone enjoyed watching me put a scumbag into his place a bit too much."

Since Finn isn't someone who would take anything lying down he will be damned before he sees someone coming onto his woman and not do anything about it. He might have a certain charm about him but that doesn't mean he's not ready to makes heads roll the moment when someone crosses any kind of line with you. Imaginary or otherwise.

"Hah, did you see that doll? As soon as I threw one punch he went down. All his buddies ran like rats. Left him all alone there. After all that tough talk and he couldn't even defend himself. Serves him right. He's lucky all I did was break his nose when he flirted with you. I wasn't even that far away."

Finn will make out with you in front of who ever he is jealous of just to prove a point to them. And while he has you moaning, has your head buried against his neck and your body running hot he will look at the other person and stick his tongue out at them, right before making a V with his fingers and putting his tongue between them. He's vulgar but it gets the point across very well.

"All these people looking at what's mine. Now, I can't have that right? I love that you're showing off your body, it's a great body, you know how much I love it. But sometimes I want to keep you away from prying eyes. And if I can't the least I can do is give them a show. Make them know I'm the only one who can touch you."

His jacket is a signature part of his outfit, but Finn will let you wear it. Hell, he will walk over and drape it over your shoulders while not even looking at whoever you're talking to. Sometimes they're not worth looking at when he can look at the pretty way you blush as you touch his hand that's lingering on your shoulder.

"Thought you looked a bit cold there. Keep this on all night. Later on I'll help you warm up my way, a much more fun way. Don't even worry about your perfume getting all into this, love having your scent all over me. And by tomorrow you're gonna be wearing all of my marks."

There are a lot of people in the Enforcers who tease Marcus about having such a pretty wife. He knows you're pretty, but he doesn't like that the department is noticing it so much as well. Not that there's any way for him to hide it, or that he wants you to hide it, that would be a real crime.

"I was not pouting. That is so childish. I was glaring at them. Well, they were the ones who stared first. You visit me at work, like that's such a big deal. We're married, honey, I pick you up from work too. Why is it such a big deal here? I think they're just trying to get a rise out of me."

Won't deny that he's feeling jealous or shy away from showing it. When Marcus notices any of his men flirting with you he makes them work extra hard that day, he gives them more paperwork, something that everyone hates there, or assigns them to the toughest jobs that he knows will take them days to complete. He can't help but chuckle when you visit again and they're too tired to flirt with you, they just say hello.

"What do you mean I'm picking on them? Of course not. You know how hard it is to deal with all these extra cases. Someone has to take on a few more. No, the fact that it's the same Enforcers who gave you flowers that one time has nothing to do with it. You think it does? And do you have evidence of this accusation?"

Marcus isn't shy about kissing you in front of the whole department. If that's what it takes to send them all a clear message to back off. It's always perfectly chaste kisses, but he does make sure that everyone hears him say he loves you when you leave. He smirks when eyes turn to him and he wishes them all a good rest of their day.

"Now you call me petty. All of these accusations and you still don't have any evidence. That's not a very good way to have a case. You've been keeping count have you? Oh. You... actually have been keeping count? I'm guilty? Fine, you got me, you got me. Maybe... that was a little petty of me, but I'm not sorry."

Every time Loris is jealous it's almost impossible for him to hide that fact. He's a big guy, nothing about him is easy to his, not even his emotions. And he's loud, so every time he huffs, mumbles something, or grunts you hear it. Your eyes meet and he looks away, his hand grasping yours and running his thumb over the back of your hand.

'They were staring at you a bit too much for my liking, pretty girl. If they were as tough as they pretend they were they should have held their ground more. Proves they were all bark and no bite. People like that really get on my nerves, and then they talk to my girl like she's single."

Loris invites you to have lunch with him quite often, even more often when he gets jealous of someone who works with him. Dealing with them in any other way would be unprofessional of him, and might get him in trouble. This way he gets to avoid that, avoid them, and spend a nice lunch date with you. No matter how you look at it he's the real winner here.

"Looks so good. But if you keep looking at me like that I might get hungry for something else besides the food. Just try shifting the blame on me when you know exactly how you're looking at me right now. I wouldn't risk it at work, but... if you showed up with a few hickeys on your neck it might get the rest of the department to stop flirting with you."

As much as he tries to make his jealousy go away it's not easy. Loris knows he should be an example for others, after all he had been an Enforcer for a long time, he can't just let his emotions get the better of him. Hard to keep those emotions down when they concern you. If nothing else works he will intimidate people. Easy enough for him. But he would rather that be a last resort.

"If he wasn't ready to throw fists and words at me then he shouldn't have thrown flirty words at you. He should be able to back himself up if he's gonna be saying stuff like that. All I did was pick him up and throw him outside. Hey, I might get in a bit of trouble for it, but at least he'll leave you alone from now on. I'd risk my badge for you if I have to, you know that."

Since he is the quiet type Steb shows his emotions and jealousy is one that he works hard to surpress. Every time he notices that someone is standing a little too close to you he walks over and looks at you, lovingly, then he looks at the other person with a glare, a deadly one. All the while he's standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Come now, angelfish, they weren't even worth your time. We both know they only had one thing in mind when they were talking to you. I could see it in their eyes. I don't appreciate that they looked at you like that. And I know you don't either. So I felt like I had to step in."

He is very physical with his jealousy. Steb lets his eyes and touches linger a few moments longer when he wants to make a point to someone. While he knows you don't hate it he also doesn't want to come off as too jealous or too possessive over you. You can take care of yourself and he loves that about you, he's watched you put people in their place often, but there are times where he can't hold himself back.

"I could feel your fingers interlocking with mine. You wanted me to stand close to you when they weren't leaving you alone. Would you have raised your voice if I hadn't walked over? It would be amusing to see it. But I think those kisses we shared also sent an equally powerful message. You didn't have to bit me though."

Steb nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck when he's feeling really, really jealous of someone. He makes it look less possessive than it is, pretending like he's overhearing something you have to say, and then pushing himself just a little bit closer. His cold lips make contact with your neck, sending shivers down your body before he brushes your lips with his thumb and leaves with a smirk.

"That ought to be enough. I could have done more but marking you in public might have been a step too far. We can enjoy things like that in private however. I enjoy being close to you in any context, and if it makes others realize you're not looking for anyone because you've already got a man then I enjoy it even more."

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

General Sevika Headcannons

Sevika x Female Reader (Fluff)

Content (w): You’re horny in like.. once? Angst at the end, but its short.

Proofread || Note: I didn’t mean to disappear, writers block got to me :( Kinda short and this is, a tiny bit, rushed.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

Random

Big on whistling. Does it when she needs your attention, when she’s checking you out, even when she’s teasing. She likes seeing the look on your face. Especially eye rolls, do one with a face and she’s giddy.

Insanely good at Sudoku. She picked it up a while back when Silco taught her the magic behind the numbers. Now, she’ll challenge the old man and watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose while she’s smiling smugly.

Loves when call her, or anything that belongs to her, cool. She likes being cool. That’s probably why she lets her cape fly off during fights.

Hates her glasses, mainly because they lack functionality, but enjoys seeing you thirst over them. She’d going blind and you’re over here drooing over her, she loves that. And, just for fun, she’ll wear a turtleneck; which, gets you hornier than ever.

Expression

Is she good at being romantic? No. She’s never had someone to be.. soft with. In a way, you’re the first person she’s ever opened up to. Be it letting you know her interests, her dislikes, her favourites, or just small, “not so very tough” things about her. However, she’s only just getting used to those things.

Flowers is all Sevika really knows. On her way back from her backbreaking job, she’ll grab you a few flowers from the market or straight up pluck one she randomly saw and surprise you.

Not so good with words. That woman doesn’t have a clue on how to comfort you. Why? Because she’s never been in a situation where she’s had someone talk her through her problems. Where she’s been able to let slip an ounce of vulnerability. Tragic, but she’s learning.

Things she does that she doesn’t realize

Stares so much that, before the two of met, it scared you. You thought you were her next target and lived in fear for the next week or so until the woman, finally, decided to talk to you. And, after a few months of dating you finally brought it up. She denied it at first but, when she caught herself staring at you a million more times she came clean.

“I was only appreciating you.” She brings it up so abruptly that you’re confused, “what are you talking about?”

With a sip of her whiskey, she rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Nothing..”

Her grip’s a little too hard. Her flesh fingers always end up digging into your waist whenever she’s trying to keep you close. Your girlfriend never noticed it until you had to talk to her about the slight redness she had left on your skin. And, for the next week, Sevika brought home boquets of flowers— not the cheap kind— every day until you told her you forgave her. (You didn’t know she wanted you to say so.)

So sassy that you sometimes have to take deep breaths in order to not tell her off. It’s not on purpose, she’s just so used to having that tone. One time you thought she was pissed at you when, in reality, she was just trying to find the next row for her Sudoku round.

Snores loudly. Jannah have mercy on your soul because that woman will not stop snoring for the love of her life. You’ve tried giving her different pillows, different positions, anything and everything, but nothing seems to work. Somehow, over time, you found a way to fall asleep with her deep snores beside you, even though, sometimes, you want to smack her in the face with a pillow.

Dislikes/Hates

Being ignored. Sevika will, quite literally, go insane if you ever give her the silent treatment. She’s not used to being treated like she’s not there— hell, she’s one of the most respected woman in Zaun, why would she be alright with not being acknowledged? Just to get back at you, she’ll annoy you until you break. Chewing loudly in your ear or shaking you up by heavily sitting on the couch beside you, she’s determined, and she knows you know that.

Her own overthinking. She’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t know why you still stick around with all her problems. Even the risk of you being in danger, because of her, makes her stay awake at night, she doesn’t want to lose you and she hates how her mind needs constant reassurance that you want the same thing. Even though she rarely says the amount of doubts she has, she’ll hit you with this look that only you can read. It’s a silent need that you, happily, provide. Murmuring soft words she’ll end up being embarrassed about later.

The saddest one of them all: her face. :(((( Seeing herself in the mirror makes her feel a sense of shame that she’s never fully able to verbally express. It’s the scars that make her feel self conscious, the wrinkles on her face that makes her groan, the masculinity of her jaw that makes her question herself. But, luckily for her, she’s got this amazing girlfriend, you, who will reassure all her problems away. You swoop in when you hear how quiet the apartment has gotten, follow behind her and give her a few looks of awe and comment on whatever she needs you to. Tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen and she’ll melt. Smiling like some teenager while looking away in embarrassment; in that moment, she’s thinking about how lucky she is to have you with blush on her cheeks.

[steddiehyperfixation]

steve harrington's phone number

@steddiebingo prompt: van | 1.7k words | rated T

“Stupid- useless piece of shit!” Eddie barely manages to pull his coughing, spluttering van over to the side of the road before it chokes to a stop with a dying wheeze. “Fucking drama queen.” He gets out and gives the side of the van a good kick, chastizing it for its very loud and inconvenient death. 

Just his luck it would decide to break down here, on a nothing stretch of road several miles outside of town. Too far to walk but not all that long of a drive if his stupid car could’ve just toughed it out a little while longer. “You really couldn’t have held on for like ten more minutes?” he grumbles, kicking the van again. The van, of course, does not answer and remains quite dead. Eddie mutters a few more curses and pulls his jacket tighter around himself against the late November chill as he wanders around to the front of the car to pop the hood. 

It’s an entirely useless gesture, popping the hood. Even before he opens it he knows he’s still not going to have a single clue what’s broken or how to fix it. The inner workings of a car are utterly foreign to him, an alien language of metal and grease that he stupidly never cared to learn. He stares blankly at the incomprehensible jumble of machinery before him, cursing himself for all those times he’d evaded and complained his way out of Wayne’s attempts to teach him how to do his own auto repairs. His uncle’s boring handyman lessons would’ve really come in handy right now, if only he’d had the foresight to listen. 

With a huffed out sigh, Eddie slams the hood back down. He’s going to have to call someone.

Thankfully he can see a roadside payphone not too far off in the distance, about half a mile out maybe. He rummages through his pockets and paws around the front seat of the van for any spare change he could use. He’d just blown through most of the money he had on him at a record store in Indy, but he manages to scrounge up enough coins for one call. Just one. So he has to choose wisely. He starts his trudge to the payphone while he runs through a mental list of options, feeling increasingly frustrated and hopeless as he crosses each of them off one by one. 

A tow truck is too expensive. His uncle is at work. Half his friends can’t drive, and not a single one of them knows anything about cars anyways so they wouldn’t be much help beyond a ride home (and he’d really rather not have to just leave his van on the side of the road). He needs someone who’s free, can drive, and has enough of a working knowledge of cars to possibly be able to give his van enough of a second wind to make it home. 

Which is how he finds himself in a dingy little phone booth punching in Steve Harrington’s number - a number he’s never called before yet somehow memorized, recalling it clearly in his mind’s eye in the scrawl of Steve’s handwriting on notebook paper. 

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking,” Steve’s voice comes through the line, automatic and rehearsed.

“Okay, I’ll make fun of that weirdly formal greeting later,” Eddie decides, “but right now, uh- man, I really hate to do this, but do you happen to know anything about fixing cars?”

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sounds almost startled to hear from him. “Um, yeah, I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but I know enough to get by. Why?” 

“My van just broke down on my way back from the city and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a huge huge favor and come out here and see if you can help me get her started again.” Eddie puts all the desperation he can into his voice, which really isn’t hard. His distress is 100% genuine. “Please? I’m desperate here, Harrington. I’d be forever in your debt, I’ll-” 

“Okay,” Steve says before Eddie can start bargaining. So simply, so easily. He really wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. Where are you?”  

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god- thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I owe you my life, seriously-” 

“Munson,” Steve cuts him off again, repeating his question, “where are you?” 

“Right, yeah.” Eddie gives his best approximation of where he is and Steve promises to be there as soon as he can before hanging up. Feeling a little bit lighter now, Eddie treks back to wait by his van.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold, when Steve’s BMW pulls up and he steps out of the car bathed in the orange glow of sunset, looking every bit the rescuing angel. A dashing hero straight out of a fairytale; Eddie can almost picture him with a sword in his hands instead of a toolbox, a noble steed behind him instead of a car. 

He expresses only a satirized version of that sentiment, clasping his hands over his heart and gasping theatrically in greeting, “Harrington, my hero!” And he grins as Steve rolls his eyes in response. 

“Hi, Eddie.” Steve approaches, plunks his toolbox on the front of the van and leans against it. “You know, I’m surprised you called me. It didn’t seem like you were ever going to.” 

Eddie shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I just- I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me. I’m sorry if me calling you, like, freaked you out for a second there.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow and his head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would you calling freak me out?” 

“Well, I mean, you only gave me your number in case something happened with the kids, right?” Eddie states. “So, I didn’t mean to make you worried at first that there might’ve been, like, a Dustin emergency or something.” 

“Oh…” A number of emotions flicker across Steve’s face as he seems to come to some sort of realization, and his expression ultimately settles on vaguely amused. “Right, yeah. Totally.” 

Now Eddie’s the one who’s confused, feeling like he’s missed a punchline. “Is that…not why you gave me your number?” It’s not like it had actually been explicitly stated, but they’d just been talking about the kids right before Steve had written his number down, so Eddie had just assumed that was the reason. 

“No, it-” Steve shakes his head and smiles, a little bit fond, a little bit like he’s still sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. “It’s not important right now,” he decides. “Let’s just figure out your van first, alright? What was going on with it before it broke down?” 

“Well, I don't actually know,” Eddie says, “but she was being very loud and dramatic about it.” 

