#not actually called apology dance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

createserenity · 10 months ago

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I have two more half written metas that go with this and I really should sort out getting them finished and posted.

Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship dynamic fascinates me and what fascinates me even more is how people perceive them, partly because I seem to have a much more optimistic view of their dynamic than a lot of what I read suggests they do.

With that in mind I started trying to unpick how I see their dynamic and why and what I ended up with was a series of rambles on various aspects, including confidence, trust, silliness and what they ask of each other. This one is about what they ask of each other and why their relationship isn't some weird one-sided thing where Crowley gives Aziraphale everything he could possibly want or ask for.

I see a lot of posts and things suggesting Crowley always rolls over and does anything Aziraphale asks of him. I don’t know to what extent most people really believe this or if it’s just a fun joke (and I’m not saying that’s bad, I think it’s a fun joke too, I love reading all that stuff and it makes me laugh). The point I wanted to make here though is that I don’t think it’s true and also why I don’t think it’s true.

Everything from here on out is my opinion, but I won’t keep stating that in order to make it more easily readable, just take it as a given. If your opinion is different that’s absolutely fine, I love that we can all see this stuff in different ways depending on our experiences and personalities, it’s why the fandom is so fun. (It’s also why my opinion on so many things in season two ricochets wildly from one theory to another).

So back to Crowley and Aziraphale – I don’t think Aziraphale walks all over Crowley, or certainly not to the extent that people sometimes think he does. Also Crowley doesn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to be walked all over anyway. Why is this even relevant? Because I’ve seen people say that in the final 15 minutes Aziraphale finally asked Crowley to do something that pushed him over the edge and that Aziraphale was shocked when Crowley didn’t roll over and do it because Crowley always does what Aziraphale asks. This isn’t at all true for a start, but also this view tends to include a second assumption, which is that their relationship is one-sided and Aziraphale never does anything for Crowley, that he dismisses him and takes him for granted, which also is not true in a lot of ways. I think it’s a fundamental misinterpretation of their relationship dynamic.

First of all why can Crowley’s actions be interpreted as just rolling over and doing whatever Aziraphale wants? Well, the answer to that is three-fold – firstly Crowley is a genuinely unselfish in many ways, he does things for people because that’s the way he is, it doesn’t make him a pushover, it just makes him nice. Secondly he loves Aziraphale deeply. Whether he knows it or not doesn’t matter, he cares for Aziraphale and wants him to be happy. This isn’t the same as being a complete doormat, it’s simply compromising with the person you are in a relationship with and occasionally prioritising them over yourself. Both these things come together in the third thing, which is that Crowley’s love language is acts of service – he enjoys doing nice things for Aziraphale, he enjoys rescuing him, or going along with him and letting him have his own way, so why not do it? The point is he’s never railroaded into it by Aziraphale, it’s always a deliberate choice. He is literally saying, I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

How does Aziraphale see this behaviour?

Well that’s a tricky one, because in many ways Aziraphale is the more complex character, not least because he changes the most over the course of their history together. Is there a slight element of him taking Crowley for granted in some of their interactions, especially in season two? Possibly, but mostly I don’t think that’s it at all. When someone gives you things because their love language is acts of service you develop a (mostly sub-conscious) confidence in that relationship dynamic and if you also have confidence in yourself (which Aziraphale absolutely does – I’ll write more on this another time) then when you want something you ask for things. You ask not because you learn to expect, but because you think you’re worthy of asking and you think that your relationship is strong enough to stand up to the ask. I ask my husband for things all the time, sometimes they’re things I know he’ll give me – these are easy asks (I don’t just mean physical objects, I also mean acts of service such as helping me with something), sometimes though I’ll ask for things knowing he probably won’t give me that thing or without having a clue what his answer will be – these are harder asks, the sort you don’t do early on in relationships because they might break it either in one go or over time. Sometimes a hard ask results in me getting what I want, sometimes it results in a bit of back and forth before I get what I want, sometimes I get a no and I’m temporarily annoyed or upset, sometimes I get a no and I accept it because I knew it was the most likely outcome.

The point is that I ask, and so does Aziraphale. You ask because you have confidence that you are worthy of the ask and also that your relationship is strong enough to bear the request, even if the answer is no. Can a no still be annoying or upsetting? Yes absolutely. Can a no still be wrong on the part of the other person? Also yes. The point is that sometimes the no isn’t wrong and it doesn’t necessarily break the relationship. By the time season two comes along Aziraphale is confident enough in his relationship with Crowley to feel it can bear the weight of him asking.

So what happens when he asks? Does Crowley roll over?

Well no, he doesn’t. One big example of this is right at the beginning of the series, in episode one. Here Aziraphale makes a massive ask of Crowley and he knows it’s a big ask. Even before he tells Crowley what the problem is he’s aware of the possibility of a no. “Is it something I can help you with?” Crowley sayss, and Aziraphale merely shrugs. It’s not because Nina is there, she’s gone by that point. It’s also not because he doesn’t have faith in Crowley’s ability to help him, he always has faith in Crowley’s abilities (this is a whole other thing on trust). What he’s doubting is whether Crowley will help him. It’s why they’re meeting in the café, not the bookshop. He wants to break this one to Crowley a bit at a time – there’s a problem and I need help. I want your help, it’s why I called you, but you aren’t going to like it and I’m not even sure whether you will help so I’m establishing that I need help first, rather than showing you Gabriel immediately, so that you aren’t completely surprised when I present the whole problem to you.

Once they go to the bookshop and Crowley is confronted with Gabriel he offers the help he feels able to give by saying that he’ll drive Gabriel somewhere and dump him. He’s stating his willingness to help (which is important later), but for now he’ll only help in one specific way. What he isn’t willing to do is any more than that, not even for Aziraphale.

Help me take care of Gabriel. Help me sort this mess out, Aziraphale says, and what does Crowley say? No. Absolutely not. You’re on your own with this one. Even after Aziraphale practically begs him for help, complete with puppy dog eyes and the magic word, “I’d love you to help me,” Crowley still says no. That is not the reply of someone who lets themselves be walked all over or who rolls over every time the angel they’re in love with flutters their eyelashes.

Okay so what about the fact that he returns? Well, the stakes have been raised: for a start Aziraphale is now directly in danger, which alters the balance in favour of helping him, and remember he was already willing to help, he said as much, but he was previously only willing to help in one way. Now that’s changed. Doing things you wouldn’t normally do for someone you love when the stakes are raised is a perfectly normal rection in a relationship and does not indicate an unhealthy dynamic. Crowley has now realised that getting rid of Gabriel is no longer an option - his preferred plan (dumping Gabriel somewhere) will no longer work, so the only choice is now Aziraphale’s plan of keeping him in the bookshop and taking care of him.

This is why he returns.

A quick note on the call

Just backtracking a bit here – when Aziraphale calls Crowley to ask him for help Crowley agrees to be over in two minutes. It’s instant, no questions asked and at first glance looks like Aziraphale calls and Crowley comes running just because. But nope. Later we are very clearly told that Crowley knows something is wrong the moment he picks up the phone and Aziraphale starts speaking, “This was your ‘Something’s Wrong’ voice.” Crowley already knows there’s a problem and what do you do when your closest friend calls you and tells you about a problem? You try to help. Whether that’s advice, comfort, physically going around to help out or whatever the situation calls for. Of course Crowley says he’ll be there in two minutes, he doesn’t exactly have anything else on and his friend has just indirectly told him something is wrong. He’d be a pretty shitty person/entity if he didn’t agree to drop round and try to help.

So what about the apology dance?

This whole interaction, that many people say indicates how under the thumb he is actually shows us the exact opposite. What’s the first thing Crowley says when Aziraphale asks him to do the dance? “I don’t do the dance.” This tells us a hell of a lot about their relationship dynamic up to this point – for a start Aziraphale has clearly done the dance before, at Crowley’s request, and he lists off the occasions. The dance is silly and slightly demeaning and Aziraphale has done it several times for Crowley, whilst Crowley has never done it, yet somehow we read this whole scene as Crowley being the whipped one? Um. No. Also heavily implied in Crowley’s, “I don’t do the dance” statement is, You’ve asked me to do this before, I’ve always said no because I don’t want to. You’ve always accepted my no before and I want (expect!) you to accept it this time.

But this time Aziraphale doesn’t accept the no. Just like Crowley wouldn’t go along with his plan earlier, Aziraphale now won’t go along with Crowley’s no. Clearly he has done so in the past, but this time their dynamics are different. They’ve been much more open about their friendship for the past four years, they’ve both accepted that they are at least close friends, if not more. They’ve saved the world together and saved each other. They both acknowledge they “carved (this existence) out for ourselves” and that brings strength to their relationship. Now that Aziraphale has more confidence in what they are to each other, he takes that confidence and tests the limits of what Crowley will do for him, to push them more towards equality. Why should he always be the one to do the dance? Crowley responds by acquiescing not because he would just roll over and do anything for Aziraphale but because he recognises three things. Firstly that Aziraphale is pushing and that this is new and that this means something to him in the context of their relationship, secondly because he reluctantly accepts Aziraphale’s point that it isn’t really fair that he never does it, and finally because the request for him to do the dance isn’t about him refusing to help (Aziraphale was never certain he would), it’s about the fact that he’s broken Aziraphale’s trust by refusing to help (which is a slightly and very subtly different thing). To illustrate this, right before Crowley does the dance, just after he says “fine,” he gets this very brief, soft look on his face – this is him acknowledging to himself that Aziraphale deserves this dance, that he loves the angel and that he’s doing this because of both those things – he could have continued to insist on a no, he clearly has before, but this time he chooses not to.

I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

All right, what about the car thing?

What about it? Lending your car to the person you love is very normal. Ok so the car means more to Crowley than a normal car does to us, but the point still stands. Aziraphale is making a reasonable request here. Does he expect a yes? Absolutely, because he also knows it’s a reasonable request given where their relationship is. Does he flirt to get his own way? Hell, yes. Does Crowley know exactly what Aziraphale is playing at? Also a hell yes. And Crowley totally plays up to it, he’s not as opposed to it as he claims. He’s playing up his “no” and his grumpiness for effect, to encourage Aziraphale’s silly flirtiness. Look at the difference between this no and the no he gave Aziraphale earlier. There’s no anger here, there’s no real sense that he thinks Aziraphale is asking too much, he’s playing a role in their relationship and they’ve both played this game before. Look at that little slap of the hand, which Aziraphale responds to equally playfully. The game even continues after Muriel turns up at the shop, when it’s already quite clear that Crowley is going to let Aziraphale use the car (he’s already taking the plants out). Even in the back-room Crowley still teasingly grumbles about trains whilst Aziraphale smiles flirtily, and Crowley playfully withholds the car keys when Muriel interrupts them. They both know Aziraphale is going to end up with them, there’s no point to him not directly handing them over in spite of the interruption, it’s just an excuse to tease Aziraphale back. I mean, look at him – he spends the rest of the conversation wiggling his hips, grinning smugly and confidently handling the Muriel problem by talking about love. Aziraphale’s very overt reaction tells you all you need to know about the dynamic of this one.

Two can play at this flirting game, angel.

But he follows him around like a little puppy!

Well, yes and no. Sure he follows him around whilst he goes around asking all the shopkeepers to the meeting, but he does that because it’s fun for him. He’s curious, Aziraphale is acting oddly, doing something he’s never done before and Crowley wants to know what it is. He’s always found him fascinating – what silly and ridiculous thing is the angel up to now?

Also wanting to hang out with the person you are in love with isn’t at all strange or a sign you are in some sort of weird relationship where only one of you calls the shots. It’s normal. Crowley knows Aziraphale has a tendency to be silly or do unexpected things and he wants to watch him do them and also flirt with him whilst he’s doing them. Looking grumpy and reacting to Aziraphale’s silliness with disbelief is how Crowley flirts-without-flirting. Both of them know, understand and like that dynamic, and he has that role not because he’s unhealthy levels enthralled with everything Aziraphale does but because of the levels of trust they have spent millennia establishing.

What Crowley doesn’t do is wait around for Aziraphale. Look at the scene where Aziraphale daydreams about Job. In that scene he’s aware Aziraphale has something else to show him (the record clue), but he doesn’t stick around whilst Aziraphale ignores him. He could have sat down somewhere in the shop and waited – he’s got an eternity, waiting an hour or so is no big deal, but waiting around like that would suggest he really is a doormat, just waiting for the next time Aziraphale shows him any attention. He doesn’t do that, instead he goes off and does… well, something. There’s a lot of speculation over what it is, but whether he goes off to read Pride and Prejudice or just wanders off to find something more interesting to look at than the back of Aziraphale’s head, he’s clearly saying here that he has a life outside of whatever Aziraphale wants to do.

Also side note - you know what else he doesn’t do for Aziraphale? Adjust his driving style. Aziraphale clearly hates it, it makes him nervous and he even asks Crowley to change several times whilst they’re in the car together, but Crowley never does. This is how I am angel, accept it or don’t, but this is the line and I’m not changing this for you. Related to this is his refusal to accept Aziraphale altering the Bentley. Aziraphale tries to persuade him, “But it’s pretty,” and Crowley really isn’t having it. It’s another hard line and he’s not going to let Aziraphale cross it.

Anything else?

There’s a few other examples that I’ve seen listed in the, “Crowley does whatever Aziraphale says/wants” evidence piles. Things like Aziraphale assuming he’s going to get the drinks in the pub. Well, someone has to get them, and it makes perfect sense that they both assume it’s Crowley here because he’s the one more comfortable with pubs. Having a role that you take on within certain situations in a relationship is healthy and normal, imagine how exhausting it would be to debate who is going to do every little thing all of the time.

In the first series the coat cleaning is another example often cited, but this is something Crowley is perfectly happy to do. Aziraphale is flirting, which is delightful, and he’s not being asked to do anything difficult or dangerous. I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you, which is totally different from, you always ask, I always give, and you always take.

What about Aziraphale. When does he give?

All the damn time. We just don’t notice it as much because Crowley asks different things of him. His love language is acts of service towards others, but he doesn’t really ask or require them in return. Sometimes he gets them from Aziraphale anyway (Holy water anyone?) Also notably in the Globe Theatre when he’s clearly the one pushing the Arrangement, and Aziraphale more or less agrees to do his work for him (“That doesn’t sound like hard work”) even before he’s asked, before they’ve gone through their little dance of Crowley pushing and Aziraphale supposedly-reluctantly agreeing.

The other things Aziraphale gives Crowley are much more nuanced, and much less measurable to us as the audience, but he gives them constantly, or more or less constantly, throughout their relationship. He gives him acceptance (although he occasionally partially withdraws it, such as in the bandstand scene), his silliness (which is more important than it first appears), a safe space (not just the bookshop, but also a safe space for Crowley to air his real views without fear of consequence, which is important irrespective of whether or not he persuades Aziraphale to agree with him), his physicality (by 1826 he’s really in Crowley’s space so much of the time) and most importantly he gives Crowley himself. Crowley constantly pushes Aziraphale to grow as a person, it’s one of the original reasons he entertains developing a friendship with him. What he asks of Aziraphale is for Aziraphale to think – really think – about what he believes. And Aziraphale does so, but only for Crowley. Humans have constantly questioned religious beliefs throughout history, they’ve written books, made speeches and even had wars over religious doctrine and the problems, inconsistencies and absurdities within it. Crowley is saying nothing to Aziraphale that he won’t already have indirectly heard from humans and dismissed or ignored. But when Crowley says it, he thinks and he changes. That’s what Crowley asks of Aziraphale and it’s what Aziraphale gives him.

What was the point of all this waffle?

Well, honestly there isn’t much of one. Only that their relationship is much more balanced than some suggest and I think I just wanted to spell that out. It also has an implication for the final 15 minutes. There’s no way Aziraphale goes into that with some sort of fake confidence that he can persuade Crowley to follow him to heaven simply because Crowley always follows him – Crowley doesn’t, he has very clear limits that he enforces with Aziraphale and Aziraphale knows this. He might feel confident for other reasons (such as thinking Crowley will be happy to be an angel again) or something else entirely different might be happening (so many theories!) but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to do with thinking Crowley always does what he asks, because he very clearly doesn’t.