“Huh, I’ve heard of pets developing similar personalities to their owners but I’ve never heard of cars doing it.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Steve grins, pushing himself off the front of the car so he can open the hood and take a look. He immediately starts to tinker around with some stuff. Eddie has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he sure looks good doing it. There’s a cold breeze in the air, getting colder by the minute with the slowly darkening sky, but something about watching Steve’s arms as he works a wrench into the machinery has Eddie feeling strangely warm. 

Steve’s talking, probably trying to explain what he’s doing or what’s wrong with the van, though Eddie’s not catching a word of it. He couldn’t pay attention even if he tried, and not just because he’s distracted by Steve’s arms. The other half of his mind is still stubbornly stuck on the whole thing about Steve’s number, racking his brain trying to figure out why the hell else he would’ve given it to him. 

He spends way too long replaying that moment, and all their previous and subsequent interactions, over and over again in his head before his memory finally starts to give notice to all Steve’s lingering glances, subtle once-overs, and suggestive smirks.

“Holy shit, you were flirting with me!” Eddie blurts out the realization as soon as it hits him. “When you gave me your number - you were trying to hit on me!”

Steve, who had been interrupted mid sentence, barks out a laugh. “Now he gets it,” he teases as he glances over at Eddie. “You know, I couldn't figure you out for a while. All this time you never called but would still say hi to me when I picked the kids up from Hellfire, I figured it was some sort of soft rejection. But you really were just completely oblivious, huh?” 

“No yeah, I just have fucking rocks for brains apparently,” Eddie says, shaking his head self-deprecatingly as he rushes to reassure him, “I was definitely not rejecting you. Definitely, definitely not. Believe me, if I’d’ve known- I would’ve called so fast, man. I mean, trust me, your phone would’ve never stopped ringing.” 

“Good to know.” Steve smiles, his eyes so golden and warm in the dusk it almost seems as if the sun is on its way back up. He returns his attention to the van, just for half a second to give the machinery one last tweak, and then he straightens and closes the hood, wiping the car grease from his hands off on his jeans as he announces, “Well, your car should start now, if you wanna test it out and make sure. And then we can, uh, continue this conversation?” 

Eddie nods, hops back in the van, and turns his key in the ignition. It rumbles to life, and he lets out a laugh like a cheer. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Stevie!” he shouts.

“Glad I could help,” Steve calls back proudly. 

Eddie revels in the sound of his not-dead van for a moment longer before he takes a deep breath, turns off the engine, and jumps out to stand in front of Steve again. “So.” 

“So.” 

There’s a brief beat of buzzing silence. Eddie finds he doesn’t have all that much left to say, and he’s feeling far too giddy right now to be able to stand through some sappy discussion about how they feel about each other when it’s entirely unnecessary. He suggests instead, “Do you wanna just skip the conversation and go make out in the back of my van?” 

Steve grins at him. “Absolutely.” 

[chryso-poeia]

From fighting to playful fighting. From hate to loving the hate. From isolation to playful isolation imbued with love, regardless. From inaction/fear, to progress/love. From white knuckling to lessening the grip, to finally an open palm able to recieve and to give.

Your enemy is not the enemy of some, your love is not the love of some, your pain is not the pain of some. Yet you have been led to believe that the boundaries of your perception that were created for self-preservation, echo absolute truths. You ’believe’ because of what formed your life out of refusal to it, but this is only one path (built out of refusal, non-conducive to real fulfillment). I.e the pattern, but the pattern is automatic, it isn’t sentient. It doesn’t mean anything except for ”pattern ON” or ”pattern OFF”. It gets interwoven into your personality or self-worth because the pattern requires congruence.

But the truth could never be that somehow you have this power, freedom and excitement of choice, focus, attention, yet you are unworthy? It’s only a story. But all stories have a beginning and end. You create the story, not the truth. Now pull out from the story: the truth can only and will only ever be the unconditional love that lies beyond all language and cognition or human fabrication.

Thus, you are being persuaded you into believing in the limitation so that it can stay alive. Because to live in society, we may have thought that we had to be obedient, when really, all that’s needed sometimes it to play along until you get where you want. I.e no need to be obedient to the pattern/limitation/fear, i’d rather play with it. See how different actions taken in different states of mind affects it, how funny its absurd claims can be, how it responds to contradictive action.

Like you, being royalty as the whole self, in a meeting with the cleaning staff as the limiting belief over a broken vase as the fear, expecting the King/Queen to lose it. Alas, it was just a vase. It was a beautiful vase and it held great significance, but you are not a thing or what happened to you, you are fluid, ever expanding, ever flowing, with a life so full of joys and pains that awe is the only appropriate response, to me. Never able to be defined by any one event, situation, feeling, period etc.

So what would you rather have? Allowing one old pattern to stay alive over allowing yourself to stay alive and in charge?

Thus identity should be one that is spacious and that you continually shape through experiencing life. It’s not very fun for it to let it be shaped by the confines of the past. Seeing with fresher eyes is way more fun. So, the relief, to me is the true spacious yet terrifyingly free truth of me. But your perception is yours. You exist, that’s how you know that you are here right now, so do not give into the illusion that you can see through their eyes.

All that exists right now is the complete and unfathomable truth of you, not the truth of others. Let this truth seep into every cell. Listen to love telling you to love this truth, listen to the drive within telling you to persist in it, listen to your own wisdom understanding your path, listen to the magic in you telling you to that all of this is pure play.

To increase in power, increase in capacity, increase in playfulness, increase is gratitude, increase in strategy, increase in love. To be whole is to be spacious, to flow with passion.

cpsilver.xyz

brunie.co 

brunie.co

[jd-loves-fiction]

Requesting a Jade Leech thing where the reader and Jade have been broken up with, but he’s a manipulative bastard and fully intends on charming them back. Get as creative as you want with the prompt, I just wanna see him being all scheming lmao

(I’ve had “bad idea right?” stuck in my head on loop)

🌑I'm gonna make this a bit more comedic, hope you like it :))

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞

Jade seemed strangely unaffected when you told him you wanted to break up, accepting it easily with an oddly peaceful smile on his face. Just what is he up to?

You tried to steer clear of him for a while, in fear of what he might be scheming as well as for your own emotional stability, but he always just seemed to be there. 

Studying in the library? There he is, just standing around suspiciously, looking as effortlessly beautiful as always.

Enjoying a snack at the lounge? He’s the only one who brings it to you everytime, despite how many other workers there are, flashing a soft, gentlemanly smile and wishing you ‘bon appétit’ in a sugar sweet tone.

Talking to a cute underclassman stuttering through his attempt at asking for your number? Suddenly he seizes up like he’s being shocked and makes up some sorry excuse to run off in the other direction. When you turn around, there he is, smiling innocently and waving at you from where he stands – no doubt having a hand in what just happened.

You quickly started to understand why he looked so unbothered when you were breaking up with him – that was his scheming face, already thinking up ways of driving you back to his arms.

Loneliness won't be what does it. You’re stubborn, damn it! And the more he tries the more you want to see how far he’s willing to take this little game. It shows effort, at least, it’s just a shame he seems so hellbent on making you give in instead of having an adult conversation. 

So you play his game. Jade is a jealous man – nothing makes him spring into action like envy, this you know for certain. Next time you pass by the lounge to study, you make sure to sit at the bar and never acknowledge him, instead making loud conversation with Floyd about… whatever it is he’s rambling about, though he seems to be in a happy mood which is good for you.

He talks so much at you that it’s barely a conversation, more like a sermon of some kind – especially so given his passionate tone, Though you know Jade pays little mind to those details while he’s boiling with jealousy behind the bar. And to anyone watching you two it sure looks like you’ve moved on from Jade and onto his brother.

You leave the lounge that day exhausted but pleased, knowing you’ve successfully riled Jade up more than he did you. Maybe this’ll be enough for him to let you move on… but then again… do you want to move on?

Caught up in your conflicting thoughts you fail to hear him approach until he’s breathing down your neck. Startling, your back bumps against a nearby wall as you quickly turn around, seeing Jade right in front of you with a strangely neutral expression on his pretty face.

“...Jade?” You try to sound casual, but you’re sure the fright seeps into your tone regardless of your efforts.

He calls your name softly in turn, a troubled look crossing his face for a moment, “Had a fun time listening to Floyd prattle?”

Lips twisting in indignation, you righten your posture, “Very much so! He's a surprisingly good listener – compared to a certain brother of his.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” You assure him disingenuously, arms crossed petulantly. Jade watches you silently for a moment, a familiar look of longing in his eyes – forming a tightness in your chest, before he sighs heavily. For a moment you think he might finally be honest with you, open up about how he truly feels and vow to be better – it’s all it’d take for you to take him back. But of course, it can't be that easy to change such a man.

For now, he settles for leaning in close, one hand against the wall behind you and taking a lock of hair between his fingers before bringing it to his lips. You hold in an undignified squeal.

“Just don't have too much fun with him. We both know he could never compare.”

You scoff, “I think you’ve been watching too many romance movies. You seem to be getting slightly delusional.” Shouldering past him you walk away without looking back to see his thoughtful expression. Not that you’d know what it means or care! Hmph!

If only you could both just talk to each other,  there’d be no need for these silly games. Though they sure are fun…

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Ch.7 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・ ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/they, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 +explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits ❥chapter warnings/tags: Oh the tension is sooooo thick in this one. classic Jk and Y/N banter. A SMALL LITTLE THING OF SMUT RIGHT AT THE BEGINNING. bothering yoongi (classic), lots of medical stuff in this one, nothing graffic, talking about cancer and diagnosis, mentions of surgery, neuro bros make an appearance (ew), bowling, jk is good at bowling, y/n is also good a bowling, competition ensues, more ji-eun with life advice (love her) JI-EUNS HUSBAND LETS GOOOOOO, Jungkook and Y/N get real compeitive in this one. Jungkook does not know how he feels, y/n cannot keep it in her pants, just trust me this is a really funny chapter, NAMJOON AND MELANIE APPEARANCE (love them), tension, tension, tension ❥word-count: 13.2k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the taglist! a/n: Surprise!! I had a burst of creative energy and busted out this chapter in like 12 hours. Enjoy!! .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

“Don’t stop.” You stutter over your words, gripping down on the sheets next to you. Tugging at the fabric in reaction to the pleasure you were receiving. 

Fingers rhythmically pumping in and out of you. Tongue dancing over your clit from side to side. Causing your legs to close around the person below you in reaction to the hints of your orgasm bubbling up. You were hot and completely covered in sweat and desperate to chase that high. 

“Fuck, yes!” You moan. Your hand reached down to wrap into the mess of black hair between your legs. 

You grind your hips into their fingers and mouth, desperate for any touch they grant you. One of their free holding your hips down in response. Their lips detaching from your clit to look up at you finally, you can get a look. 

Only to be met with Jungkooks face looking back up at yours. Eyes sparkling with desire. 

“Baby let me take care of you.” Jungkook said, wiping his mouth.

Then suddenly your eyes shot open. Bolting upright in bed. The light from the sun fills the room and blinding you. You had shifted rather violently, stirring Melanie that was asleep next to you and Ash who was on the other side of you. 

You rub your eyes, your dreamy state still lingering at the front of your mind. You run your fingers through your hair. Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest. Your breath is heavy. 

Great, now he’s infiltrated your dreams. 

Awesome.

You take a moment and look around Namjoon and Melanie’s room. Still trying to fully wake up now. It must have been early. Namjoon is nowhere in sight.

“Oh no, we did it again.” With a whisper, letting yourself fall back into the bed. Immediately regretting it since a small hangover headache was creeping up on you. 

“Shhh, still sleeping.” Ash moaned, turning over under the cover, stealing some away from Melanie who was barely waking up, mouth hanging open. 

“Shut up.” Melanie groaned, trying to steal the covers back. 

“We kicked Namjoon out again.” You rub your eyes again, looking up at the ceiling. 

“I know.” Melanie yawned, turning over to face you. “He’s used to it at this point.” 

“Hey at least it’s not like when you guys had your shitty old bed and we barely fit on it together.” Ash sat up in the bed. Her hair is a complete mess. 

Melanie and Namjoon used to have a queen and it would barely fit the three of you when you three would crash. At least one of you would easily fall out of the bed in the night, you all were restless sleepers so it was anyone’s guess who would end up falling out of the bed. One morning Melanie ended up falling and hitting her head pretty hard. Taking a very fun trip to the ER with her head split open. 

After that Namjoon decided they needed to get a bigger and better bed so that would not happen again. 

You giggle to yourself while rubbing the side of your head, “Yeah how nice of Namjoon to get this big bed just for us.” 

That gets some small laughs from Melanie and Ash. Right at that moment the door cracked open, Namjoons face peering into the room. Looking between the three of you. Melanie immediately sitting up in the bed. 

“Good morning.” Namjoon lightly stepped into the room with an amused smile. 

“Guys look how cute my husband is.” Melanie tilts her head to the side, reaching a hand for Namjoon to take her hand. 

“So weird hearing you say husband now.” Ash ran her hands through her hair, fingers trying to comb through tangles. 

“Imagine how I feel.” Namjoon smiles, coming over to the side Melanie is on. Taking her hand and kissing the back of it. 

“You hate it?” Melanie pouted. 

“Yeah, I hate it, that’s why I married you.” Namjoon rolled his eyes. Leaning down giving Melanie a quick kiss. 

“Get a room.” You tease, throwing your hands over your eyes like a small child. 

“You’re in my room!” Namjoon voiced with some fake annoyance in his tone, “I was going to go get breakfast. So put in your orders now.”

“You know my order.” Melanie grinned, She hadn’t looked at either you or Ash since Namjoon entered the room. 

“What about thing 1 and thing 2 over there?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow to the both of you and Ash. 

“Eggs Benedict.” You raise a arm up, finger pointing to the sky. 

“French toast.” Ash yawns, she looked like she was seconds away from falling back asleep while sitting up. You laugh, poking her cheek. 

“I’m on it.” Namjoon kisses Melanie one more time before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. 

“Guys,” Melanie hums, “I’m married.” 

“You're just now realizing that?” You smile, she turns around to look at the both of you. 

“Nah but it’s fun to say. I’m married.” She coos, laying back down next to you. Totally starstruck. It was sweet, you loved seeing her so happy. 

“I’m so tired.” Ash whines next to the both of you, still looking like she could pass out any second. 

“You should sleep, or get some coffee.” You rub her arm, encouraging her to do something. 

This immediately perked Melanie up from her spot, springing to her feet. “Oh we have a new machine! It’s great! Joonie’s parents got it for us.” 

She rounded around to the other side of the bed pulling Ash to her feet. You slowly followed them out of the room. Down to the kitchen. Yawns falling from you the entire way, you also needed some coffee this morning. Ash leaned her head on you, entering the kitchen as Melanie seemed to have all the energy in the world suddenly. 

“What woke you  up so suddenly this morning? It scared me awake.” Ash asked, the both of you taking seats at the kitchen table as you waited. 

The contents of the dream coming back to the front of your mind like a truck hitting a wall. “Oh… just a nightmare. Freaked me out I guess.” 

Melanie shuffled around for a moment while you watched her gather mugs and start the new coffee maker. “You and Jungkook got along well last night.” 

There he was again. 

“I guess.” You lay your head on the table. “Really only for you guys.” 

“Yeah but you made it through the day without a fight. Just mild annoyances. Seems like progress.” Melanie continued, you weren’t sure what she was getting at here. 

“Spit it out Mel.” 

Melanie pouts, she likes to dance around these kinds of things. “You seem friendlier since we left. Just last week you still wanted to kill him.” 

You think on it for a moment, “I don’t know, maybe we are growing up.” 

“Yeah okay.” She scoffs, because it was a ridiculous thought. “I think it’s great. I’ve always thought you two could be really good friends. You know, if you could get past your ego’s first.”

“Hey! Friend is a stretch. Let’s not jump too far ahead of ourselves.” 