It's also why Crowley waits around afterwards to watch Aziraphale leave. It’s a way indirectly of saying one final time, I love you and I enjoy making you happy… but this is something I cannot give to you.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable fandom #crowley #aziraphale #relationship dynamics #what they give to each other #apology dance #it's actually called the 'I was wrong' dance but I'm not sure that has a tag #i was wrong dance #oh look it does #acts of service #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale

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fushiguho · 1 month ago

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You Have a New Match ☆ Toji Fushiguro

☆ SYNOPSIS After several, agonizing weeks of your relentless torment, Toji has finally had it with your teasing antics. As ambiguous as dating apps can be, he wants to ensure that his intentions are very clear — he’s only here for one thing, to fuck. So why are you wasting his time? What are you, scared? ☆ WORD COUNT 6.6k (holy fuck) ☆ CONTENT WARNINGS Dilf!Toji, femme reader, rough-ish sex, kinda feral, strangers to lovers, Toji has a FILTHY mouth ☆ A/N okay guys so this is actually kind of insane and i do apologize for my absence to those who care LOL (boooo school and life.) but this was actually an anon request for dilf toji but i thought i’d take it in different direction?? this is honestly a personal best for me so i really hope whoever is reading this feels something :p also, thank u for 1k follows. means the world! :)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

Toji swears, it’s always the same song and dance with you younger women, yet time and time again he’ll find himself enwrapped in a meaningless dalliance. Currently, that’s you, and you’ve been driving him up a fucking wall. For weeks, you’ll sweet talk him, go on and on about how deep you can take it, how wet your pretty pussy gets just from texting him, even how nasty you’ll get for him when you see him, but it’s always when. That’s the very thing, you’re all talk.

They say patience is a virtue, yet his runs thinner than cheap thread. Toji has never been known for bullshit, and after becoming a father, that fact has never been truer. For most, bringing children into this godforsaken world serves as means for betterment — change, but Toji isn’t like most. Oh, and he’s tried to be respectful about it too, but how can you ever expect him to be a gentleman when you act like… that.

Ever since you matched on Tinder, it’s been several, agonizing months of slutty messages and lewd pictures. God, and what a filthy mouth you have, detailing all the sick ways you’d let him use you, how you’d take it all like a good, obedient slut, how you’d do anything he wants. Yet, when he video calls you in response, huffing your name as the monstrous length of his cock glides through his slick fingers, you realize that maybe you’re not as grown as you thought.

So, you pull away, ghosting him, leaving behind nothing but the silence of uncertainty — purgatory. Whenever you inevitably decide to message him again, whether it be days or weeks later, it’s the same bullshit excuse every time, and quite frankly, Toji has had it. Of course you read his profile when you matched. He made his intentions very clear — that he’s only here for one thing, so why are you wasting his time? What are you, scared?

Toji F.

05:39 PM You scared? Is that it? 05:42 PM Scared of what this cock will do to you? What it could turn you into? Is that why you keep disappearing on me? 05:42 PM You’re breaking my heart here, girl.

Read at 5:43 PM

The audacity. Taken aback is an understatement, yet his message makes your stomach sink in arousal. You can hardly help the dramatic roll of your eyes, an incredulous scoff following as you stuff your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. As you trudge toward your last class of the day, his messages linger on your mind, igniting a flame of refutation that begs to be doused, because you? Scared? Please.

Boredom is a strange thing. It tends to bring out the worst, turning people into versions of themselves they weren’t sure could ever exist within the same universe — versions of themselves that defy the being they’ve worked tirelessly to become. But when there’s nothing left to do, nowhere else to turn, and everything else has been exhausted, we result to desperation; desperate times call for desperate measures.

Tinder.

If university has taught you anything, it’s that men don’t mature overnight… or ever. Even being four, entire years into your overpriced degree, it’s evident that maturity doesn’t exist within the minds of frat hopping, beer chugging, striped polo wearing college boys. You crave more. You crave experience and wisdom, but at the end of the day, you’re still just bored and in desperate need of something that’ll abide your time in university — Toji Fushiguro.

So really, is there truly anything wrong with downloading a dating app with the sole intention of fucking? Is it so wrong to toggle your age preference a little too high? Your preferred mile radius a little too far? You’re not sure, not really. All you know is that there is a point to be proven and a void to be filled, and maybe Toji isn’t the answer you should be seeking, but he damn sure is the easiest and most willing recourse.

That’s the exact reason you’re finally messaging him back, inviting him over to your apartment to chill. It’s nearly embarrassing how fast he responds. An obscure, upside down, smiling emoji at the end of his text masks his ever-growing anticipation with cordiality, though it’s a stark contrast to the way he’ll have you pried apart later on, fucking you rudely with the sole intention gutting you out completely, but you’ll find out soon enough. Curiosity kills cats anyways.

As the day grows on, your excitement grows beyond you. The rapid tap of your anxious feet strike against the tiled floor of the lecture hall, reverberating throughout the frigid, drab room. An exasperated sigh drags from your pouting lips, chin resting within the palm of your hand. Back and forth your eyes flit from the digital clock abut the wall to your monotone professor who paces through the aisles, blathering on about environmental law.

You can hardly help the way you’re beginning to eagerly gather your belongings, slinging your backpack over one shoulder before discretely slipping out of the room, scurrying home with a girlish grin long before class is said and done. Immediately, you’re fishing for your phone, informing Toji that you’re finally free and again, his response is embarrassingly quick. He’s on his way.

It feels like an eternity and you’re impatient. Your stomach lurches in excitement as you sit cross legged on the couch. The large television before you hums monotonously, a show you’ve never cared for flitting across the crystal display, but then, there’s a knock — three, hard, heavy-handed knocks. Your feet are moving faster than your brain can register, nearly tripping over your own feet on your way to the door. As you’re reaching for the knob, it feels like you can’t breathe — like you forgot how to breathe, but that doesn’t stop the hand that’s slowly creaking the heavy, wooden door open just enough to peek your head out and then up, up, up.

“Oh.” You breathe, huffing a breath you weren’t aware you held, your curious gaze shamelessly devouring the burly, heavy-set figure that fills your doorway. “Hi, Toji.” The door creeps wider as you step aside, granting him access into your home.

“Hi, pretty.” His gruff, baritone voice reverberates throughout your entire being, sending a cruel, unintentional rush of heat between your clamped thighs. A mischievous smile pries his scarred lips open, his sharp, sable eyes curiously falling to the cleavage that spills from your low-cut top.

Toji straggles behind as you pad through the archway leading to your small kitchen. He slips out of his shoes, wordlessly admiring your girlishly ornamented apartment, cock nearly throbbing from the overwhelming scent of you — so cloying and honeyed and edible. God, he’d only be lying if he said he hasn’t imagine what you’d taste like, fucking his fist like feral caveman to the pretty pictures on your Tinder profile.

“Uh, you hungry?” You observe your barren fridge, lips twisting in thought. “I have leftovers from last night.” You peer over your shoulder, watching as he observes your carefully thought out space.

He shakes his head in response, a slow, crooked smirk playing his slick lips. Slowly, he’s leaning back, legs crossing idly in front of him as his large hands reach backwards to prop himself against the cold, marble island that sits in the middle of the kitchen. He eyes you silently, watching intently as you stumble throughout your kitchen, fixing him a complimentary glass of iced water. You can hardly meet his intense gaze as you present him with the tall, overfilled glass, far too nervous to truly observe the way he practically devours you with his prey-like stare.

“What?” You finally croak, a nervous laugh tumbling past your lips. You’re stepping away to crane your head back, reluctantly registering the overwhelming sight before you.

Toji shrugs wordlessly before taking a long, ponderous sip from his condensating glass. He swallows thickly, adam’s apple bobbing before humming melodically, pondering in thought. His seemingly cruel gaze never leaves yours, even as you’re slowly backing away to lean against the opposing counter, subconsciously mirroring his stance as you prop yourself on the palms of your hands.

“You nervous or somethin’?” Toji smiles wide, cocking his head to the right. An intense set of dark eyes pierce yours, reading directly through your timid expression. Contrary to your fidgeting fingers, you shake your head in refutation as you peer down at your feet in a desperate attempt to avoid his relentless gaze.

Liar.

“No? Why are you so far then?” He observes, taking another sip from his dwindling glass before setting it against the marble. You hardly notice the way he shuffles closer, slyly inching toward your side of the kitchen. “After all that shit you talked, I was sure you’d be all over me… what changed, pretty?” Now, he stands hair's breadth away, looking down on you as if you’re prey to be devoured.

“Nothing.” You mutter, still averting your gaze. It’s hardly a whisper.

The slow, subconscious clamp of your thighs as you fruitlessly attempt to dull the throb of your poor, aching pussy doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, a burly knee is subtly creeping between your legs, deliberately forcing them back apart. There’s nowhere to run — nowhere to cower and writhe in fear or embarrassment; he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

You’re completely caged in, stretching to the tips of your toes in escape, but oh, sweet gravity — it’s pulling you down, down, down, driving your clothed cunt against the stiff muscles of his thigh. You gasp, hardly able to chase the breaths that tumble past your lips. Still, you can’t bear the thought of facing him, not after all that shit you talked, not even as you grind yourself against his thigh.

Toji pouts feignedly. “C’monnn, you won’t even look at me?” A large hand is cupping your chin, gingerly forcing your gaze onto his. “This can’t be the same girl who promised she’d let me slut her out… right?” His warm breath fans your parted lips, a fat thumb blindly grazing the lower half of your face. “No, you can’t possibly be the same girl who sent me a video of her noisy, little pussy cryin’ fa’me either… right?”

You’ve never felt so… small. The way your stomach sinks in arousal nearly forces a helpless whine past your lips. It almost feels like you’re in trouble, like you’ve done something horribly wrong and now, you await your inescapable punishment, yet your core aches at the very thought — it burns with an inextinguishable desire to be filled, to be punished.

As a father, Toji can’t help but to default back to his intrinsic lust for control, to assume authority. So really, can you blame him when he’s wordlessly pulling you up the counter you lean against? Two, strong hands finding purchase on your hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the frigid marble. He definitely doesn’t miss the way your legs practically fall open for him, naturally spreading to accommodate the girth of his hips as he creeps closer.

A slow and beautifully sinful grin is marring his face. “Are you a woman of your word?” It’s a low, gravelly hum, one that has you nodding desperately, lips parting sweetly. His head cocks to the right in query. “Yeah? So you’re gonna let me slut that pretty pussy out like you promised, hm?” A singular hand pushing your thighs further apart so that he can insert himself between them to which you audibly moan, nodding once again.

“I am a woman of my word,” you breathe, falling back to catch yourself on your hands as a newfound sense of confidence brews within you, “I meant it, you can have me however you want… please.”

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He subtly warns, slipping a large, intentional hand between your searing bodies. “Can you handle that?” Several, warm fingers are trailing against the fabric that hugs your cunt, eliciting a beautiful string of wanton moans from your pretty, parted lips — moans that make his cock twitch to life, eager to ruin you.

“Mhmmm, yes… yes,” you’re nodding, gasping out for more, head rolling deliriously from side to side as his fingers press firmly against your clothed cunt, “I can take anything, I swear! I’ll be s-so good.”

The subconscious roll of your body against the stocky hand that cups your pussy is pathetic; it’s dragging endless hums of pleasure and little gasps of air from your stupidly gaped mouth. You’re insatiable as you buck your hips, desperate to get more out of his teasing fingers, yet still, it isn’t enough. So truly, can Toji blame you for the way you’re beaming forward to catch his lips in a sloppy, haphazard kiss?

No, he can’t, because the way he kisses you back is nothing short of animalistic. It’s the way your teeth nearly clash; the way his fingers are threading through the hair at the back of your head, tugging you back to hold you still, kissing you exactly how he wants; even the way he’s huffing out hot, raptured breaths against your lips as if he can’t breathe, as if you’re the last, fleeting breath of air, nursing him back to life.

Your hands are everywhere. They’re wrapping around his slutty waist, pulling him closer; creeping up the hem of his shirt, into the waistband of his sweatpants, and over the unmistakable bulge of his warm cock again, and again, and again. It throbs against the palm of your hand, wordlessly begging to be heard, to be seen, to be touched.

“Take it out.” He breathes, stepping away just far enough for you to untie the drawstring. In a fruitless attempt to hide your grin of excitement, you bite your lip, wholeheartedly obliging as you fiddle to undo the tightly knotted bow that hides his most sacred possession. “Yeaaaah, take that cock out, sweetheart. Look at you… you’re excited for it, huh?” He laughs at your fervid eagerness — a sharp gust of air through his nose.

As you’re tugging down both waistbands, a deep, guttural groan of relief is belting from the depths of his chest; he inhales a sharp breath through gritted teeth. His cock springs free, bouncing to kiss his lower abdomen in a smeared mess of arousal. Your mouth gapes as rivulets of precum spill down the length of his cock, lewdly pooling near his fat, swollen balls.

God, it’s pretty. It stands so proud and tall, longing to be seen — to be known. It literally weeps tears of desperation, begging for something, anything. How long has it been? Is he just as deprived? Your head burns with questions that yearn to be answered, but you’re determined.

Out of intrinsic instinct, you’re wrapping a hand around the base of his cock as if it’d explode if not dealt with immediately. Never in your life have you held something so… heavy. It’s warm and dense and wet. God, why is he so wet? Why is his precum slobbering down your fingers as you begin to pump him in your hand? Why does such a cruel, deafening schlop! ring out each time you drag your fist toward the leaking head? Why is it making you wet?

As if he can read your mind, Toji coos. “You like it, huh?” He’s amused, a smug grin plaguing his face. “You hungry, pretty? You wanna taste it?” Even the subtle lilt of enthusiasm that soothes his teasing tone makes your mouth sag in a whimper so you nod, of course. “You’ll just say yes to anything, won’t you?”

Duh.

Again, you nod dumbly before eagerly slipping off of the counter and falling to your knees with a thud! Like the good girl you promised you are, you’re lolling out your tongue to drool onto the tip of his cock without hesitation. A longgg, throaty moan drags from Toji’s gaped mouth when you gently tap the drooling head against the plush center of your tongue.

“Fuuuck yes, sweetheart. I knew just from your pictures that you’d be a nasty girl,” his hips are intentionally bucking toward your face, rudely forcing his cock deeper, “and you’re so obedient too… fell to your knees for my cock and you hardly know me.”

A cruel, wet gurgle spills from your mouth as you attempt to swallow around him. He fills your mouth perfectly, like the missing piece to a forgotten puzzle. You wail a muffled, helpless whine, jaw aching from the sheer weight of his cock as it rests against your eager tongue. His swollen balls throb painfully as he tucks himself deeper, forcing a proper gag from pretty lips.

The short, sable tufts of hair that adorn the thick base of his cock tickle your chin. A large hand holds your head taut, keeping you close as he presses the swollen fat of his balls against your trembling bottom lip. Your eyes well with tears as you gag again, throat tightening around the head of his cock when it prods your uvula. The achey, protruding vein that runs along the underside of his shaft throbs against your tongue as you gasp for air.

“Thaaaaat’s it. Hah — oh my god, are you drooling?” Two, deft fingers are swiping along your chin, collecting the saliva that dribbles down your face. “You are so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth… you gonna let me fuck it just a little?” The crooked smile that mars his face is sick, but it makes your stomach cave in arousal.

Toji doesn’t wait for a response as he’s reeling his hips back, two heavy hands steady on the back of your head, holding you in place. You gasp for a desperate breath before he pummels forward, tucking himself as deep as possible. He’s slow to pull out of your mouth, his thick cock leisurely grazing along every inch of your tongue. A timbre, wanton groan of pleasure drags from his slacked jaw.

“Suuuch a p— perfect throat for cock, holy fuck,” his hips are drawing back again, cock throbbing painfully when you cease the opportunity to gasp for air, “breeeathe, sweetheart… don’t you die on me. I’m not done with you yet, c’mere.” He’s abruptly yanking you to your feet, surely taking notice of the way your knees buckle beneath you.

He’s taking you by the wrist, leading you throughout your apartment as if it’s his own — as if he’s been here before. You follow him like a lost puppy, biting your inner cheek in anticipation as you trail behind him, warm arousal pooling between your thighs. It doesn’t take long for him to find your comfortable, eclectically garnished bedroom.

A large, curious hand is creaking the ajar door wider. He simpers to himself, inhaling the sweet, gourmand scent of everything you. Toji scoffs in what you can only hope astonishment as he peaks his head inside of the warm, dimly lit room. You follow his equivocal gaze, reimagining your sacred space from his fresh, much elder perspective.

“I wish my son would keep his room this neat,” he laughs and you follow him inside, watching as he curiously prowls your girlish room, "couldn't even pay him to wash his shit-stained boxers." A unique collection of trinkets entraps his gaze.

Son?

"Oh," you're taking a seat at the foot of your bed, wordlessly observing the grown, burly man that paces your carpeted room of light pink hues — a man who has to squat to even hear your sweet voice as you speak, "what's his name?"

Annoyed, Toji shakes his head, sucking his teeth. "Doesn't matter," he stalks closer, a subtle gleam of lust dancing across his gradually darkening irises, “I just wanna see how wet that pussy got from tasting my cock… you gonna show me, pretty?” The devilish, scarred smirk that pries his mouth open makes your sobbing pussy throb.