“I thought for sure he was dead when he sat on you.” Ash mumbled next to you, still hardly awake. 

“He was close. I don’t know, maybe I just don’t have the energy for it anymore.” You shrug, referring to battling it out with Jungkook. Omitting some key information about your recent activities. 

“Well whatever it is, keep going. It’s working.” Melanie brings a cup and sets it in front of Ash first. “Means I don’t have to play parent for you two anymore.” 

Melanie, not aware what exactly what she was encouraging. 

You thought for a moment if you should tell them… but something about admitting it felt… embarrassing. You and Jungkook sleeping together wasn’t embarrassing as an idea but something felt weird about admitting it. Telling them mabe makes it real? Instead of it being something you can pretend didn’t happen. If they know then it becomes actualized. Which you weren’t sure if you were ready for the teasing or the questions that will come along with it. 

After too long Namjoon returned back with the food. You all sat and chatted for a while but you left once you finished. Your day continues uneventfully. You filed your dream away into a deep part of your mind. Honestly, you did seriously need to see someone with how much space Jungkook was taking up in your brain these days. It was exhausting and annoying, because before you could just pretend he didn’t really exist unless you absolutely had to be in his presence. 

Now, he was creeping into your mind randomly. Mostly because you have a stupid and horny mind but still. Even beyond that it was getting annoying, so when you went back to work on Monday you just went about your business and kept your mind as busy as possible. 

Today you were a scribe for Dr. Kim. Which meant you walked around and documented charts as he did consultations and follow ups with patients. You had been wanting to do this for some time but he wanted you to get comfortable first. You felt like you were fitting in well up here, all the other girls were great and Vic has been your friend forever so you were getting really comfortable. All the patients knew you pretty well now, so today was the day. 

Dr. Kim kept you on your toes, though. He moved quickly from room to room, and you felt like you were constantly catching up. He was thorough, meticulous, and demanded precision, which made this a challenging but rewarding role.

“Keeping up Y/N?” Dr. Kim looks back at you as he leads his band of interns and Yoongi, behind him. 

“Doing alright sir.” You nod, opening up your next chart. Luckily Ji-eun was up next, hers should be pretty straight forward. Dr. Kim ordered a new set of scans because he wanted an updated look at her progress before surgery in two weeks. 

You had run around most of the day but would go back and forth between talking to patients and viewing scans in an observation room, it had screens around the room so you could pull up scans from a patient's chart. Which you had taken the liberty of pulling up and having ready. Dr. kim walked between them and would ask questions. 

“Alright patient nine zero one six one three. Dr. Duboid, give us the run down.” Dr. Kim gestured to one of the interns who stepped out from the rest. Clearing his throat. 

Alright, patient nine-zero-one-six-one-three. Dr. Dubois, give us the rundown.” Dr. Kim commanded.

Dr. Dubois, stepping forward, cleared his throat. “Fifty-nine-year-old female with stage four hepatocellular carcinoma. She is currently being evaluated for potential downstaging to stage three following her upcoming surgical intervention to remove a tumor in the left leg, initially suspected to be metastatic but confirmed via biopsy to be an independent neoplasm.”

Dr. Kim cut in, pointing to another intern. “Very good. Dr. Ruiz, continue.”

Dr. Ruiz adjusted her glasses and spoke. “Chemotherapy was discontinued last week and will remain on hold until two weeks post-surgery. A follow-up consultation is scheduled to determine the reintroduction of systemic therapy based on post-operative recovery and further imaging.”

Yoongi, ever prepared, chimed in with a thoughtful nod. “A new set of contrast-enhanced CT scans were ordered over the weekend for both the leg and liver. As we can observe, the leg tumor has remained stable in size, indicating that surgical excision is a viable next step.”

Dr. Kim scanned the room. “What concerns should we keep in mind? Dr. Ito?”

Dr. Ito stepped forward, pointing at the monitor. “The tumor in the leg appears to be intricately involved with several neurovascular structures. Should we consult orthopedic and neurosurgery for intraoperative support?”

“Excellent observation.” Dr. Kim nodded. “Dr. White from orthopedic oncology will be assisting to ensure nerve preservation and potential reattachment.” He turned to you. “Y/N, make a note: I want to push the surgery back two more weeks to allow for optimal systemic clearance following her last chemotherapy infusion.”

You nod and take a note in her chart. “Got it.” You go ahead and switch the scans from the one of the leg to the one of the liver. Everyone stares at it for a moment before Dr. Kim comes over to the computer where you have the newest scans pulled up. 

“Let’s pull up her last scans… I need to make sure I’m seeing this right.” Dr. Kim’s voice changed in tone slightly. You go ahead and pull up her last scans from several weeks ago and put them side by side with the new ones. It was glaringly obvious what he was seeing now that they were side by side.

“Dr. Min, what are we seeing here?” Dr. Kim gestures for Yoongi to continue on. He leaned in close to the computer where the scans were pulled up and started fiercely making some notes. 

Yoongi leaned in, analyzing the comparative scans. “Between the previous and current scans, the primary hepatic lesion has demonstrated interval progression. Now what does this mean?” Yoongi looks to the Interns. Which meant the main tumor on her liver has grown, it was slight. You might not have even seen it if the images weren’t side by side but it definitely had.

One of the interns raised a hand. “Resistance to the prior chemotherapy regimen?”

“Possible and likely in this case.” Yoongi acknowledged. “Other thoughts?”

“It’s an aggressive cancer, as soon as the chemotherapy discontinued it started to grow. So the chemotherapy wasn’t preventing the primary hepatic lesion from growing anymore.” 

“Good, so how should we proceed?” Yoongi nodded. 

“This might be the more pressing issue. Should we consider postponing the surgery?” one of the interns asked hesitantly, glancing between the scans and Dr. Kim.

Dr. Kim shook his head firmly. “No,” he said with certainty. “We proceed with the surgery as planned. The primary focus remains on addressing the current issue, but we will continue to closely monitor the tumor's progression. We also need to have an in-depth discussion with the patient about potential treatment options and gather more imaging to determine if surgical resection is viable.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but inwardly, the situation weighed heavily on you. This wasn’t the news anyone wanted to hear.

“Order an MRI,” Dr. Kim continued, his voice steady but concerned. “I want detailed imaging from every possible angle. I need to have a complete picture so we can provide her with all available options moving forward.”

You kept your thoughts to yourself and figured you could ask later. Putting in the order for the MRI and you were moving on. After some more discussion you all were back on the floor and making your way from room to room again following up with more patients. Ending with Ji-eun.

Scanning the room, you see a gentlemen sitting next to her. Roughly about the same age. You can probably assume her husband. He was adorable and had a salt a pepper look to his hair. 

“Good morning Ji-eun!” Dr. Kim sang as he entered the room. You and the interns following close behind. “I hope you don’t mind. I have the kids with me today.” 

Ji-eun smiled beaming at everyone. You got to look next to her and see an older gentleman, probably around the same age who you can only assume is her husband with her. You hadn't gotten to met him yet. “Not at all. Any chance they get to learn the better.” 

Jin tapped his head against the side of his head, “I agree. We have a few things we need to go over. Starting with that leg of yours.” Jin holds his hand out to you for the tablet, you already had the scans of her leg pulled up and pass him the tablet. “We should have no issues going ahead with the surgery to remove the tumor in your leg. Has Dr. White come and spoke to you about what he’ll be assisting me with in surgery?” 

“Yes he came by earlier and gave us the details. Sounds complicated but I get the idea.” 

The gentleman next to her cleared his throat, “We did have some concerns about nerve damage that we didn’t get to ask about.”

“Well with any surgery there is risk. In this case though Dr. White didn’t see any reason you shouldn’t be able to still have full mobility of your leg following the operation. I agree with him as well.” Dr. Kim’s voice as ever light and enthusiastic as always. “I did push it back two more week though. I want to make sure that we don’t run into any complications following your last infusion.” 

“I won’t complain. Every time I have surgery this guy falls into a full blown panic.” She teases the man next to her. He has a adoring smile on his face but rolls his eyes. 

“Rightfully so I think.” He pipes back up. 

“I have a little more to share before I’ll get out of your hair. Yoongi present.” Dr. Kim steps off to the side, passing the tablet to Yoongi. 

Yoongi, switching to her liver scans. “We also learned from your most recent scans that the largest tumor on your liver has grown.” He shows her the sans so she can see. “It’s not significant and it won’t delay your surgery but once we conclude with your operation we should talk the possibility of changing medication or seeing about another operation to resect some of the tumor.” 

“I’m not getting better essentially.” Ji-euns face stayed the same but her tone suggested slight disappointment. 

“Not at all. It’s an aggressive cancer and we have seen growth before. We just need to take another approach. We are going to closely monitor it before your surgery to make sure it doesn’t grow anymore.” Yoongi assured, trying to put on a neutral but kind face.

“Your sweet to assure me but I have been fighting this a long time. I try no to get my hopes up.” Ji-eun stated. 

“What do we need to do?” Ji-eun's husband butted in. 

“We are just going to continue the pain management for now. It’s important we get the tumor out of your leg. We’ve also ordered for you to be taken down for another MRI today so that we can get a much more detailed scan of your liver so we can better see what’s going on.” Yoongi continues, passing the tablet back to you. 

“I will look at the new MRI scans and come up with a new plan. I know we were just starting something new and I know this is not the news we wanted but I’m far from giving up hope.” Dr. Kim interjected. You couldn’t help but notice Ji-eun was putting on a brave smile, bright like always. Except a small sadness behind the eyes. “The tumor growing could mean anything. It could be from the regime change or from the the discontinuation of treatment.” 

“I know. We’ve been through it a lot of times before.” She sighs and her eyes are darting from side to side like she is lost in thought. “Oh before I forget I have something for you two.” She points for her husband to grab her the scarves she had been working on. 

“Ji-eun you know I can’t accept bribes.” Dr. kim jokes and everyone laughs a little. 

“Oh please.” She waves him off as she hands the scarves made for both him, and looks like she busted out one for Yoongi pretty quickly since you saw her on Friday. “I made these because I wanted to gives my thanks to you two somehow.” 

Jin taking his multicolored one and immediately wrapping it around himself, “Oh it’s lovely! I’m wearing this everyday once it gets colder. Yoongi put yours on.” 

Yoongi was just feeling his in his hands. “Oh I’ll wear it home.” 

“Awe come on. we need to see if it looks nice.” You chime in with a grin. Yoongi was unamused. Reluctantly wrapping it around himself, throwing one of the sides over his shoulder. 

“Oh they’re perfect.” Ji-eun clapped her hands together.

“Alright. Well, we’ll get those new scans. I’ll be back to see you soon once we have the results.” Dr. Kim’s voice was calm but firm, his nod signaling the team to follow. The interns shuffled out and Yoongi trailed behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable as always. Ji-eun was the last patient on their rounds, and as the room emptied, you lingered, feeling the weight of the moment settle in the air. 

You adjusted the tablet under your arm, stepping closer to the bed. Ji-eun’s husband  sat in the chair beside her, his hands clasped tightly, his face a mix of concern and quiet strength. Ji-eun herself was propped up on the pillows, her usual spark dimmed just a fraction, though she still managed a small smile when your eyes met.

“Do you guys have any questions or anything? I know that was a lot of news all at once.” Your voice was soft, careful not to break the fragile calm in the room. You moved to the side of the bed looking to her husband, “I’m Y/N, by the way. I’ve been on Ji-eun’s case since she got here.” 

You extended your hand to him,and he took it with a firm grip. “Youngjin,” He said, his voice warm but tired. “Ji-eun hasn’t stopped talking about the wonderful girl who takes care of her. I’m assuming that’s you.” He gave your hand a solid shake before releasing it, his smile genuine but fleeting.

You chuckled, glancing at Ji-eun. “Bragging about me, huh?” 

Ji-eun’s laugh was light, though it carried a hint of weariness. “Ah, I can’t help it. You’re the most interesting one here.” She leaned back against the pillows, her eyes twinkling despite the heaviness of the conversation. “This is the one with the boy problems.” She added in a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.

You groaned, playfully swatting her leg. “I don’t have boy problems, and that’s not something everyone needs to know.” 

Youngjin chuckled, his deep voice filling the room. “If it helps, she texts me every little piece of gossip she hears. She’s got dirt on everyone on this floor.”

“I sit around and walk up and down the halls all day—what else am I supposed to do?” Ji-eun protested, though her grin betrayed her. She leaned her head back, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the blanket. “Which reminds me… you haven’t mentioned your pain-in-the-butt friend recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” 

Ji-eun narrowed her eyes, considering your offer, then nodded. “You drive a hard bargain.” She sighed, sitting up straighter. She glanced at Youngjin, then back at you, her expression softening. “What’s there to say? One of my tumors is growing again. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Your smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet empathy. “It’s like Dr. Kim said… it could just be a fluke.”

“Or it could be getting worse.” Ji-eun sang softly, though the disappointment in her tone was unmistakable. 

“We don’t know yet.” You countered, mimicking her sing-song tone. “You’re getting the MRI this afternoon, and then we’ll know more. Dr. Kim didn’t seem worried, so I’m not worried.”

Ji-eun sighed, her fingers now fiddling with the edge of her hospital gown. “I guess. I’ve had that kid treating me for as long as I’ve been diagnosed—”

“So you know he’d be straight with you.” You reassured her, your voice steady. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Youngjin nodded, his gaze shifting between you and Ji-eun. “She’s good.” he said, his tone approving. 

Ji-eun let out a long breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I have an aggressive cancer. That’s not new. I think I’m just getting annoyed with hearing it’s staying the same. It’s been the same for years. I’m just living with it at this point. I just… hoped, maybe, we would have seen improvement by now.”

Your heart ached for her. You couldn’t fully understand, but you could feel the weight of her words. “Dr. Kim is going to look at the new scans.” You said gently. “He’s probably coming up with ten more plans in his head as we speak. He’s not giving up, he’s not even close. We have to get you back on your feet without that leg monster first. Then we’ll go from there. He’s ready to fight if you are.”

Ji-eun’s lips curved into a small smile, though her eyes remained distant. “I’ve got plenty of fight left, kid. Don’t you worry.” She reached out, patting your arm. “You’ve got the poor-dying-person sympathy face. Enough of that, I’m sick, but I’m not dying. Now… My turn!”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “No, no, no. I’ve got a few more questions.”

Ji-eun groaned, rolling her eyes. “You and I both know that stuff is so boring.”

“That stuff is what helps us treat you.” You countered, your tone light but firm.

Youngjin stood, stretching his legs. “Well, this is going to go on for a while. I’m going to go get us some food while you dole out your interrogation. Don’t go too hard on her.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ji-eun’s forehead.

“I won’t.” You promised.

“Oh, I was talking to my wife.” He teased, his laughter echoing as he made his way out of the room. “Play nice.”

“Never,” Ji-eun shot back, her grin widening as she watched him go. She turned back to you, her expression softening. 

“Your husband is lovely.” You said, settling into the chair Youngjin had vacated.

“I know.” Ji-eun replied, her voice warm. She tilted her head, studying you. “Now, give me updates while you examine me or something.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I actually have other work I should be doing.”

“That’s why you should ‘examine’ me.” She said, her tone mischievous.

“Don’t you have your own kids you can bug about this?” You teased, knowing her sons were a constant source of both pride and exasperation for her.

“Their stuff isn’t nearly as fun as yours.” She said, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, I’m sick and dying.”

“You just said you weren’t dying, remember?” You said firmly, though your voice was gentle.

Ji-eun let out an exaggerated cough, clutching her chest. “I’m practically withering away! Please it’s my dying wish.”

“Uh-huh, that’s a horrible last wish.” You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t really have anything new for you. That… stupid guy who’s been bothering me has left me alone… mostly.”