He kneels onto the edge of the mattress and you scoot further onto the bed; the soft, baby pink sheets ruffling as you eagerly peel your lounge shorts down your legs, kicking them to the floor. As you lie on your back, you rest on your forearms, bent legs falling open so sluttily for a man you hardly know. A dark, ever-growing patch of arousal soils your pretty, laced panties. The dim, twinkling lights that hang over your bed reveal such an embarrassingly wet mess — the sheer, drooling material that clings to your swollen lips for dear life, begging to be touched.

“Oh, fuck,” he audibly gasps, inching closer to the palpable heat that radiates between your legs, “yeeeeeah, show me that sloppy, little pussy, baby… holy fuck.” You can hear the sheer degree of arousal in his tone — the way he can’t help but to moan out his words; so overcome by his innate need to fuck that it exudes in the way he pronounces his vowels and consonants.

And then, he’s speechless, utterly enthralled by the several, glistening gossamers of arousal that stretch and snap erotically as you pull the damp fabric down your thighs. You’re obediently sprawled apart for him, pretty, slobbering cunt spread so sinfully for a mere stranger. His cock aches at the sight, jerking lewdly in tandem with the visible tightening of your leaking hole.

Three, longgg digits are dragging up the expanse of your cunt, collecting your prolific arousal. He’s smearing it between your swollen lips, across your quivering clit, then deep inside of your greedy pussy. Over and over and over again, his burly knuckles disappear into your endless slick, the pads of his fingers dragging so sinfully along your tensing walls.

“Such a pretty pussy… oh my god, listen to her,” his hoarse groan is so plainly conquered by his lust, he nearly moans as his jaw hangs in astonishment, sable brows furrowing deeply, “listen to how wet she is. Such a noisy girl, huh?”

And oh god, do you listen. A cruel, deafening squelch! cries from between your plush thighs each time his fingers disappear into your cunt. A familiar, palpable heat is creeping up your neck, spilling across your flustered face in a deep, crimson hue. Embarrassed by your bountiful arousal, your legs are flying shut, halting the hand that teases you. Almost immediately, Toji is wordlessly prying your thighs apart, pinning them to the sheets with a disapproving grunt.

Toji doesn’t miss the slack of your jaw or the sweet, little whimpers that fall so shamelessly from your raptured tongue. He can hardly help the way he’s subconsciously mimicking your expressions — his lips parting in tandem with yours, thick brows furrowing subtly, just as yours do, he’s even cooing in response to your pathetic whines and gasps of ever-growing pleasure.

Like a flower growing toward the warmth of the sun, you’re coiling into his touch, back arching up and off of the unkempt sheets. Your head deliriously falls back to press against the pillow. The repetitive batter of his thick, beckoning fingers is the only thing you can hear, feel, think. Your hips buck so nastily against the hand that paws at you, pretty little sighs and hums of pleasure dragging from your stupidly gaped mouth.

“I just know you wanna fuck, look at your back arch for my cock like that… such a hungry girl,” a big hand is creeping beneath the small of your back, helping you maintain that beautiful, fleeting arch and he inches closer, eyes narrowing so that he can read directly through your greedy expression, “yeah, look at that pretty face… you wanna fuck, huh?”

You can hardly nod before he’s whorishly pulling his cock out, a hiss of relief escaping his gritted teeth. Pearlescent beads of precum drool from the head as he stalks closer, a lazy, idle fist pumping his length. A singular hand is prying you open, burly fingers digging into the plush, underside of your thigh, rudely spreading you apart, and then, cries a lewd, deafening plap!

Not once, twice, but three fucking times, Toji spits into your quivering cunt; three, fat globs of saliva pool into one, sinful puddle, erotically dribbling down the expanse of your swollen lips, toward your endlessly drooling hole, then it creeps even lower, spilling between the slit of your ass, kissing the puckering hole that sits just below.

“Touch her,” he breathes, a hand reaches for yours, pulling it over the mess of slick that coats your pussy, “fuck my spit into your cunt so I can make you feel good, baby. Get her ready for me, c’mon,” he watches with a low, hooded eyes as you collect the mound of saliva on your clit, swirling the pads of your fingers around it before sinking them inside with a pretty gasp, “yeaaahhh, that’s a good girl, spread that slutty pussy open for me.”

As you spread yourself apart with your fingers, Toji is prodding his fat, mushroom head against your clit and it’s dragging the sweetest cries from your parted lips. He’s moving your fingers out of the way with his cock, smearing the precum that weeps endlessly, hips bucking ever so slightly to fuck against the slick that laminates your pretty pussy.

The pad of his thumb is guiding the head of his cock inside of you, a synchronous, drawn out moan echoing from your gaped mouths as he sinks deeper and deeper and deeper. The gradual widening of your eyes is drawing a dark, breathy chuckle from the pit of his sternum. You’re fighting the gnawing urge to run, to wriggle out of his grip and cower in fear, but you can’t fucking move.

“Oh, fuck, fuck… oh my god.” You feel helpless as you whimper, wanting so desperately to clamp your thighs shut, but Toji has you pressed apart on the sheets.

A longgg, slutty groan is falling from his slacked jaw as he reels his hips back, pupils dilating when he catches sight of the warm, glistening arousal that sheathes his cock. Never in his life has he felt something so… wet. Your syrupy, drooling lips stretch so wide for him, effortlessly swallowing each and everyone one of his languid, torturous thrusts.

Toji is so large, it nearly feels like there’s two of him. You feel him everywhere — he is everywhere. His fat, drooling cock is splitting you open while his calloused palms are pawing anywhere they can reach; they’re creeping up your pretty waist, pushing your shirt up, taking it off. His lips are parting, an unintentional gasp ensuing when your tits are spilling out for him.

Another big hand is reaching for your face, cupping your jaw as a warm, curious thumb grazes your bottom lip. Instinctively, your lips are parting, wordlessly inviting him into your sweet mouth. Obeying your silent needs, the salty digit is pushing past your parted lips to pry your jaw open. He can’t help the throaty moan that bellows from his lungs as you swallow around his finger, sucking so whorishly as your eyes threaten to cross.

He’s so entranced by the warmth of your mouth that he can’t help but to replace his thumb with his two middle fingers. The long, burly digits creep farther and farther down the length of your tongue, forcing a loud, helpless gag from your swollen lips. Your delirious eyes are welling with tears, brows furrowing deeply when your pussy throbs in response. A slow, devilish grin is marring his handsome face.

“Oh?” He gasps in near astonishment, taking notice of the undeniable pulse of your cunt. “You like my fingers in your mouth, don’t you?”

You nod, drool spilling from the corners of your lips. Never in your life have you been so aroused. It’s almost too much to bear, you can hardly think anymore. All you feel is him — his big hands that control you, his fingers that rest against your tongue, the heat his body radiates, even the repetitive strike of his full balls against the fat of your ass has you babbling nonsense.

Every deep, elongated thrust is pulling the nastiest sounds out of you, even the overwhelming pressure of the heavy thumb that’s pressed to your clit has you mewling in rapture. Your pretty pussy leaks like a broken faucet that begs to be mended — so sloppy and needy, poor legs spread achingly wide as he sinks into your slutty little hole over and over and over again like a madman on the brink of utter insanity.

“Were you thinkin’ about me in class, hm?” He’s abruptly jerking you closer, pulling your legs on either side of his waist. You nod dumbly, mouth falling open for your sweet, broken whimpers to escape. “Yeah, sweet girl? Were you thinkin’ about me comin’ over and stretching this perfect pussy out like this, huh?” A guttural groan tumbling past his lips when your hips buck weakly to meet his heavy thrusts. “Oh my god, baby, come here… you want more?” He’s nearly growling as he yanks you impossibly closer.

Two, strong hands are gripping at the thick of your hips, selfishly pulling you onto his cock, impaling you. He deftly drills himself into your pussy like a weightless fleshlight whose only purpose is to take cock. All of his noisy, ragged breaths come out in short huffs each time he bottoms out, fucking the literal breath out of himself. His bruising grip holds you still, long fingers splayed across your waist and hips as he continues to stuff you with the entirety of his fat cock.

The hypnotic rebound of your chest is killing him; they sit so perfectly and he’s feral. He’s leaning down to audibly inhale your sweet, gourmand perfume as it permeates throughout the sweltering air. His handsome face is tucked between your pretty breasts, greedy tongue darting past his lips to lick along the expanse of your chest. You’re panting out hums of pleasure, breath hitching discernibly when he begins to sink his teeth into the supple flesh.

“F— fuuuuckkk,” you’re deliriously wailing in rapture, hips rolling in tandem with his furious thrusts, “so good, so gooood… your cock feels s’fucking good. Hah—oh my god, Toji.” You’re slurring over yourself, truly intoxicated from the punishing buck of his hips.

His cock throbs at your drunken words, balls swelling painfully when you grasp for his shirt to ground yourself. Both of your mouths sag open, brows furrowing identically as you pant in loud, harmonious breaths. The wet, gut-wrenching smack! of skin against skin that reverberates throughout your bedroom is deafening, nothing else can be heard.

Your hips buck wildly, desperately fucking him back as sweet cries of his name spill from your tongue. His gaze is steady and unwavering, observing as you reach for anything you can — his face, his bulging biceps, the fabric of his shirt; but it’s when you reach for the small of his back, driving him impossibly deeper each time he bottoms out that makes the vein running along the underside of his cock throb painfully, his leaking head bullying your cervix over and over and over again.

“God, you tryna make me cum, huh?” He’s slipping out of you to hastily pull you on top of him, handling you just the way he needs. “Do it then, show me how you like to fuck, c’mon.” Two hands are gripping at the thick of your hips, encouraging you to use him.

With both hands, you reach for his chest, stabilizing yourself as you raise your hips. Warm palms are creeping up the fat of your thighs to soothe the discernible trembling of your aching muscles. He kneads the plush skin absentmindedly, mouth gaping incredulously when you slowly begin to sink down the length of his stiff cock, your pretty pussy slobbering all over him.

“Fuck me like a slut, c’mon,” it’s a low, demanding whisper as his hands are reaching forward to find purchase on your hips, subtly guiding your frantic movements, “show me how good, slutty girls are supposed to ride cock.” A nasty, crooked smirk plagues his face, crinkling the corners of his beautifully aged, darkened eyes.

Your mouth sags in a string of helpless whimpers when you sink down onto him again, and again, and again and each time your hips collide, he’s forcing you deeper. The large hands glued to your waist are pushing you back and forth, wordlessly commanding you. The dull, achy stretch of his cock as it drags along your sopping walls is pulling the filthiest sounds from your gaped mouth — beautiful cries of pleasure, desperate pleads for more, and short huffs of air that only make him harder.

Even under you, he’s still massive, taking up the entirety of your bed as you sit so prettily atop him, thighs aching from the width of his hips. Sticky beads of sweat adorn his face and several tussled strands of short, inky hair dance haphazardly along his forehead, partially occluding his vision as he peers up at you through thick, furrowing brows.

“C’mereee, baby, fuck,” a greedy hand is reaching for your throat, deft fingers wrapping so possessively around the expanse of your neck, pulling you close.

His lips deliriously catch yours, tasting you so desperately — so sluttily. His warm tongue is creeping into your mouth, shamelessly exploring the sweet cavity. He swallows each and every gasp and whimper that he fucks out of you, intentionally storing them in the depths of his mind for later retrieval whenever he’d inevitably think about this very moment again. Your mouth hangs wide as you mindlessly kiss him back, obediently taking all of his tongue, all of his hot, raptured breaths, all of his wanton groans of pleasure — everything.

Toji can hardly help the feral buck of his hips beneath you, he doesn’t want to help it. He needs for you to remember the feeling of his cock — how it pries you open and guts you out, how it stupidly pulls your mouth wide, even the way it creates the slightest bulge in your abdomen each time he’s at a hilt. He needs for your cunt to remember the shape of him.

If you don’t go to class with his cock in the forefront of your mind, if it isn’t what you envision when you pleasure yourself during ungodly hours of the night, if you’re not drawn to tears because you can’t possibly replicate the feeling of his punishing thrusts, then it’s a job poorly done and Toji won’t have that. Not now. Not ever.

The sheer force of his thrusts are jerking you forward, toppling you onto his chest and into his arms; they’re wrapping around you, pulling you impossibly closer as the mind-numbing buck of his hips only intensifies. Every frantic breath and throaty groan is lost in the crook of your neck, the close range of his moans like kindle to a rampant flame.

“Is anyone on campus fucking you like this?” It’s a strained, breathless whisper against the shell of your ear, his wet lips grazing your skin. “Who else is fucking you like this, huh?” He reiterates, a hand creeping up your jaw, holding you still so that he can observe your drunken gaze.

“No… no one,” you cry, shaking your head as best you can under his tightening grip, “nobody knows how to f-fuck me right.” The quiver of your sweet, honeyed voice makes his stomach sink in his ever growing arousal, cock twitching, begging for release.

Toji frowns, his darkened eyes softening. “Awwww, nobody knows how to please this slutty little pussy huh, sweetheart?” The hand that holds your face caresses your flushed cheek, a fat thumb slipping into the corner of your parted lips. “You needed a stranger to come over and fuck the shit out of you like this?” As if to accentuate his point, he’s tucking himself unbearably deeper, the lewd plap! of his balls echoing each time he bottoms out.

A big, heavy hand is landing on the fat of your ass with an experimental, earsplitting smack! You yelp incredulously, hissing through your gritted teeth as you brace yourself for another impact, but it doesn’t come. Immediately, your lust-stricken eyes are searching for his, a desperate cry dragging for your kiss-bitten lips as you plead for another.

“A-again,” you mumble, reaching for his hand to pull it over the reddening fat of your ass, enticing him, “hit me again… please.”

Wordlessly, he obliges, his heavy hand coming down once, twice, thrice, and then, you feel the gut wrenching coil in the pit of your stomach grow impossibly tighter, yearning for release. As you stupidly bounce up and down the length of his cock, you’re drunkenly babbling, but it’s the slutty, breathless whine of his name that’s dragging his mouth open in pure arousal; every breath he huffs is now a whorish moan or a guttural groan of pleasure.

“Oh, god,” he groans, his head sinking deeper into your cushiony, pink pillow, “rub that clit for me, sweetheart… I wanna see how you cum on it,” his shameless, drunken gaze is flitting between your rolling eyes and the way his twitching cock disappears into your cunt, “be a good girl ‘n make yourself cum on my cock.”

A frantic hand is reaching down to play with your poor, swollen clit, your entire being shuddering so violently from the feeling your own, overwhelming touch; It’s too much, too sensitive. Sinful rivulets of drool spill down your chin, your head falling to the side so stupidly as you trace haphazard circles around the ravaged bundle of nerves.

“M’gonna c-cum,” you gasp, stomach sinking as your orgasm swells in the pit of your core, “hah —ohhh my fucking god… f-fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah? Are you cumming for me, pretty girl?” He’s coos as he draws you closer, the tip of his large nose brushing yours. “Do it then, make a mess on my cock, sweetheart c’mon,” his lips are on yours once again, kissing you so fucking sloppily, nothing but wet tongue and clashing teeth, “fuuuckkk yes, c’mon baby. Thaaaat’s it… cum on my cock just like that, such a good fucking girl.”

His mouth gapes as you buck against him, desperate, uninhibited moans dragging from your sore throat. With nothing but a strangled whimper in his throat, Toji is reluctantly slipping out of you, feverishly pumping the length of his cock in his tight fist. It’s so fucking wet; your arousal adorns the entirety of his cock and his drooling tip leaks desperately for you, making for an obscenely loud schlop! that reverberates throughout the sweltering atmosphere.

Toji’s head is pressing deeper into your pillow, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly. His kiss-bitten lips are pursing together as he hums in rapture, whimpering strangled, erratic breaths through his nostrils. His forearm tenses as he hastily strokes his slick cock, sweet mutters of your name and lewd profanities spilling from his tongue.

“Help me, fuck, don’t just watch,” he gasps breathlessly, his vacant hand blindly searching for yours to wrap it around the fist that holds his cock, “fuck, fuck, fuck… yeah, make me cum like a good slut.”

The feeling of your smaller, less adept fingers wrapping around his fist and cock is what has him spilling an obscene amount of warm, syrupy cum between your searing bodies. It coats the expanse of your tits and abdomen, dripping so sinfully down your soft, perspiring skin. Toji thinks this is the hardest he’s ever cum in his life; even the day he lost his virginity pales in comparison.

It’s the look of utter enthrallment that’s written in your widening eyes as you observe his full body shudders that ensue with each viscous spurt of cum. It’s the way you’re beaming down at him, a content smile slowly spreading across your pretty, post-sex face. It’s the way you’re swiping a swift, curious finger to collect the cum that trickles down your chest, popping the digit in your mouth with a pleasureful hum of satisfaction.