“Mostly?” Ji-eun raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.

“We had to be around each other for a friend thing, and I don’t know… he was being… nice? Civil? It was… odd.”

“Good odd?” Ji-eun pressed.

“More like strange. I’m so used to fighting all the time, it was… weird.”

Ji-eun leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “I feel like I’ve asked before. Is there any history there?”

“No,” You said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. “No, we just exist in the same spaces.”

“Hmm,” Ji-eun hummed, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Well, maybe he’s changed. Maybe something happened, and he’s turning over a new leaf.”

“Seems out of character. Maybe.” You muttered, though the thought lingered. That didn’t help your currently predicament where he was taking up a small little piece of your brain you couldn’t control. 

“Well, I’m going to need more updates on this. It’s getting juicy. Maybe he’s actually liked you this whole time, but you were sending the wrong signals.”

You shake your head with and exasperated scoff, “Considering he once told me I looked like a run-over raccoon, I doubt it.”

Ji-eun gasped. “Never let anyone talk to you like that. Especially some boy.”

“If I’m being totally fair, I told him he looked like a cat vomited on him… and that he smelled like it too.” A result of one of the worst fights the two of you ever had. You’ve both definitely pushed your insults much further but definitely not things you should say at work. 

Ji-eun let’s out a small laugh. “It must be like watching a train wreck when you two fight.”

“Something like that.” You exhaled, glancing at the clock. “I do have to get back to my other tasks, but is there anything else I can do? Anything else you want to know?” You hesitated, feeling like maybe you could offer something more, even if you weren’t sure what that was.

Ji-eun’s expression softened, her laughter fading into a quiet smile. “I’m alright, kid. I’m not devastated or going to spiral into a depressive episode. It’s just… maybe you don’t get it unless you have cancer, but I’ve learned to live with the disappointment that things can always get worse. A tumor can grow, another tumor can materialize. It’s frustrating, sure, because it means we have to try something new. I get to experience a whole new set of side effects. But I do it… I have to.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw. You pulled the chair closer. “I guess I understand… well, as much as I can. You know, you’re in charge, though. We’ll do whatever you want… it’s your life.”

Ji-eun’s face shifted, her gaze dropping to her hands. “It’s not. It’s never been just me… it’s my husband and my kids too. I have so many things I have yet to see them do. Get married, have kids of their own, live fulfilling lives. They haven’t really gotten to fully live because they all sit and dote on me…” Her voice wavered, the frustration and sadness intertwining.

“Sounds like they don’t mind, the way you talk about them.” You said gently.

“They don’t… but I don’t want them to have too forever. My husband has come to see my side of it more and more, but my boys are still the more… what’s the best word for it… aggressive when it comes to fixing any new problems I accrue as a result of this stupid thing. Dr. Kim has been on the receiving end of their insistent questioning more than once.” She picked at her fingers, a self-soothing gesture you’d come to recognize.

“Will you tell them the tumor has grown?” You asked, your voice soft.

Ji-eun hesitated, then shook her head. “Mmm, maybe not this time. Dr. Min said it wasn’t substantial, right?”

“No.” You said quickly, turning the tablet back on to pull up her scans. “Here, this is your last scan and your current one. It’s minor, but it’s important to monitor. Like Dr. Kim said, he just doesn’t know yet why it happened. We’ll keep a close eye, though.” You pointed to the screen, showing her the small but noticeable growth.

She nodded, her eyes scanning the images. “Then no reason to worry them… unless it means the chemo isn’t working anymore.”

You shook your head, closing the tablet and resting it on your lap. “Let’s just get you past this surgery first. Then Dr. Kim will cross that bridge.”

Ji-eun’s smile returned, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “Look who’s the hopeful one today. I’d almost think you care about me.”

You stood, laughing softly. “I care about everyone up here. I just like you a little more. I need to get back to work now.”

“Alright, fine.” Ji-eun called after you as you headed toward the door. “Maybe I need to have you give my kids the news in the future. Make them feel like it’s not so serious.”

You paused, turning back to her. “I think we’d be on the same page. If it were my mom, I’d probably fight as hard as they do to find answers.”

Ji-eun’s smile softened, and for a moment, the room felt lighter. You made your way back to the nurses’ station, where Yoongi was seated, frantically typing into a chart. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but he glanced up as you approached. He was still wearing the scarf.

“Do me a favor.” You said, rolling your chair closer to his.

“No.” Yoongi groaned, not looking up.

“Aww, come on.” You pouted, tapping his shoulder incessantly.

Yoongi sighed, finally turning to you. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t need any scans.”

“This isn’t about that!” You huffed. “This is serious.”

“Oh… what’s up?” He asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

“Will you round back around to Ji-eun’s room later? I think they still have some more questions but just need some time with the new updates.”

Yoongi nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Sure, yeah. I can round back around in a few hours after her MRI. See if they have anything else they’d like to know.”

“Thank you.” You said, rolling back to your side of the desk.

Yoongi tapped his chin, studying you. “You’re getting pretty attached to her, huh?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I mean, I really like her, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean it seems like you’re getting pretty emotionally invested… in her case. You seem to take a little extra care in this situation. Do you know her or something?”

“Not at all.” You said, shaking your head. “She was the first person I helped when I got up here, so she confides in me often. She’s sweet and makes the day easier.

Yoongi’s expression softened, though his tone carried a note of caution. “Just be careful… getting attached up here… it’s an easy way to get hurt.”

“Spoken from experience?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yoongi’s smile was sad, his gaze distant. “You could say that. We have a hard enough job as it is. We watch patients beat impossible odds and lose to simple complications… it can be taxing when you get so close to them, and they lose.”

“I hear you.” You said quietly. “I’ll be careful.”

Yoongi nodded, his attention returning to the chart in front of him. You sat back in your chair, the weight of his words settling over you. It wasn’t something you hadn’t heard before; Vic had warned you of the same thing when you first started working on this floor. Emotional attachment isn’t a bad thing when it comes to patient care, it’s required, but boundaries with your personal feelings is what is important. 

Maybe you were getting a bit attached to Ji-eun but you knew how to pull back so that you can do your job the best way you can. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

“Alright let’s go home.” Jungkook with a wave of his hand dismissed everyone. Paralegals and other associates packing up their things to finally leave for the day. 

It’s now the end of the week and he figured he might as well dismiss everyone for the weekend, there wasn’t going to be any progress until Monday anyways. No reason to keep everyone around longer than necessary. 

The trial had taken a slight annoying turn. The defense had brought to light some evidence about his clients that was information that had chosen to omit from his teams knowledge or research. So it’s caused a bit of a standstill on their side of the case. Which means they had been spending the entire week coming up with a strategy to combat this. But They were in recess until next week due to this presentation of evidence so they had some time but they weren’t going to learn anything new over the weekend and they wouldn’t be able to converse with the clients until Monday. So calling it a night was best. 

Jungkook may be working through the weekend but there is no reason to drag everyone down with him. 

“Tough situation.” Jimin came up and gave a pat on Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, doesn’t begin to describe it. More like throws a wrench into our whole case.” Jungkook gathering some papers, filing them back together nicely so he can get them back into his bag. Ultimately to take them out at home and make them over again. 

“Need me to come over? We can talk it through, look over everything again?” Jimin offered with a sympathetic smile, “Or take you out for a drink and we can bitch and moan. Haven’t done that in a while. I bet we can rope Taehyung in.” 

Jungkook thought about it, he could use some sort of release of frustration but he probably needed to keep his head clear. He’d gotten back on his game but this week proved to throw a punch left and right. “As much as I would like it. I think I just need to go home and drown in my own self pity.” 

“Awe come on. Better to spiral with a friend or two.” Jimin bounced on his heals with anticipation. “Maybe not a drink maybe, how about we get some food? You haven’t eaten today right? Maybe bowling?” 

Jungkook could tell what Jimin was doing, clearing the noise. “You suck at bowling.” 

“And?” He shrugs. “Come on, we’ll get some laughs out of it. Taehyung’s even worse than me. It’ll be fun.” 

Jungkook smiled at the thought. Taehyung truly was terrible at bowling. “Alright, I can spend the evening making you both look like huge losers.” 

“There we go. That’s the spirit.” Jimin left the meeting room, assuredly to go gather his things 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

“God, please. Just allow me one strike. You’ve granted Jungkook so many. Please allow me one.” Taehyung was speaking to the bowling ball in his hand. Jungkook and Jimin just watching him as he pleads to break his total score of 32. 

They are now well into their second game. Taehyung sorely lost the first one and is somehow losing even worse the second time around. How? It was unimaginable but highly entertaining for Jimin and Jungkook. After work Jungkook went home and changed into something far more casual. A white shirt and some wide leg dark jeans. Eventually meeting Jimin who, with little effort, did manage to get Taehyung to join them. Now some food and a few drinks later here they were. Much more relaxed than how he had started the evening. 

Jimin was really good at that, making the end of the day better than the start. Even if the start sucked. 

“Just bowl!” Jimin complained as Taehyung was continuing to sing praises to the bowling ball. 

With that Taehyung sends the purple ball down the alley, and with a quick curve he sinks it into the gutter. Dropping to his knees in dramatic defeat. “The universe hates me.” 

He gives a small pout looking in Jungkook’s direction. Jungkook shook his head, “I have shown you how to throw a ball countless times! I’m not helping you anymore! My talents are wasted on you.” 

“So you also hate me.” Taehyung drops his head, but Jimin walks over and pulls him up to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“My turn you big baby.” Jimin says, pushing Taehyung back to the table with Jungkook. Defeat written all over his face, taking a chair next to Jungkook. 

“You’ll get 'em next time tiger.” Jungkook shakes Taehyung’s shoulder with encouragement. 

“Perhaps.” Taehyung sighed, heavy and exaggerated. “Oh to have such effortless talent.” 

“What can I say? Some of us are just born awesome.” Jungkook leans back into his seat, arms behind his head all nonchalant. He’s had a beer or two so he was feeling pretty good. The bowling helped. 

“Wow, you could try to be humble.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. Sitting up in his seat, “Jimin said it was a tough week?” 

“Yeah this case took an unexpected turn so I got to spend the weekend fixing it… or something. Then other stuff, not an awesome week for me.” Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, tousling it a bit from its position. It had grown out a little, it tickled the back of his neck. 

“Hmm, sucks. Need a mock trial with me and Namjoon again? … Maybe another kind of stress relief.” Taehyung’s tone pointed. Jungkook knew exactly what he was referring to. He spent the entire week sending not so subtle texts that Jungkook should reach out to you. Like that would ever happen, Jungkook didn’t even have your number.

 It wasn’t unusual of Taehyung to pry into Jungkook’s feelings or into his life. It was actually annoyingly consistent. He’d been this way forever, always with the best of intentions. He wanted Jungkook to be happy and not so stuck in work or school or whatever. Jungkook was sometimes so one track minded and Taehyung, with Jimin’s help occasionally, did a pretty good job of getting him to chill out. Didn’t mean he didn’t also try to meddle into Jungkook’s love life… which in this case was just his intimate life. 

So this was pretty typical of Taehyung.

“Not this again.” Jungkook groaned, taking a fry and eating it. “When will you let this go?” 

“Give me a few more weeks? Maybe never.” Taehyung smirked, “Come on. You guys have heat! Why deny it?” 

“Deny what?” Jimin coming back and sitting with the two of them. 

Jungkook looks between them, “Nothing.” 

“Jungkook’s a scaredy cat.” Taehyung quipped, “Denying himself simple pleasures.” 

Taehyung may have been hitting the nail on the head, as much and Jungkook wanted to deny it. Your encounter this last weekend proved that Taehyung was right, you were just a nice person. It’s not like Jungkook didn’t know it. You’ve known each other a long time, but having it in his face kicked up some old memories. Kicking up some old thoughts and he didn’t care to explore. Maybe he was in denial. 

“Oh look, it’s my turn.” Jungkook stood grabbing his ball to bowl. 

“You can’t hide from me!” Taehyung mockingly calls to him as he goes up to the lane. 

“Care to explain?” Jimin leans in Taehyung’s direction. Taehyung waving him off. 

“His business to share, not mine. Trust me it’s good though.” Taehyung stood from his seat, wanting to get another drink but also possibly find a new ball. In the hopes that possibly his sixth, no seventh choice in bowling will bring him victory. 

As he scourers the lanes for his option. He passes by a group who seems to be coming into the bowling alley. With a straggler following behind, bowling shoes in hand. Taehyung makes a passing glance at the group. Just a few girls, but it wasn’t any of them that caught his attention. It was the last one. 

“Ah, wait up.” You called after them, you were balancing your phone  and wallet and shoes in your hands. While the other girls trailed ahead. 

“Y/N?” Taehyung calls your name, making you spin on your heel. A confused look on your face, wondering who could possibly be calling your name.

Your expression softened at the sight of Taehyung. “Hey, what are you doing here?” You look at the other girls but figure you can track them down. Walking over to him to give him a hug. 

He reciprocated in kind, pausing for a moment.“Just with some friends. Who are you with?” 

“Oh,” You wave your hand in the direction they went. “girls from work. Some last second plans.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Well we had kind of a long and tough day and wanted to blow off some steam. I lost the vote so here we are.” You explain, you didn’t hate bowling, you just would have preferred other activities to be honest. 

“You don’t say.” Taehyung smiles, unbeknownst to you as to why. “Well hey. Do you happen to have any bowling expertise? I could use some help picking out a ball.” 

He points to the racks of the bowling balls, and you nod. “I do, as a matter of fact.” 

You follow Taehyung along for a minute, helping him pick out a proper bowling ball. Finding one for yourself as well. You weren’t lying when you said you knew a thing about bowling. Then going up the lanes to see where your coworkers ended up landing. Which was right next to Taehyung’s lane. Taehyung couldn’t believe the odds. You made some chit chat as you walked back. Not before you immediately spotted the black mop of hair. Followed by the visual of his tattooed arm. He was faced away from the two of you. 

Of course Tae wouldn’t tell you that Jungkook was here.

Before you can get a word in. “Look who I ran into.” Taehyung’s voice jumps an octave, with joy and mischief.

Jimin looks up to see you with sudden surprise on his face, Jungkook turns in his seat to see you. He blinked, looking between you and Taehyung. What had he summoned you or something? Tae was only gone for a minute. Jungkook was obviously thrown and your expression seemed to match that of yours, you weren’t prepared for this encounter either.  

“Hi Jimin.” You give him a polite wave, glancing at Jungkook. “Jungkook.” 

Jimin waves to you. Worried that he was going to witness another explosive exchange. Surprised when Jungkook just sort of acknowledges you with a head nod. 

“Y/N.” He responds. 

“Just our luck running into Y/N.” Taehyung hugged your shoulder then letting you go and going to put his ball in the lane.

“He didn’t tell me you were here.” You sigh. 

“Yeah, I have a feeling that was on purpose.” Jungkook followed Taehyung with his eyes, throwing daggers at him. 

“Y/N!” One of the girls from your groups calls out to you. You glance over to them. You all managed to be placed right next to Jungkook’s lane. So it looks like this will be interesting. 

These were coworkers you didn’t hang with often. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Earlier that evening. 

Will some tension and tiredness you pulled your scrubs off your body. Discarding them into a bin that was made for scrubs that had fluids on them. You hadn’t managed to keep yourself clean right until the end when your last ER patient had thrown up you on you.. 

You got pulled down to the ER today because of a mass casualty incident. They needed all hands on deck and so that meant that you got pulled down from oncology. It was a bus crash and luckily there were no casualties but a lot of injuries. It took most of the day to get through everyone and get them treated and sent where they needed to be. It had been sometime since you had been in the ER working so the pace threw you off but you caught up quickly. 

One of the other girls who worked down here, really the only one you knew was clocking out with you. Layla, She was changing with you, the two of you had been running side by side all day. Keeping each other held up in the chaos. 

“I want to go back upstairs.” You moan putting back on your regular clothes. Layla laughed under her breath nodding. 

“Lost your stamina from being in a slow paced environment.” She teased but she was right. You hadn’t been running around on alert every second for weeks now.

“I suppose so. I need to relax or something after all that. I’m all anxious and tense now.” You try to shake out your arms almost like you can shake the anxiety away. 

“How about we go get a drink or do something?” Layla offers, you two had hung out once or twice before but it’s been quite some time. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Right as she was suggesting it though some of the other girls in the locker room overheard the offer. You didn’t know their names. They ended up inviting themselves along for the night. It was an opportunity to get to know these girls even though you really only cared to hang out with Layla. You still wanted to be nice. 

You step to the side. 

“Hey so this lane only allows five players.” One of the girls, who you’d come to learn from, was named Kenna. 

“Oh well there are only four of us. What’s the problem?” You looked between them, an apologetic look plastered on Layla’s face. The other girl, Jea, cleared her throat. 

“I sort of invited some guys from Neuro to join us?” She winced, not seeming that apologetic about her choice. 

Oh god, you really hated all of the guys in Neuro. 

“You can join our lane Y/N.” Taehyung who was not so subtly listening into your conversation, interjected. 

You look back at him and shake your head. “Oh no I couldn’t impose.” 

“Oh come on.” Taehyung steps over to the little circle the four of you made, “Hi ladies. I’m Tae.” 

With his usual easy charm, he offered his hand, shaking around the group. The introductions were brief but polite, and it didn’t take long for your friends to pick up on the dynamics at play. The unspoken understanding that you and Taehyung were just friends was clear as day. Other observations, however, were quickly forming—particularly regarding Jimin and Jungkook, who were standing just a little too close, their attention shifting between you and the conversation.

“Seriously, it’s not a problem.” Taehyung continued, turning his attention back to you. “You could help us take down Jungkook.” 

At that, Jungkook scoffed from where he stood, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”

Taehyung barely acknowledged him, instead giving you his most dramatic, wide-eyed, brown puppy-dog stare. “And think about it, Y/N—we could sort of combine parties. A win-win situation.”

You hesitated, glancing at your friends. The idea wasn’t entirely awful, but—

“Oh, I don’t know…” You trailed off, shifting on your feet.

Your hesitation wasn’t just because of Jungkook. Not entirely, at least.

Jungkook, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. “What, scared to lose?”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “Not at all.” 

“I think it’s a great idea!” Kenna chimes in. 

With that it was settled. The girls set up their lane while Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin wrapped up their current game. They were only a few frames away from finishing, which gave them just enough time to add your name to their board. The order was set: Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, then you.

And then, of course, the so-called guys from Neuro arrived.

Jackson and Will.

You actually knew both of them; surgical residents, unbearably arrogant, and exactly as obnoxious as you remembered. It was wild how the guy running Neuro was one of the kindest people you’d ever met, yet his residents were straight-up meatheads. Lucky for you, they seemed preoccupied, locked in some ridiculous display of charm with Kenna and Jea.

You had found yourself sitting with Jungkook. Luckily because of the long day you had and the lack of wine your mind wasn’t drifting like it was last week. The only distracting detail about him was that he smelled good. His lip ring which was on full display tonight was also noted. 

Not ideal but right now you would take it over having to make nice with things 1 and 2. You had also gotten yourself a drink and some food so you could pretend to be preoccupied. Except it was extremely quiet sitting here. You and Jungkook made no eye contact or said anything. Meanwhile, Jimin and Taehyung were deep in discussion, strategizing on how to beat Jungkook. Spoiler, it wasn’t going well.

“I gave you the right ball.” You pointed out to Taehyung, watching him scowl at his fingers like they had personally betrayed him.

“Yeah, and it turns out the ball wasn’t the problem.” Jungkook mumbled, which got a small laugh out of the both of you.

Jungkook stepped up to bowl next, a sleek black ball in hand. He took his time lining up the shot before sending it straight down the lane. Effortless. The ball smacked into the pins with an echoing crash, sending them flying in a perfect strike. Everyone clapped, minus Jimin, Taehyung, and yourself, all three of you trying to stay stubbornly unimpressed. He got the first strike of the two games. 

“Oh we are so cooked...” Jimin moaned next to you. 

“He literally doesn’t get tired.” Taehyung with slight annoyance lacing his voice. Almost like a petulant child.

“Awe come on boys. Just one strike. Doesn’t mean he’ll win.” You try to cheer them up but they both still have looks of defeat. 

“Oh my sweet naive angel. Jungkook almost always wins.” Taehyung pats your arm, while the sound of ten pins falling fills the air again. “Stop showing off!” 

“It goes like this every single time.” Jimin slumps down into his chair.

Looking down Jungkook was strolling back with a cocky nonchalance. He was good at bowling, you already knew that. That familiar almost knee jerk annoyance tickled the back of your mind. 

“Well you know what they say, you are either good at bowling or good at sex.” You kick your feet but you make Taehyung almost choke on his drink. Jungkook stopped dead in his tracks at your words. You had a cocky smile and he had his tongue in cheek look. “I guess we know which one you’re good at.” 

 Taehyung had to cover his face with how hard he was going to laugh. Jimin is unaware of the history and why he thinks it’s so funny. 

“Oh so the smack talk already begins. Why don’t we see you bowl?” Jungkook sank back down into his chair. Challenge filling the air. 

You may be talking out of your ass, you knew how to bowl but not like you were amazing. “Alright.” 

“Go Y/N!” Layla cheered, with few other whoops here and there. 

You approached the lane, selecting your ball with an air of nonchalance. You readjusted your wrist, lined up, and let the ball roll down the lane.

Pins scattered in a loud, violent clatter.

Strike.

Jimin and Taehyung both stood with some unanticipated excitement at your sudden show of bowling prowess. Which honestly may have been luck. You’ll take it, turning back to everyone and taking a confident bow. Jungkook had that all very familiar look in his eye. One you could so easily pull out of him in any argument. 

“Big deal. One stike.” He taunts, “Can you replicate it?” 

“Never thought I would encourage this but beat his ass Y/N.” Taehyung pointed at Jungkook, while taunting. 

You shrug, your ball coming back up the alley just in time. “Let’s find out.” 

You take your ball, doing the same thing you did the first time. No stress and not even thinking about it. You roll your shoulders back and send the ball down the lane just like the first time. Again, it was not elegant, but it was just enough. Split the lame, ten pin down. Strike two.

“Let’s go!” Jimin cheered from behind you, the girls cheering you as well.

With a cool smile you spun on your heel and sauntered back to your seat. High fiving Jimin as you sat down. Taking a sip of your drink made the strike feel so much better. You didn’t look at Jungkook but you can see him out of the corner of your eye. He was flipping his lip ring from side to side. It hadn’t gone past you that it was on display tonight.

Jungkook’s annoyance was clear though, and that put you on cloud nine.

It really was game on. The next few frames continued with tense silence between the two of you as you both went point for point, neither one of you really able to pull ahead of the other. It was actually uncanny because it had maybe been two or three years since you last had gone bowling. You didn’t complain, some cosmic machine was on your side today and you would take Jungkook down with it.

It was around frame five, Jungkook bowled a nine but picked up the spare. You at this point had gotten yourself so ramped up you were no longer sitting. Neither was Jungkook, everyone else was mingling but the two of you were so wrapped up in this game. This fierce competition had made the night even more fun for everyone else.

“Alright champ. You got this. You can easily bowl a nine or a strike and pull ahead of this guy.” Jimin had both of his hands on your shoulders, patting them like you were a wrestling champ.

You actually got to chat with Jimin tonight and he was a cool guy, very determined to see you beat Jungkook. “Thanks coach.”

As Jungkook was coming back to the table your were going up to the lane, bumping shoulders. You thought, playful sportsman way. Jungkook just rolled his eyes, not entertaining you. He didn’t want to show it but he was having a good time. He barely ever had competition with Taehyung or Jimin so to have someone he was actually competing with was… refreshing. To say the least.

“Awe Jungkook, so quiet. Slipping up on your game?” Taehyung taunted and Jungkook just brushed him off.

“Say’s the one with a measly 26 points right now.” Jungkook raised a brow to him.

“Hey, I’m fully invested in Y/N now. I’ve given up on me.” Taehyung says looked to you but then looking back at Jungkook with a mischievous grin. “Maybe something you should be doing too.”

“Stop it with that!” Jungkook shoves his shoulder. Another cheer roaring from Jimin and you in the lane. You bowled a strike this round. Which means Jungkook will need one next round to keep up. Both you and Jimin jumping up and down holding each other’s hands out of excitement.

You were on a roll and after today you seriously needed it. Beating Jungkook will be a welcome celebration after this week.

You step off to the side so Taehyung can come up and take his turn but caught in a small traffic stop with Jackson.

“Oh sorry.” You try to step around him but he stops you. He moves right in toe with you.

“You’re really good.” He compliments. A bit of a flirtatious tone layer his words. “You bowl often?”

You shake your head trying to take another step away. “Not really. It’s rare that I ever bowl to be honest.”

“So what do you do? I mean outside of the hospital and such?” Jackson continues, trying to maintain your attention. Which you were unsure how you managed to get caught in his cross hairs.

“Aren’t you here with Kenna or Jea or something?” You decide to redirect to his original night plans, which you look to Jea who seems to be pretty wrapped up in whatever Will is talking about so that answers that question.

“Not really.” He shrugs acting like it’s so casual, which maybe it was you didn’t know. “You work with Dr. Kim, right?”

“Uh yes but it’s temporary.” You scratch the side of your head. Somehow you had backed all the way up that you had made it back to your seat. Not to your avail, the guys were up doing things. Unfortunately the sanctuary that was your table is now being interrupted.

You try to see if Layla is unoccupied but she is about to bowl herself so she is completely distracted. Something in the way this guy is talking to you feels so college. He’s trying any tactic to keep your attention, so much so he is now sitting next to you.

“He’s a nice guy. I’ve meant to learn from him but he seems to favor that one guy. Yoongi is it?”

“Uh yeah Dr. Min. He’s very talented.” You try to look for any excuse, “I think it’s your turn to bowl.” You point back to their lane.

“I’ll just have Will bowl for me.” He waves it off.

“Listen… uhh Jackson.” You started but before you would say something else.

“Y/N.” You hear your name called from the lane. Looking over you see Jungkook holding his ball. Waving you over once you acknowledge him. You are confused for a second but you use the opening to escape. Thank god.

You saunter over, ready for whatever trash talk Jungkook probably has in store for you. “What? Admitting I’m a better bowler than you? I mean it’s clear as day.”

“First of all, never,” Jungkook scoffed, pointing his ball at you before holding it between his hands. “Second, you looked like you needed an out.”

You tilt your head, “What?”

“Bonehead number 5.” He subtly points back to Jackson who was still at the table. Kenna seemed to find her way to him again now. He looked a little less interested in talking to her as she was talking to him.

“Oh…” You paused for a moment, he noticed that? “Uhh yeah thanks. I was a little trapped I guess.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “No worries. Now, watch closely. You can witness my incredible bowling skills up close.”

“I’m alright. I've been watching your shitty technique all night.”

“Shitty?” Jungkook's eyes widened at the remark. “My technique is anything but shitty.”

“Oh come on, it's barely practical. You make it look all fancy and sweep your leg all far out behind you.” You mimic the motion, which is exactly as you said it. “You look stupid.”

“Oh really? Then what is this?” Jungkook mimicking your oh so nonchalant throws. You didn’t really have a lot of flair to it. Just a simple easy swing. “At least mine looks interesting.”

“And ridiculous. Simple is always better.” You shrug.

The truth was both ways were working. Your scores reflected it. Neither of you was doing better, you were tied. You both were doing something right. Which continued to be reflected when Jungkook bowled another 9. Good, could be worse. Some playful boo’s came from Jimin and Taehyung.

“Awe, only a nine? Must be tough having to follow up my strike.” You shake your head like you were disappointed or something.

“I see after last week we are dropping all the niceties .” Jungkook commented, testing the water.

“Hmm, I only have so much kindness I can expend for you at one time.” You mused, watching him line up for his spare attempt.

Jungkook didn’t say anything right away, just lined up his shot and sent the ball rolling down the lane. You both watched as it curved slightly before knocking down the last pin with a satisfying clatter. A spare. Not bad.

He was still keeping up. “Games still afoot. I’ll need to keep working harder to stay ahead.”

“Barely ahead.” He holds up a finger to confirm his point.

“Please you just don’t want to admit that I have been ahead this whole time. You’re just playing a sad game of catch up.” Thus the trash talking continues. 

“I’m just biding my time for when you slip up.” “Just move so I can maintain my lead.” You brush past him, Jungkook decides he’s going to stay right here as well. Having a feeling his proximity will maybe just make you nervous enough. 

You get a good grip on your ball, but you can tell Jungkook is hovering. Standing just off to the side next to you, like you did him. Probably trying to see if it will rattle your game. Nice try demon spawn.

“Don’t mess up.” He said it right as you were about to throw the ball but you stopped yourself, glaring at him before you totally botched that throw.

“Fuck off.” You lightly shove the ball into his stomach. Jungkook in turn pretends to be injured holding his stomach all dramatically.

You ignore him, repositioning yourself in front of the lane. Just as you go to throw you catch a quick glimpse in the corner of your eye, he was observing you very intently. That one moment of hesitation affected the ball just enough. Having it tilt slightly to the left when it reached the pins. Only dropping 6 pins.

Jungkook took two paces, standing just behind you.

“You missed.”

“I know.” You look over your shoulder at him, you were fuming.

“You hesitated.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Everything is fair game on this court.” Jungkook raises his arms up in surrender. With his arms up you take the full opportunity to push him back away. It was playful, and almost made you want to crawl out of your skin.

Jungkook laughs at the action and backs down. Going to sit back at the table.

The game continued, this time there was more civil banter. Which made Taehyung all the more annoying and in Jungkook’s ear and texts the rest of the night saying things like. God get married already. Do we need to leave you two alone? Get a room. Which Jungkook promptly ignored every single one. Not letting Taehyung continue to encourage this fantasy that he’s concocted.

Jungkook was still having that same feeling in the pit of his stomach. You were enjoying each other’s company for the first time in forever that wasn’t upheld by extreme intoxication. It was just hanging out, like any other set of friends.

So weird.

You had all come to the final frame. Jimin and Taehyung basically just gutter bawled their last attempts because they really did not care by this point. Layla and Kenna were still here, but Jackson bailed at some point. Jea and Will left together as well.

“You know, for this being my first impression of you. You’re literally so cool.” Kenna stands next to you as you were just waiting for your turn.

“Thank you.” You nodded, “Although it is just bowling.”

“I can’t bowl for shit, and you got your friend all up in a twist about it.” She shrugs, then points to Jungkook. Layla also standing here leans into you. “There anything going on there?” Her curiosity peaked, did you two just give off a vibe or something?

“God no.” You shake your head. “Just known each other for a long time.”

“He’s cute. It's a shame to let that all go to waste.” She bumps you as if to say you should be making a move.

You brush them off. “Please, he's the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t know. People who find each other annoying to spend the amount of energy you two do getting each other all riled up.” Kenna quipped.

Oh how you wish Melanie and Ash were here. They would be trash talking Jungkook with you, not calling him cute or whatever. 

Jungkook, for his final frame, had already thrown a strike. Then he followed up with a second one. They were quick. You get a third attempt with two strikes, but he only bowled a nine with that final throw. Then you stepped up, Taehyung and Jimin waiting in major anticipation.