Dumbfounded, Toji smiles. “You really are a woman of your word, huh?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

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kateschi · 1 month ago

Text

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#bakugo x female reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou x female reader #mha x reader #bnha x y/n

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unsteddie · 4 months ago

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University AU

Bi-Sexual weirdo Eddie Munson approaches Robin in a gay bar. It's her first time and she's so excited. She's looking around all excited with hair she definitely cut herself, wearing a cool blazer that's she's decorated with chains and pins and stuff. And she just looks cool and fun. And listen he knows he's probably not her target demographic, but he sees her blush as he approaches.

The second she hears his voice, realizes he's not a woman, she loudly complains about being hit on by a man in a GAY bar. Prompting her friend who has been leaning against the bar getting them drinks to turn. Eddie's mid apology, because that's fair, when he sees him and just shyits right the fuck up.

Cool girl, sure whatever, this man is an angel. So he immediately switches to hitting on Steve, asks him to dance and Robin says "oh, Steves not-"

But Steve cuts her off with a quick "sure." And shoves the drinks in her hands. He leaves Robin with her mouth hanging open as he follows what is probably the prettiest person he's seen in real life to the dance floor.

(Robins fine, she uses Steve's drink to charm a very pretty girl who she dances with and has a great time that night.)

Steve doesn't even speed run his sexuality crisis, he sees it coming for him and is like 'nah, I'm fine actually. I just like pretty people and curly hair.' and the crisis pouts and moves on.

I'm thinking there's probably drama. Like Steve's all in, because he's a sweet romantic idiot. But Eddie panics and is like "you don't even know what you like in men, you can't just decide I'm it."

Which Steve totally can, but Eddie scares easy, he is the opposite of Tom Petty in this regard.

So they split up with the understanding Steves gonna date around a while and keep Eddies number. And like three months go by and Steve doesn't know if he's allowed to call yet because he hasn't managed to get past the date part to the sleeping with other people part because he doesn't like anyone as much as Eddie, but Eddie said he should try some stuff before commiting to the first man that asked him to dance.

Eddie is beating himself up because it's for sure too soon, like crazy too soon, but maybe he loves Steve? And he literally yelled at him to go sleep with other people?? Why did he do that??

I have a little scene in my head where Gareth see Steve in a club and calls Eddie like "dude, he's here, with a date. Like a really really hot date." And sitcom style shenanigans ensue with Eddie running interference on Steve's date long distance via Gareth.

Like they've been apart probably twice as long as they were kinda together and they're being so dumb about it.

#i woke up from a nap to write this out #i remember sleepy me being like 'lera read over this when we're a person again '#and i saved it as a draft #jokes on sleepy me i didnt change anything #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #modern au i guess

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vaaaaaiolet · 3 months ago

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When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe.

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.”

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff.

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.”

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.”

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.”

“So now you’re calling me immature?”

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right?

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.”

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home.

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone.

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all.

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction.

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth.

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire.

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties.

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one.

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf, suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?”

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?”

Kiss. Kiss. Suck.

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally.

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward.

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.”

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, “where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?”

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours.

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt.

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this assignment if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.”

“You brought me to a- oh! ”

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.”

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom.

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist.

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.”

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy.

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent.

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss.

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain."

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map.

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.”

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back.

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit,” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue.

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility.

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.”

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine.

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you.

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high.

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way.

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely.

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-”

“Hold on!”

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?”

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit.

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.”

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!”

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out of the covers to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

#📮 delivery #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #ao3 fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #vaaaaaiolet #ns/ft #resident evil #death island leon #resident evil death island

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certifiedgoofball · 5 months ago

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things i love about the new doctor who episode -the doctor commenting on rogue's brooding technique -the doctor finding out that rogue got his name from dnd ->rogue saying "roll for insight" when the doctor asks about it -the doctor calling ruby his best friend -rogue not knowing about homophobia -libertango by astor piazzolla playing while rogue and the doctor dance -the doctor telling rogue to "say anything" when they're making a scene and rogue GETS DOWN ON ONE KNEE AND PROPOSES -the doctor not realizing that ruby's telling the truth at first when she says that she's ACTUALLY ruby and her apologizing for acting -the doctor shaking his head when rogue asks if he could sacrifice the world for ruby -rogue saying "find me" to the doctor right before he gets transferred off -the doctor instantly trying to ignore his loss but ruby says he doesnt have to do that and they hug -the doctor keeping the ring rogue gave to him and putting it on his pinky

#rogue #dr who #dr who spoilers #dr who fandom #new who #doctor who #doctor who spoilers #doctor who fandom #15th doctor #the 15th doctor #the fifteenth doctor #fifteenth doctor #ruby sunday #dw s14 #dw spoilers

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lavenderspence · 5 months ago

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Cute, Outraged Genius | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, Spencer being a bit of a technophobe

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: Spencer comes home only to find you using a kindle…instant outrage

A/N: This is just a cute little story about Spencer being our little technophobe genius. I actually don’t own a kindle, so don’t know how those work or anything, but physical books are in fact superior, so.

The quote at the end is from “Book Lovers” by Emily Henry

masterlist

You loved his apartment, sometimes more than you loved yours. Being in his space, surrounded by his things - his books, his clothes, the silly art he indulged in. Being drowned by his scent, meters upon meters of space he’d touched, it soothed you like nothing else could.

The peace you felt whenever you were in his space was unparalleled.

You loved his bedroom, the plushness of his bed, his closed, where you found yourself stealing his shirts and cardigans, never giving them back.

Your favorite place in apartment 23 was his couch, where he found you often enough, when he returned from a case, curled up with a book. You loved the blanket thrown on the back and the windows that allowed for the whole apartment to light up with the sunlight.

And then there were his bookshelves, in clear view from said couch. Filled with his favorite books, special editions he held close to his heart, or some that brought him knowledge. The shelves, that now also held some of your favorite books too.

Reading, books, was the thing that had brought you together in the first place, so when he’d made space for your clothes in his closet and your toiletries in the bathroom, he’d also made space for your books to sit beside his own.

He’d insisted it made the place feel less like it was his own, and more like it was shared, even though you weren’t living together. It warmed your heart to know, that he saw his apartment as a home for both of you.

Seeing your books among his own, made you fall even more in love with him because he knew what they meant to you. So much so, he tumbed through a few, leaving sticky notes with his little thoughts between the pages.

As for your first meeting, it was funny.

You’d met a year ago, at a cafe close to his apartment. Stuck in a long queue, waiting for your turn, your nose had been buried into a book, completely oblivious to your surroundings. Spencer had been standing behind you, and like the nosy dork he is, had been reading along with you, over your shoulder.

When he’d pointed out an inaccuracy in the plot, compared to real life, you’d screamed, slamming the book shut, and successfully making a fool of yourself in front of the whole cafe.

He’d apologized bashfully, and asked to buy your drink for you, and then lingered for a short conversation before he’d been called away on a case.

In his hurry to get to the FBI on time, he’d forgotten to take your number. Two weeks later, and after a lot of blaming himself for being a dumbass, he’d seen you again, nose buried into another book, sipping a beverage next to the window of the cafe.

You hadn’t attached puzzling looks this time, and he’d gotten your number. A year later, you couldn’t be more happy for the fact that your boyfriend sometimes didn’t really get social cues.

You smiled, thinking back on that day.

You focused on your book again, eyes dancing around the page, following with rapt attention.

Reading was one of the few things that brought you peace, quieted your brain, and improved your mood.

Sometimes you envied Spencer’s genius, being able to go through War & Peace at breakfast, without batting an eye. Reading, and reading, and still having the time for other things. If, in your lifetime, you could read as many books as Spencer had read thus far in life, you’d be happy.

You were giggling, kicking your feet, and enjoying your book, when you heard the telltale sign of Spencer arriving home - his key being inserted into the lock.

You didn’t move your eyes away from the book, having reached a great part of the book.

The door opened, and in walked your boyfriend, a peep in his step, happy he’d get to see you and spend time with you after 6 days of being away.

He left his keys in the bowl next to the door, freed himself of his shoes, and set his messenger bag down.

He walked further in, noticing the vanilla and chocolate scent in the air - you’d followed tradition, baking a small tray of chocolate chip cookies as a welcome for him.

He stood behind you, draping his hands around your neck, and leaned over to kiss the side of your head gently, finally diverting your attention away from the book.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured, warm breath tickling your neck next, as he kissed around your ear and pulse point.