“Finish him!” Jimin said in a gravely tone.

“You just need one strike and you have him.” Taehyung was basically bouncing out of his seat as you picked up your ball. Jungkook was already in the process of pulling off his bowling shoes, you were unsure if he was doing it because he was so confident he would win or he already has conceded.

Either way, you wanted to crush him.

You step right on up, rolling your shoulders. Then letting the ball glide from your hand down the alleyway. You knew the moment you let go though, it veered just slightly. Just enough. Then bam, strike.

“And that’s game.” You spin around, arms outstretched.

“You still have one more attempt, Make it hurt.” Jimin encouraged you.

You glanced down to the bowling balls that were left over. Deciding to finish it off using Jungkook’s. The black ball was way to heavy for you for sue but what a fitting end.

“I think I’ll finish it off with yours.” Holding the ball up in a taunting manner. As best you could because again, heavy.

Jungkook just watched in solemn defeat, as you barely threw his ball down the alley. Only hitting a few pins, but solidifying your win. Which got big cheers from Jimin and Taehyung and high fives all around. Jungkook’s winning streak has finally been broken by you. It had to sting and you hoped it did.

“Alright let’s get out of here.”

Pretty quickly you all cleared out. You were flying really fucking high now. What a way to end your week.

You said goodbye to Kenna and Layla who came together. You were fine heading home on your own and it was hardly late. But as you turned toward the door, you noticed that Jimin, Taehyung, and—surprisingly—Jungkook were still lingering behind.

Jimin slung an arm over your shoulder, voice laced with amusement. “Okay, so you officially have a standing invite now. As long as you keep beating him.” He jerked his thumb toward Jungkook, who was still a few steps behind, hands still deep in his pockets.

“Oh, I’ll use any excuse to make Jungkook look like a loser.” You teased, practically skipping with excitement.

Jungkook scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a loser.”

“Debatable.”

“Well,” Taehyung cut in, draping himself lazily over Jungkook’s shoulder, “I say, as a penalty for breaking his winning streak, Jungkook has to make sure our reigning champion gets home safe.”

Jungkook groaned loudly as Taehyung clapped him on the back, half-shoving him in your direction. “Come on, we never said there was a penalty.”

You smirked and kicked him lightly in the ankle, making him stumble slightly. “What a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser.”

“Are too.”

“This is going to go on forever.” Jimin laughed, already backing away with Taehyung. “Have a good night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Jungkook huffed. “If I don’t make it home alive, you’ll know where to look.”

Jimin and Taehyung waved him off, entirely unsympathetic.

As their voices faded, silence settled between you and Jungkook. You pulled out your phone, feeling the energy of the moment start to dissipate. Feeling a little awkward in the silence.

“You don’t have to.” You said before he could speak.

Jungkook blinked. “Huh?”

“I can get an Uber.” You clarified, tapping through the app. “It’s fine.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, glancing around. The parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers. “It’s like a five-minute drive.”

You shrugged. “You live in the opposite direction.”

“So?”

“So… I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Jungkook let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not an inconvenience. It’s my penalty, remember?”

You hesitated, still watching your phone screen as it searched for a ride. Unfortunately, there weren’t many cars nearby, and the estimated wait time was creeping up by the second.

Jungkook caught sight of it, and before you could argue again, he tilted his head at you, voice dropping slightly. “You don’t have to be weird about it.”

That made you look up. Surprised by his proximity. “I’m not being weird and don’t stand so close.”

“You kind of are.” His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Unless you’re scared to be in a car with me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. You shove your phone back in your pocket, “Oh, please.”

“Then just get in the car.” His voice was softer now, but still firm. “It’s literally a five-minute drive.”

You held his stare, lips pressing together in thought. There was something about the way he said it—not teasing, not pushy, just... certain.

You conceid. “Fine. But if you are going to bitch and moan about losing the whole time i’m going to tuck and roll out of the car.”

Jungkook smirked, already heading toward his car. “Who says I won’t need too.” 

Jungkook was parked pretty close to the entrance. His car was nice, you wouldn’t be able to say what kind of car it was but it was clean. Sleek, looked expensive. Leather interior and everything. Sitting down though the scent of his cologne completely filled your senses. Oh this wasn’t good. It made your mind wander, and you had to rip it back to reality. 

Jungkook’s car was warm, the hum of the engine low and steady as he pulled out of the parking lot. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the streetlights blur past, anything to keep your mind from acknowledging the way his cologne wrapped around you like a slow, suffocating trap.

Damn. Why did he have to smell so good?

Jungkook, to his credit, was quiet at first. He didn’t immediately start complaining about his loss, nor did he try to make conversation. It was almost... too quiet.

You risked a glance in his direction. His hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw tight, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. He looked—careful. Hesitant, even.

“You always drive this slow?” You teased, cutting through the uncomfortable silence.

Jungkook scoffed, eyes flicking toward you before returning to the road. “I’m driving like a normal person.”

“Feels like you’re trying to drag this out.” You mused, turning back to the window.

“You think too highly of yourself.” He shot back, but you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You just shook your head, but didn’t push it further. The drive continued in an almost comfortable silence, the soft hum of the radio filling the space between you. The longer you sat there, the more you became acutely aware of him—his presence, the warmth of the car, the occasional sound of him drumming his fingers lightly on the wheel.

Then, without warning—

“I should’ve won.” Jungkook muttered, as if he’d been holding it the whole time.

You turned to him with a dramatic groan. “Oh my god.”

“I’m serious!” He continued, as if you hadn’t reacted. “You got lucky. That wasn’t skill.”

“It was absolutely skill.”

“It was a fluke.”

“A win is a win.”

Jungkook let out a scoff, shaking his head. “You got, like, three pins.”

“Three pins is enough to win.”

“You were aiming for the gutter.”

“I was not!” You reach over hitting him in the arm which doesn’t seem to elicit any reaction.

Jungkook gave you a side-eye so sharp you almost burst out laughing. “Next time, we’re doing best out of three.” He said, tone final.

“Next time?” You raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly toward him. “So you’re assuming I’ll go bowling with you again?”

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened for just a second. He hesitated, but only for a beat before recovering. “You’d love the chance to beat me twice.” he shrugged. “Admit it.”

You pursed your lips, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

Another moment of silence stretched between you. You shifted slightly in your seat, playing with the hem of your sleeve. Something about the atmosphere had changed. It wasn’t just playful now, it was charged. The kind of tension that settled heavy in the air, making it harder to breathe, making your thoughts stray to places you weren’t sure they should go.

And yet, Jungkook couldn’t help himself. “Your technique is still trash, though. Who taught you to bowl? Your grandma?”

You turned to him, brows knitting together. “What? You’re not serious.”

Jungkook glanced at you, confused by your sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“You don’t remember?”

His frown deepened. “Remember what?”

“You taught me.”

Jungkook blinked. “When?”

“In college.” You studied his face, waiting for recognition to hit. When it didn’t, you sighed. “We were working on that project together. It was after I told you about everything with David. We were both drained that week, and you suggested we go bowling to take our minds off things. I told you I sucked, and you spent the whole night showing me how to throw the ball properly.”

Jungkook went still, the memory slowly threading its way back into his mind. A pause, then—

“Oh my god,” he muttered, realization dawning. “I did.”

You laughed softly at his delayed reaction. “Yeah. You did.”

He let out a short breath, shaking his head as he fully processed it. “Damn. I really created my own downfall, huh?”

You smirked, settling back against the seat. “Who knew your own teachings would come back to bite you?”

Jungkook shot you a side glance, lips twitching. “That’s the last time I will ever help you.”

“Time to tuck and roll.” You fake the motion to open the door, not actually intending to open the door for real. Your sudden motion makes Jungkook reach for your arm. His fingers catching around the top of your arm. 

“You’re insufferable.” Jungkook’s hand lingered for a moment too long before letting you go. You adjusted back in your seat. Your hands resting in your lap. 

Silence hung between the two of you again, not uncomfortable. Quiet and charged. Your eyes scanned the dashboard. Look at the navigation in the middle. Scanning over everything, the first mistake being when your eyes accidentally caught their attention on his hands. A relaxed grip on the wheel. 

Get your eyes off his hands.

The small voice in the back of your mind was almost screaming and you complied and pulled your eyes away. You had done a pretty good job tonight at not letting your mind drift in that direction but the silence was not helping. 

Jungkook out of the corner of his eye could see you shift in your seat. He couldn’t place if you were comfortable or not. Probably not, just because. Well it was him. Your hand came up scratching the back of your neck but it had inadvertently moved some of your hair away. It immediately made Jungkook’s mind return to last weekend. You were innocently helping him stretch out his neck, nothing intimate about it but his mind went back there. 

It was about your hands being on him.

Because unfortunately he knew what that felt like now. It was imprinted in his mind. He stopped himself dead in the tracks. Not just because if it went any further he was going to have a serious problem, but because it wasn’t right. 

Yeah you guys slept together so what. Water under the bridge. 

You shifted again, and it caught his attention again. What was happening? Why was he suddenly so focussed every time you moved? He needed to think of anything else, work or animals or something.

He rested one of his hands on the shifter in the center. It caught your attention. His hand rested too casually and too close. Keep your eyes locked out the window. Watch the pretty lights and stop thinking about his hands. You were not that desperate. Remember he’s Jungkook, gross disgusting, we hate that guy. 

You were saved by the bell though because you recognized the street as yours. You would be home in no time and go take a very very cold shower or something. Within a moment Jungkook, stopped at what he recognized to be your building. Vaguely remembering it from when he walked you that one time. 

With zero hesitation you were basically leaping to get out of the car. “Well have a good night, loser.” You say before closing the door before Jungkook could get a word in, his face was priceless though because there was annoyance all over it. Walking as quickly as you could to get into your building. 

Jungkook drove home. Playing music as loud as he could to drown out any thoughts that could enter his mind. Wanted or not.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

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[sombaf]

Just One Drink (Before I Fall For You)

Kara had spent three days sulking in her apartment, replaying the fire over and over in her mind. She saved everyone—every single teacher, every single child. But not him. Not the firefighter who had stayed back, trying to make sure no one was left behind. She had almost had him. Almost.

Alex had finally lost patience.

“You’re coming with us tonight,” she had said, standing in Kara’s doorway with that no-nonsense big-sister stance.

Kara had tried to argue. “Alex, I—”

“No. No ‘but I’s. No excuses. You need to get out of this apartment before you start merging with your couch.”

Kara had sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s a lesbian bar, Alex. I’d stick out.”

Alex had smirked. “It’s not like there’s a gay dress code, Kara. Besides, the bar isn’t just for lesbians. It’s just… mostly lesbians, and other queer people.”

Kara groaned, already feeling the battle slipping away. “Alex, I’m really not in the mood to go out. And I’m straight and super boring.”

Alex smirked. “Perfect. That means there’s no pressure—just a good time, no expectations.”

Kara exhaled, long and dramatic, but she knew further resistance was pointless. “One drink. That’s it. Then I’m going home.”

Alex grinned, looping an arm around her shoulders. “Sure, sure. One drink.”

And that was how Kara had ended up here, watching as Alex and Kelly were welcomed with open arms, showered in hugs, and handed drinks before they even reached the bar.

Kara had to admit, the warmth of it all made something settle in her chest. Alex had always been so guarded, always the tough one. And yet here, she had people who loved her for who she was, people who got her.

Kara hadn’t even been sitting before the teasing had started.

“Oh, Alex, you never mentioned your little sister is such a gorgeous specimen,” one of Alex’s friends had drawled, smirking at Kara over the rim of her beer.

“Such a shame you’re straight, darling,” another sighed dramatically before taking a slow sip of their cocktail.

Kara had rolled her eyes and laughed, her protests drowned out by the cheerful music and the clink of glasses.

She had been hit on a few times again after that, all in good fun, but it was never serious. And honestly? It was kind of nice to just be here, no expectations, no pressure, just people having a good time.

The party was already in full swing, laughter spilling from every corner of the bar. Alex and Kelly were somewhere near the pool table, surrounded by friends, and Kara was comfortably settled at the bar, nursing a beer. It wasn’t like she was waiting for someone.

And yet—

When she walked in, it was like someone had turned down the volume on everything else.

She wasn’t loud. She didn’t make a scene. But somehow, the moment she entered, people noticed.

Kara noticed.

She wasn’t even sure sure why.

Maybe it was the way the dark green jumpsuit hugged her frame in all the right places, or the way the sharp, thin Louboutin heels made her legs look endless. Maybe it was the way she moved through the room—smooth, effortless, knowing exactly how much space she took up and exactly how to command attention.

Or maybe it was the way her lips curled, painted deep red like something dangerous, when she laughed at something someone said.

She wasn’t in a hurry. She took her time, greeting people as she passed, her smile easy but never careless. Calculated, almost—like she knew exactly the effect she had and wielded it effortlessly.

Kara swallowed.

She wasn’t even drinking alien alcohol, and yet suddenly, she felt a little dizzy.

The woman finally reached the bar, lingering only a moment to scan the options before slipping onto one of the free barstools.

The one right next to Kara.

Kara straightened instinctively, shifting in her seat as she tried very hard to look at something—anything—other than the graceful way the woman crossed her legs, or the way her jumpsuit dipped just slightly at the neckline, revealing smooth skin and the soft, tempting curve where bare met fabric.

The bartender didn’t even ask.

“Usual?” they said, already reaching for something behind a hidden cabinet.

The woman hummed her approval, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the bar. “You always remember.”

The bartender smiled as they pulled out the bottle, a top-shelf whiskey Kara hadn’t seen them offer to anyone else. “Hard to forget.”

That earned a quiet chuckle. The bartender poured a glass of rich amber liquid and slid it across to her, no questions, no hesitation.

Kara watched as she took the glass, her fingers delicate against the crystal.

Only then did she turn, facing Kara fully for the first time, and—God.

Piercing green eyes. Sharp, clear, intentional in the way they held Kara’s gaze.

A flicker of heat curled in Kara’s stomach, unexpected and unsettling.

And then, without meaning to, she heard it.

The slow, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Kara tried to ignore it—she never focused on things like that, not in casual interactions—but for some reason, it stood out. Unhurried, unshaken. As if the brunette never let anything rattle her.

The woman smirked, tilting her glass slightly before bringing it to her lips. “So,” she mused, her voice rich and smooth, “are we the only two sober ones left?”

Kara blinked, taking a second longer than she should have to respond.

“Oh—uh, yeah. Looks like it.”

The woman’s lips twitched, eyes still on her. “Lucky me.”

Kara let out a soft breath of laughter, shifting in her seat, but her fingers tightened around her glass. Her grip could shatter it if she weren’t careful. “Yeah, well. Alcohol doesn’t really do much for me.”

That arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “That so?”

Kara nodded, forcing herself to look away, but it didn’t help. Her own pulse had picked up, and her senses—usually so easy to tune out—were suddenly locked onto her.

The faintest rustle of fabric as the woman shifted against the barstool. The warmth of her skin radiating in the small space between them. And her scent—God, her scent.

Kara had smelled thousands of scents before, cataloged them all in the back of her mind. But this one—warm and deep, something dark and spiced with a hint of vanilla—wrapped around her like a slow burn. It was intoxicating in a way nothing had ever been before.

She swallowed.

“Alien biology,” she added, clearing her throat.

Most people reacted when she said that. Usually, there was at least a blink of surprise, a brief hesitation.

The woman didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she leaned in slightly, just enough that Kara caught the soft exhale of her breath, the faintest shift in her heartbeat—just a little faster now, like she was aware of the space between them.

And then Kara saw it—so brief she might have missed it if she hadn’t been paying attention.

The woman’s pupils dilated, just a fraction, just for a second.

Her eyes flicked over Kara’s face, assessing, considering.

“Convenient,” she murmured.

Kara exhaled a quiet laugh, though it came out softer than she intended. Something about the way she said it—low and knowing—sent a shiver down her spine. “For some things.”

The woman took another slow sip of her drink, eyes lingering for just a second too long before she finally extended a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, voice like honey and smoke. “I’m Lena.”

Kara stared at the hand for half a second longer than necessary before shaking it.

The touch was steady, deliberate. Lena’s fingers were cool at first, but the heat between them rose fast, burning through Kara like a wildfire.

She almost pulled away too quickly but stopped herself at the last second.

“Kara,” she said, a little breathless.

Lena’s fingers curled slightly before she let go, as if dragging out the moment just a little longer.

And for a second, Kara swore she heard it—Lena’s heartbeat stuttering, just the faintest skip, so fleeting she wasn’t sure if it had happened at all.

“Kara,” Lena repeated then, red lips curling slightly.

And maybe it was the way she said it, slow and smooth, like she was testing how Kara’s name would sound on her tongue later.

Maybe it was the whiskey-warm rasp in her voice, or the way those sparkling eyes lingered, just long enough to make Kara wonder if she was imagining things.

Or maybe it was the way Kara’s senses—so sharp, so attuned—had locked onto her without permission, as if her own body had already decided something she wasn’t ready to admit.

But suddenly, straight felt like a label that didn’t quite fit the way it used to.

Full story here😉

[zorilleerrant]

So the differences between these two cover a lot. They are both con men. They are both autistically obsessed with their special coats. They do pay careful attention to fashion trends and tailor their appearances to the space they're trying to infiltrate, something that seemed fun and easy to them to begin with. (Altho I do get the impression Captain Jack signed up initially out of some sense of duty or protecting his fellow sapients.) They're both family men who are terrified of endangering their families. The type of guy is likely to draw the same crowd in a lot of cases. The details vary a lot.

First, erotic relationships - while Constantine sleeps around whenever he's single (or, rather, used to when he was younger), he's a serial monogamist at heart. He falls fast and deep for whoever's caught his eye this minute, even when he's trying to keep it casual. He always expects it to be long term, and his overly intense expectations inevitably cause him to fuck something up. While he's open to sexual experimentation with his current partner (orgies, etc.), he can't really handle polyamory. Captain Jack, on the other hand, is capable of understanding monogamous relationships (it probably exists as a queer identity where he's from), but he struggles to engage in one. He meets people where they are, though, and so sometimes engages in relationships that are dispreferential to him, figuring he can fill that in elsewhere.

Second, killing - Captain Jack considers himself a soldier, even when he's doing civilian things, even when he's on the run, even when he's working for a very different cause than a war. War shaped him, and war stole away his limits. He has no hesitation about killing people if it's necessary. Even when he knows them, loves them, doesn't want to hurt them: when he knows it's necessary, he simply acts. He doesn't enjoy hurting or killing people, but he does consider it a tool always available to him. Constantine is capable of killing people, but just barely. Even when he knows it's absolutely necessary, he will hunt for every other possible option, often until the time is up. He's incapable of killing a child even when he knows that child will grow up to destroy the universe. Until his life or the life of a loved one is directly threatened, he has trouble acting. Counterintuitively, this means that Captain Jack feels directly responsible for any death that he orders or obliquely causes, while Constantine in much more picky about what blood he carries on his hands.

Third, trauma - Captain Jack exists to embody heavily dramatized impossible traumas that, while they have analogy to real people's problems, exaggerate and contort them until they're safe to deal with in a fantasy context. Constantine does the opposite. Constantine's traumas are almost exclusively meant to be very real, very concrete things that happen directly to real people, and where his reactions to them are realistic, even when they involve magic (in either causing or healing the trauma). Captain Jack's bad memories are symbolic, metaphorical, allegorical. Constantine's bad memories are relatable and believable. (Both of them are direct explorations of common queer experiences, though.)

Fourth, powers - Constantine is almost entirely self-taught. While he did obtain mentors and friends to help him expand his repertoire later in his career, this was after he learned everything that was dangerous with no guidance, oversight, or support. He's often said to be a relatively weak magic user, and most of his impressive skill comes from the fact that he had to learn loopholes and exploits to do everything he ever did, from the ground up, instead of following any established pattern of magic users. That and making terrible bargains with all manner of more powerful creatures, most of whom only ever had his worst interests at heart. Captain Jack, on the other hand, was taught rigorously by many different organizations. He was considered exceptionally skilled, a prodigy even, and always enjoyed easy support from his colleagues. Everything else is from one specific accident born from love.

Fifth, self-image - Captain Jack has lots of regrets and lots of wishes, but in general, he thinks of himself as someone who's trying to do good things. He doesn't think he's the worst person just because he's not the best person, and he always strives to improve, because he believes in himself. He's suicidal mostly because he thinks it's unnatural the way he exists, and because of grief. Constantine hates everything about himself at all times. He's trying, he's desperately trying, but he doesn't think he's capable of turning himself into someone who deserves to be alive. He has all kinds of internalized bigotry that he'd be horrified if anyone else said, but believes is true about himself. He firmly believes he is the worst person who ever existed and yet he's afraid to die.

Themes Constantine focuses on that Captain Jack doesn't:

addiction

religion

sexual abuse and recovery

poverty/systemic classism

solidarity and mutual aid

footie

Themes Captain Jack focuses on that Constantine doesn't:

exile/cultural history erasure

chosen family

the ethics of coverups

the universalism of violence/the universalism of kindness

ties through time and place

workplace sex

Themes that both focus on:

grief and loss

alienation from wider culture

power and responsibility

star-crossed love

how good and evil on a grand scale interacts with the personal

monsterfucking

You seem like you would know the answer to this question, are Jack Harkness and John Constantine the Same Guy? I know they're from different things and only have the vaguest dashboard osmosis idea about either of them but the instinct is so strong. What is causing this? Help

you've osmosed them into a single slutty bisexual disaster man that doesn't mind his own business and refuses to die

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Sharing

A/N: This is my one year anniversary of writing fanfiction for Elvis! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with my posts, enjoyed reading my stories, helped me with ideas and proof-read my work. To celebrate, I've written this sequel to Dolly. It is absolutely unbridled filth, PWP, a smutfest etc.

Pairings: Dom!Elvis x Dolly!Reader

Joe x Dolly!Reader

Jerry x Dolly!Reader

Sonny x Dolly!Reader

Word count: 3.8K

TWs: Dolification, objectification, Elvis is dominant and reader is very submissive, dubcon, possessive kink, praise kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, little bit of choking, gangbang/orgy, name-calling/demeaning language, reader is fucked stupid, kind of size kink, copious amounts of cum.

You’re sitting in your bedroom, carefully brushing your long blonde hair when you hear Joe start talking to Elvis. Your door is half-open and you can sometimes hear things the guys talk about in the living room, but this seems unusually clear. 

“That little girl of yours was sounding real fun the other night.”

Your ears prick up at his mention of you and you try to lean slightly closer to the door. 

Elvis laughs. “You been listenin’?”

“Hard not to, the noise she was makin’.” That’s Jerry. You wonder how many of the guys are out there. 

“What were you doin’ to her, EP?” Sounds like Sonny, although you can’t be sure. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Elvis chuckles. 

“You uh… you ever think of sharing her, boss?” Joe asks. 

There’s a long silence, where you almost fall off your chair from leaning so close to the open door. You cross your legs and rub your thighs together a little. It’s not like you’re interested in Joe, that’s disgusting. But something about the way they are all talking about you is getting you all hot and bothered. 

“What about Joan?”

You bite your lip. Elvis hadn’t said no. 

“What about her?”

“Well, she not good enough?”

“She doesn't have a body like that. And your girl just seems so… obedient.”

Elvis snorts. “‘Course she is. She’s well-trained.”

“So whaddaya think, boss?” It sounds like Sonny again. “Any chance of, y’know, letting us find out just how obedient she is?”

There’s another long pause, and you wonder what exactly Elvis is considering. 

“Maybe.”

You actually do lean too far this time, and when you overbalance you end up dropping your hairbrush on the floor trying to catch yourself. 

“Dolly?” Elvis’ smooth baritone calls out to you. 

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Come in here a minute.”

You take a deep, steadying breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a little flushed already, just from listening to them talk about you, but your make-up is all done nicely and you had almost finished brushing your hair when he called. Smoothing it down, you stand up and check your dress is sitting where it should. Then you open the door and walk across the corridor and into the living room. As you stand in the doorway you look around, realising that you had successfully identified all of the voices, and their owners are now all looking back at you with ill-disguised lust. 

“Good girl. Come and sit on Daddy’s lap.” 

Elvis is looking particularly good today, his eyes are shining and so is his big, gold belt. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to just above his elbows, and his forearms flex as he grabs either armrest to adjust his sitting position in preparation for you following his instruction. 

You walk over slowly, realising as you start to step that you’ve forgotten to put your heels on, so you end up padding across the thickly shagged carpet in just your stockinged feet. Trying not to look at the other men as they look at you, you settle yourself onto Elvis’ lap and feel his hardness pressing against your lower back immediately. Excitement and trepidation bubble in your stomach. He really doesn’t seem like he’s going to say no to sharing you. 

“Now Dolly, the guys here have a proposition f’ya,” he tells you as his arms wrap around your waist and hold you to him tightly, his breath tickling your cheek. 

There’s an awkward silence in the room, and the men go from openly staring at you to looking nervously at their feet. 

“C’mon, guys.” Elvis’ voice is laced with irritation now, “if you want her ya have ta ask her.”

It turns out that Jerry is the brave one, though he looks up at you nervously, the mass of curls on his head bobbing as he swallows hard before finally opening his mouth. 

“We were, um… talking about you,” he begins, uncertainly. The other two nod and mumble their agreement, encouraging him to continue. “And um… you’re real pretty and you made some er… real pretty noises the other night.” Jerry is blushing now and you think it makes him look kinda cute. 

“And?” Elvis snaps, when the silence after Jerry’s last sentence stretches out for a few minutes. 

“And we want to know just how much of a dolly you really are, Dolly,” Joe announces. 

You frown. “Oh, Joe. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, tilting your head to one side and biting the side of your thumb. You even bat your fake eyelashes for the full effect. 

“H-he… um…” Jerry starts up again, looking for all the world like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him. “He wants to know if you’d like to have a little fun with us…” When your facial expression doesn’t change from the exaggerated look of confusion you’d given Joe earlier, Jerry continues. “Like… with our clothes off. Y’know. Would ya like to please us like you please Elvis?” Jerry lets out a big sigh at the end of the sentence, as if he’s just said the most difficult thing ever. 

“Oh!” You exclaim, putting a hand to either side of your face and making Elvis chuckle. “But Joe, what about your wife?” The question makes Elvis chuckle all the more. 

Joe clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Well. This would just be a one-time thing you know. We wouldn’t need to tell her. Just our little secret, isn’t that right, boss?”

Elvis holds both hands up. “Nothin’ ta do with me, she’s your wife.”

His hands go back to your waist and you lean your head back against his chest a little. Rewarding you with a kiss to the temple, he looks around the room at the three men. 

“Think we need some ground rules ‘fore we start.”

“I didn’t say yes!” You find yourself squeaking, sitting upright again in shock. 

Another, darker chuckle. “I wanted the guys to ask ya ta be polite. Not ‘cause I wanted yer opinion, Dolly.” Pressing his nose against your face, he kisses your cheek. “Yer jus’ my little doll, ‘member. No opinions of yer own.”

You nod, realisation slowly dawning that you’re in a room with four men who can do whatever they want with you. His lips trail down your neck until his teeth find your collarbone, nibbling it a little before moving off you entirely and looking back at the rest of the room. 

“Ground rules,” he reiterates. “She’s my little Dolly. So if I say stop, ya stop, okay?” The three men nod and mumble, “yes boss,” and “yes EP”. “Good,” he replies. “This pretty mouth,” he squeezes your cheeks to make you pout, “and this pretty pussy,” his hand moves to pull your legs apart and give the assembled group a good view of your panties, “are fair game. Her asshole’s mine. So don’t even think about it.”

Elvis waits for all three of them to affirm what he’s just said before continuing. You squirm in his lap under the weight of their gazes, all three trained right between your legs. 

“And one more fer you, darlin’,” he coos, turning your head to look at him. “No more thoughts from now on, sweetheart. Want ya ta be a perfect little doll for me and my friends.”

Looking into those bright blue eyes you nod slowly, but you’re not sure. Of course you trust Elvis, but there are a lot of big strong men in this room. Men who could easily overpower you and outnumber him too. Your lower lip wobbles a little. The hand that’s currently cupping your cheek holds it a little more firmly as he looks back at you, seeming to try and see right into the brain you’re supposed to be emptying of thoughts right now. 

“Daddy will take care a ya,” he murmurs, eyes flicking over your face, searching for clues. “I won’t let anyone hurt ya, sweetheart.”

The tenderness in his voice almost has you undone without any need for him to touch you. A whimper escapes your lips and your arms go around his neck as he kisses you lovingly. Your little audience all seem to sigh in unison. 

“Okay?” He asks, as he pulls back, running a thumb over your plush lips. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you reply, your earlier nervousness bubbling over into excitement again. 

“Good girl.”

You squeeze your thighs together at the praise and as you turn back towards the room you realise everyone saw you do it. You blush and bat your eyelids again, eliciting something that sounds a lot like a moan from Jerry. 

Elvis’ hand sweeps up your thigh, pushing the material of your skirt with it, showing your panties to the room properly this time. Joe is the first to obviously touch himself through his pants but it’s not long before the other two join him, especially when Elvis points out the damp patch you’ve made on your pretty pink panties. 

“She’s filthy, EP.”

Elvis chuckles, softly. “She jus’ likes doin’ as she’s told, don’tcha, Dolly?” 

“Yes, Daddy.”

He slips your panties off and throws them at Sonny, clearly seeing the hungry look on the brunette’s face. You smile at the way he almost jumps when they land in his lap, his attention being completely captured by your bare pussy. Quickly recovering a second or so later, he balls them up and stuffs them into his pocket. 

Elvis kisses your neck as he pulls your legs apart, putting you on display for the other men. The cool air of the room hits your open pussy and you moan a little, feeling his fingers digging into your thighs and desperately wanting him to touch you. 

“That’s a nice pussy, man,” Sonny declares, sounding a little drunk on just looking at it. 

“C-can we… uh… see her tits?” You’re surprised to hear such a vulgar word from Jerry, but the way he stumbles over the words makes him seem cute again. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and pushes you into a more upright position so he can pull the top of your dress down, exposing your pretty pink bra. Jerry groans. Elvis’ fingers slip underneath the straps and slide them over your shoulders, and then he’s pulling your bra down too. The cool air hits your nipples and they stand erect. You’ve never felt so looked at before, and part of you wants to run away, but the other part is bathing in the attention. 

“C-can she come o-over here with those tits?” 

Elvis laughs. “Ya like her tits, Jer?”

The mass of curls bobs up and down as the younger man nods his head. “God, they’re perfect.” His eyes are like saucers and they’re trained on your nipples. 

“Go on, Dolly. Go and see Jerry.”

He gently pushes you off his lap and onto your feet, and you make your way over to Jerry, who spreads his legs wide as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his dick. You watch him stroke himself as he tells you, a little nervously, to kneel down in front of him. Still stroking, he fondles your breasts with his other hand, letting out a little hum of appreciation. 

“Push ‘em together, honey,” he instructs, and you do. “That’s right. Oh God,” he mumbles, still touching himself as he stares at them. “Can I just… E? Can I put my dick between them?”

“Sure,” Elvis replies, and you think you hear the sound of his belt clinking. 

Unclasping your bra and removing it, Jerry rearranges you and him so that his dick is between your breasts, then pushes them together again himself. He groans as he starts to move, sliding up and down as best he can. It's obvious he’s getting very excited, you can tell from his flushed face and the cuss words falling from his lips, but he’s not about to finish any time soon and the other men quickly become frustrated. 

“C’mon Jer, I need this pussy,” Sonny grumbles, from the other side of the room. 

“Yeah Jerry, you’re hogging her,” Joe joins in. 

Jerry sighs and stops what he’s doing. “Alright. Who’s next?”

“I said first,” Sonny replies. 

You turn to look at them and see Joe about to open his mouth to say something, no doubt in an attempt to contradict the other man, and then they’re both silenced by Elvis. 

“She’s my girl. She’s comin’ to me.”

You settle between Elvis’ legs as he guides your mouth over his dick, holding your hair and bobbing your head on him, gradually helping you take more and more until your nose is buried in his pubic hair and you’re gagging. He holds you there until your throat relaxes, and then starts to thrust. Your eyes water a little, but you can hear the appreciative sounds in the room and they spur you on. Gasping for air when he finally pulls you off again, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, worshipfully. 

“Good girl,” he affirms, then looks up. “Who wants her?”

Sonny manages to speak before Joe again, so Elvis instructs you to go to him, on your hands and knees this time. He’s taken your dress off properly, so you’re naked apart from your stockings, and he gives your ass a low whistle as it moves away from him. You eagerly take Sonny all the way in, he’s a little smaller than Elvis so you don’t choke so much when he starts to fuck your throat. 

“Oh God. She’s so pretty, EP. So pretty choking on my damn cock.”

Your eyes are watering again and you can tell Sonny likes it. There’s probably mascara running down your cheeks too. 

“Please tell me I can fuck her.”

There’s a low growl in the back of Elvis’ throat, something protective that makes you somehow even wetter. “Not yet. Give her to Joe.”

Crawling over to Joe, you’re relieved he’s even smaller again, and taking him is no trouble at all. You’re so engrossed in the blow job that you don’t notice the other guys getting closer, and then suddenly you find yourself on your back in the middle of the room, Elvis pushing inside your pussy and Sonny back in your mouth. Jerry kneels on one side of you, stroking himself as he looks down at your body, and Joe is still where he was, on the sofa. 

Elvis’ dick stretches you, making you moan around Sonny, but you’re so wet he slips in and out easily anyway. 

“She loves it,” Sonny declares. “Such a pretty little cockslut you’ve got here, E. Such a perfect little whore.”

You moan again around his dick and he slaps your tits. 

“Such a good little lovin’ doll,” Elvis coos, holding your thighs as he slams into you. 

They keep going in that arrangement for a while, but then after some more complaining from Sonny, shift so that he’s inside you now, and Jerry is in your mouth, his big fat balls slapping against your forehead. Sonny is as sadistic with your pussy as he was with your mouth, jackhammering into you in a way that isn’t exactly pleasurable. After that, Joe comes as a blessed relief. You don’t like him much, and you definitely don’t find him attractive, but he fucks you kind of gently and for a moment or two you don’t have a dick in your mouth and you find yourself moaning and arching your back. 

“Is she gonna cum? Joe, you’re makin’ her cum!” Sonny is clearly shocked at the turn of events, and to be honest so are you, but something about the slightly twisted up position he’s got you in is hitting the right spot and Sonny is right, Joe is making you cum. 

“Ohhhh. Ohhhhh.” You moan, eyelashes fluttering as your orgasm washes over you. 

“Let me go again. I wanna make her squirt. I bet I can make her squirt.”

“No, Sonny,” Elvis’ voice is deep and firm and brooks no argument. “It’s Jerry’s turn. Let him try.”

The angle Jerry was at when he tried to fuck your mouth earlier meant you couldn't fit much in, so you don’t realise quite how big it is until he starts to push inside your pussy. And then you really realise, when you look down and see the bulge it’s making in your stomach, the other guys whooping and cheering about it. Jerry is big enough to hit your g-spot easily, and he’s thick enough to make your head flop back and your eyes close, and you to just generally lose a good portion of your grip on reality. 

“She’s cock-drunk.”

“Look at her, Jerry. You’re fucking her stupid.”

“God, she’s perfect,” the hushed, reverential tone is Jerry, and you try to peel your eyes open again to look at him. “Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

You manage something between a moan and a whimper, and then you feel it. Your second orgasm, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to explode. Jerry obviously feels it too, his thumb starting to rub your clit as he picks up speed, fucking you so hard Elvis has to hold you in place by pushing down on your shoulders. You’re sure your guts are going to be completely rearranged by the end of this. 

“C’mon Dolly, cum for me. I can feel ya gripping me, honey. You can do it.”

Jerry’s praise tips you over the edge and suddenly you’re screaming and squirting and flailing about on the carpet. You can hear all the men groaning and then you feel yourself suddenly empty, Jerry is cussing and then he’s moaning as you feel something splattering over your chest. Unable to manage to open your eyes again, it seems like you're floating as you feel the next dick inside you, somehow recognising it as Elvis’. More wetness on your belly, and what sounds like Joe moaning out your name.

“I wanna cum on her face.”

You finally manage to open one eye to see Sonny kneeling over you. 

“Alright, man.”

“Eyes open, honey. Look at me.”

You do as you’re told, watching as Sonny beats himself off, groaning until cum starts shooting out of his dick, all over your face. You close your eyes again at the crucial moment, but when you reopen them you’re conscious of the wetness beading on your lashes, like raindrops.

“Fuck. You look so pretty with my cum on your eyelashes. Perfect little slut.”

You bat them a little, unable to help yourself trying to look cute even with the state you’re in now. Elvis thrusts inside you a few more times and then pulls out, stroking himself until he cums on your pussy. He groans as he paints you with his release, and you suddenly realise how much of a mess you are, the cum of four men all over you. You bite your lip. You really are a slut. You start to smile, thinking about it, thinking about just how much fun being told what to do was, how much you enjoy switching your brain off and doing what other people want you to. 

Elvis kisses your knee, gently. “Thanks, baby,” he whispers. Then he looks up at the other guys, expectantly. 

“Yeah, thanks Princess,” Joe joins in, tucking himself away and sitting back up on the sofa. “That felt really good.”

Jerry looks down at you with soft, loving eyes. “Thanks Dolly. You were perfect.”

Sonny coughs and looks a bit awkward, like someone suddenly realising how they’d been acting when they were horny and now feeling kind of embarrassed. 

“Thanks honey. Sorry about your um… face.”

You can’t help giggling a little, and you look over at Elvis who nods his approval. You can stop just being an obedient doll now. 

“It’s okay, Sonny. I had fun.”

Sonny rubs his face with his hand and nods, still looking awkward, before getting up and mumbling something about going for a drive. Jerry gets up from his kneeling position too, suggesting he and Joe go out and get some dinner for everyone. Joe looks very much like he’s about to say he’d rather just stay right where he is, but Jerry’s head tilting to the left and his eyes widening must finally give the clue that he’s trying to suggest they clear out and give you and Elvis some privacy. 

Then it's just the two of you, and he scoops you up in his arms and carries you into the bathroom, helping you into the shower and then getting in with you and cleaning you up. You stand there in shock as he dries you gently with a big fluffy towel, and then swathes you in pyjamas and a robe, waiting as you push your sooties into soft pink slippers. 

“Come to my room, Dolly.” 

You’re not often allowed in Elvis’ room, it’s his sanctuary, he likes to repair to it when things get too much for him. Even in the LA house it’s much more decadent than the other bedrooms, and it’s darker than yours, all purple and gold. It’s also freezing, and you shiver as soon as you step through the door. He holds you to him for a moment, humming softly as his body heat warms you, and then helps you into his big brass bed. Settling you into the comforters and pillows, he gets in next to you and shows you the controls for the electric blanket. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking up at him through your normal lashes. Those falsies had gone straight in the trash. 

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and kisses you softly. “Y’okay?”

You nod quickly. “I’m good.” Moving your legs a little, you squint. “Pussy’s a little sore.” 

“Mmm.” He kisses you again. “Ya were so good, Dolly. Such a good little girl for me.”

One of your hands rests gently on the back of his neck. “I um… I liked it.” You look down, biting your lip a little. “I shouldn’t, should I?”

His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up so you have to look at him again. “I’m glad ya liked it,” he murmurs, conspiratorially. “Though I hope ya didn’t like any of the guys more ‘an ya like me…”

Your heart leaps in your chest. You’ve never known him to be this vulnerable. “I could never, Da- Elvis. I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand envelopes your whole cheek as he pulls you in close for a proper kiss. “My precious, perfect little doll.”

***

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[ariadne-mouse]

For the "I wish you would write a fic where…" I don't know if this counts because it's not a new fic, but:

"Was? Essek? I thought you were out of town?"

Caleb wakes up with obsidian flakes of a'a in his hair and and no memory of the last few years. His very-new boyfriend has adopted his cat, there's a court case for his attemped murder, and he might have been a ghost?

A followup to The Fire Kept Closest, from Caleb's POV, filling in the timejump to the epilogue.

Thank you for the ask! It took me a minute to get to this ask game, but here we are. I am not writing exactly to the prompt, but I hope you like this 830-word slice of post-fic Volcaleb nonetheless!

-

"I would like to go, I think."

Essek paused where he had just gathered a scoop of cat kibble. The awaiting dish lay on the floor, empty. "Are you sure?"

"Ja," Caleb answered. He folded the local newspaper he had been reading in half, the headline visible: Corporate Clash: Cerberus takes the stand. "I know it's best my situation stays out of the spotlight, at least for now, but I want him to see me. To see my face, and know that I know." His expression darkened. "I want him to sweat."

At Essek's feet, Frumpkin yowled his impatience, unaware of corporations, or bureaucracy, or indeed the significance of newspapers beyond the fact that they were sometimes fun to sit on.

"Calm down, calm down," Essek tutted, and gave the beast his meal. He smoothed a hand down Frumpkin's back, thinking. "I'll go with you, if you really want to go."

Caleb smiled grimly. "Danke. I would like that. But I have an idea, also - you can help."

-

Vence Nuthaleus cleaned up well in a suit, and he knew it. It was unfortunate that the volcano on Rumblecusp had popped its top as soon as it had, but he was still safely ensconced in respectability - and more importantly, plausible deniability. Research was only as good as records available, and his land use recommendation report had been scientifically sound with the data from the island's active seismometer network.

It didn't even alarm him that he was playing a kind of mutually assured destruction game with Cerberus. They wanted to publicly shed him as a "bad actor", especially convenient given his contractor status - but if they did, he'd reveal they had been the ones to disconnect the last seismometer. He had enough leverage in writing to make the accusation compelling, and they knew it. The thing they might most want to pin on him... well, they didn't have any evidence of that. All told, it was in Cerberus's best interest to protect him. And so he wore his most approachable suit, and a polite smile, and answered questions as earnestly as he could when he was on the stand. Mardoon Estate only wanted money, after all, and Cerberus certainly had plenty of that. Vence didn't need to be scapegoat for it all to work out eventually.

The courtroom around him was full for the spectacle. The door creaked open every so often as the gawkers and media came and went, like bees buzzing on a hive. He sometimes saw familiar faces from the island: Dr. Vilya, Beauregard, Thelyss. Today the last of these was sitting in one of the back rows by himself, glaring at Vence like he always did when he was there. Too bad; being a stuck-up trust fund baby wouldn't help Thelyss here.

It was some minutes before Vence's attention was drawn by a spot in the standing room in the back that had not moved at all for some time. Even as his mouth answered the current question on autopilot, his eyes were drawn to look at the vacuum of stillness.

A dead man was looking back at him.

Vence's words curdled in his throat, choking his breath.

He was there. Caleb Widogast was there, standing among the throng.

"Mr. Nuthaleus?" prompted the examiner.

"I... I..."

The ghost - it could only be a ghost - stared at him with those eerie blue eyes, unblinking. He was dressed like he had been, for a hike on the mountain. There was even a lightweight heatsuit half-zipped and tied around his waist.

He looked exactly like he had when he had died. When--

Vence couldn't pull his gaze away. "Could- could you repeat the question?"

The examiner repeated it, and again Vence did not hear.

Nearby, Thelyss was standing up. He favored Vence with a last look of contempt before making for the double doors. The crowd parted to let him pass, but Widogast did not move. And Thelyss... walked right past him, like he wasn't there.

A chill rolled down Vence's spine and his breathing came faster. He could hear a ringing noise, his vision was narrowing.

With effort, he turned a smile to the judge. "I'm sorry, I think I need a moment."

When he turned back, Caleb Widogast was gone.

-

Outside in the hallway, Essek leaned on the wall next to Caleb, who sat heavily on a bench. The heat suit was stuffed back into a bag.

"Feel any better?"

A muscle in Caleb's face twitched, and his hand balled in a fist. "A little. I don't know. Seeing him-" His breath left him in a gust. "It was harder than I expected."

Essek touched his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  "Come, then. Let's go. We can learn what happened later. Frumpkin is waiting for you at home."

This last tactic was always a surefire way to bring a little smile back to Caleb's face, and it proved to be so now.

“Ja,” Caleb agreed, straightening up.  “Let’s go home.”

[kingcenred]

Already, the delightful noises Mal was making was enough to send another jolt of arousal through him; it was a test of his control not to just take him there and then, particularly when he felt Mal's fingers running through his hair. But it was so much more fun going slower, to savour his body, even if it teased him almost as much as it teased his boyfriend.

Smirking at the way Mal was already squirming beneath him, he continued to softly swipe his tongue over the very tip of his boyfriend's throbbing cock. "So impatient," he playfully accused, as he left open-mouthed kisses along his length. With deliberate eye contact, he finally took him fully into his mouth - humming appreciatively at his taste. Fuck, he'd missed this. Had it really only been a week?

He reached down between them, having suddenly remembered the promised surprise, and his fingers brushed against the base of the plug that was nestled deeply inside him. Groaning around Mal's length, he slowly - teasingly - pulled the toy part of the way out, before pressing it back in again.

"Jesus," he murmured, as he replaced his mouth with his free hand - stroking him languidly. "I could pull this toy out and fuck you right away. You're all stretched and ready for me, aren't you?"

It was hard not to get a thrill out of being able to torment Cenred with the mere idea of an illicit little shopping spree, and happy to have planted the idea in his head Mal leaned eagerly into the kiss, a soft, breathless laugh slipping free as the other man kissed away his playful pout. He couldn’t help but be struck by just how easy things felt whenever they were together, how the banter and that sensual give-and-take simply felt natural; in hindsight Mal wasn’t sure he’d ever smiled quite so much with someone, both in bed and out of it.

Before he could insist that he most definitely wouldn’t have any qualms with the other man ripping off his underwear if he saw fit Mal found himself abruptly unseated from Cenred’s lap, gasping as he found himself sprawled out on his back across the sofa, sinking into the plush, velvety cushions with the king looming above him, not quite able to keep his moan at bay at being so effortlessly manhandled as that eager mouth began to scatter kisses across rosy, freckled skin. The urge to touch was irresistible, his own hands roaming Cenred’s back and shoulders, fingers dragging through his dark, tousled hair as he scattered kisses lower and lower still, even the feeling of his hot breath fanning across sensitive, aching flesh enough to make him twitch and whine.

When he finally did feel the feather-light brush of his lips Mal was helpless but to arch into it, a soft, needy sound punched out of him as he squirmed beneath Cenred’s mouth. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore just how long he’d been waiting for him now, all the more so with the king’s little gift nestled snugly inside him, and it took almost every ounce of willpower he still possessed not to just beg him to fuck him right then and there.