“Hi there, babe.” you were whispering too, finally happy to be in your own bubble. “How are you? How was the case?” you asked, just like you did every time, just like you did every day. You always wanted to know how he was, you wanted to know about his day, and he’d gotten so used to it and had done it so many times for you too, it had become routine, a way to show each other you cared and loved each other.

“I’m good, a little tired maybe,” he nuzzled your neck, eyes shut in contentment, “The case was tough, but successfully closed at the end,” he rarely elaborated, only if someone was hurt, or the case had taken a toll on his mental health. Other than that, he didn’t like bringing the gory details of the cases home with him.

Home was his space with you, where you laughed, and sometimes cried. Where you cuddled and made love, read together, or to each other, where you cooked, where you relaxed. It was no place for the realities of a BAU profiler.

“What are you doing?” it was a simple question.

“I’m reading,” and there was an even simpler answer, except if you were Spencer Reid, a doctor with three PhDs, three bachelor’s degrees, an FBI agent, and a complete, and utter technophobe.

You felt him lift his head before he choked out a high-pitched “You’re what?” and you turned around to see him, shock and betrayal written on his face, his eyes as big as saucers.

You looked at him like he’d grown two heads, but you knew you should have expected this.

You’d made the decision to get a kindle last week, and you’d used the time he hadn’t been home to set it up and try it out.

“What are you even reading on that thing? That’s not a book!” he was outraged, but at the same time, he looked so cute, that you started laughing. You brought a hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound a little because you were losing it, laughing with everything you had.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny. I’m serious.” you just laughed harder, even though you tried to reign it in and stop.

Around a minute later, your laughter started dying down, and you looked up, only to see him with his arms crossed against his chest, an expression between bewilderment, and those deep brown puppy eyes staring straight into your soul.

“It’s a kindle, Spence, it’s all digital,” you told him

“No, I know that, but you can’t be serious,” your brows furrowed, a bit butt hurt, until he continued, “You know, readers prefer physical books. A recent study found that only 21% prefer e-books, as little as 14% audiobooks, and 65% are physical book readers. Another study found that your brain absorbs less when you read on a kindle than on paper.” You laughed again, loving his brain, and then patted the space next to you, waiting for him to sit down.

“I thought you were pro saving the planet Mr. Three PHD’s.” you joked, waiting for him to sass you back. After all, one of your favorite characteristics of his was how sassy he was.

“Well, yes I am, but statistically, physical copies are superior. A book needs to be physical, not whatever bullshit that is. Come on, let’s just return this, and I’ll buy you all the books you want,” he went to stand up, and you pulled him back down by the back of his shirt.

“Aww babe, I know you will!” Spencer loved buying some of your books for you, he loved seeing the smile on your face when he bought a book you’ve wanted for a while. You buried your face into his neck, hugging him to you.

“Come on, let’s cuddle before dinner, get a cookie, and I’ll read to you for a bit, I just reached a good part,” you whisper into his neck, and he exhales, reaching towards the coffee table to get a cookie before you relax into each other, and you pick up the kindle, reading where you left off.

“We really are two opposing magnets, incapable of being in the same room without drawing together. I want to scrape my fingers through his hair and kiss him until he forgets where we are, and everything and everyone that ever made him feel like he was a disappointment. And he’s looking at me like I could, like there’s an ache in him only I could soothe.” you read, hand running through his hair, happy to have him back.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic

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mariasont · 6 months ago

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Parent-Teacher Conference - A.H

a/n: inspired by the show the nanny! major lover of mr sheffield and fran fine

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you are not happy with jack's teacher flirting with your boss

warnings: hotch staring at your ass!, jealous reader, flirty reader, would prob def get a complaint against her in the real world, but alas!

wc: 0.8k

I'm terribly sorry, but my cat died before I got here.

I actually was in a car wreck on the way. I know I look fine, but it was super traumatic.

Mr. Hotchner you look so good today! Me? Late! Never.

These were the series of apologies and excuses that you were rehearsing in your mind as you navigated your way through the school hallway. In your defense, your tardiness to the parent-teacher conference wasn't without reason. Jack's newfound rebellious phase had him ruining your pantyhose with deliberate runs. He found it hilarious. You found it anything but.

You mentally prepared for that all-too-familiar, intimidating glare from Mr. Hotchner, the kind that could make you feel like you were plummeting from a cliff. Not only were you running late, but you also anticipated a less-than-glowing report from Ms. Thompson about Jack's recent antics. And in the back of your mind, a nagging voice whispered that Mr. Hotchner would somehow find a way to blame you.

"Oh, Aaron, you're something else!"

You stopped dead in your tracks, gaze locked on the scene unfolding before you. Ms. Thompson's voice took on a higher pitch, full of animation, her elbows subtly drawing her tits together, leaning into Mr. Hotchner's space with an ease that bordered on disrespectful. At least in your eyes.

Aaron? The casual use of Mr. Hotchner's first name sent your mood from sour to downright acrid. You strode into the classroom, inching your skirt higher and affixing a practiced, beaming smile to your face. It was all charm and no sincerity.

"So sorry I was late," you began, allowing a gentle sway in your step as you glided into the room, your heels clicking a measured tempo against the linoleum floor. You mustered all your willpower to not shoot daggers at the blonde headed teacher. "I didn't miss anything did I?"

As you stepped into view, both Ms. Thompson and Mr. Hotchner turned their eyes to you. Ms. Thompson's showed a flicker of surprise, while Mr. Hotchner's were like slits, scrutinizing. But even his discipline gaze dipped, albeit briefly, to the curve where your skirt ended.

"Oh, I... I didn't realize you were married, Mr. Hotchner," she mumbled, her hands fumbling gracelessly with the papers on the desk, her lips pinched in a straight line.

You could nearly hear the thoughts churning in Mr. Hotchner's head as his lips parted to correct her. Hastily, you cut in, "An innocent mistake, I'm sure."

He raised an eyebrow, a wordless question hanging in the air. Ignoring it, you flashed a saccharine smile and took the seat by his side, linking your arm with his. His muscles tensed, a reaction that almost coaxed a giggle from you.

It was all too easy to get a rise out of him.

"My wife, the epitome of timeliness,"Mr. Hotchner states dryly, his grip of your arm tightening just a tad more than called for.

To your astonishment, the remainder of the conference proceeded seamlessly from that point on. Ms. Thompson restrained herself, both in wardrobe and word, and unexpectedly showered Jack with praise.

Exiting the classroom alongside Mr. Hotchner, you noticed he paused just long enough to ensure Ms. Thompson was out of ear shot. That's when you felt the squeeze of his hand on your side, coming to rest on the curve of your lower back, the pressure didn't move even as you found yourselves alone in the hallway--and you were far from objecting.

"Really?"

Your shoulders rose and fell in a pretense of innocence, well aware that his perceptive eyes weren't fooled. You tilted into his shoulder, doing a mental victory dance when he made no move to distance himself.

"What?" you asked, clutching your purse tighter against your side as you paced forward. "I was just helping you out. She looked like she was about to jump your bones at any second."

Mr. Hotchner's face was unamused, per usual. "Your generosity knows no bounds."

"Right?" You were aware of his sarcasm, but that didn't deter you. Your shoulders bumped together as you made it to the exit. "Consider yourself lucky."

An eye roll was his immediate response, but you could almost sense the smile he was staunchly holding back. He would never admit it.

"Yes, how could I ever manage without you?"

He paused to open the door for you, following behind as you stepped outside. You squinted against the sun's harsh kiss before giving him a teasing wink over your shoulder. He looked really good in the sunlight. He could use more of it.

"You wouldn't."

You caught his eyes lingering not on your face, but lower--fixated on your skirt, more specifically your ass. You raised your brows in question.

"I think you sat in something."

You let out a startled gasp, hands flying to the material of your skirt. It was your favorite. "What? Where?"

His hands found their way to your waist, gently pivoting you for a better view, while your eyes settled on the stretch of road before you. "Oh, nope, my mistake. Looking good."

Your laughter spilled out uncontrollably, realizing just what he was doing. Cheeky man. And completely out of character, but you liked it. "Mr. Hotchner!"

"I take my role as husband very seriously."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x nanny!reader #criminals minds fic #criminal minds fluff #Spotify

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chosolala · 5 months ago

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𐙚 ⋆˚｡⋆ jjk guys crushing on you

pt 2!! this is just some of my headcannons on how i think the jujutsu kaisen characters would act while crushing on you :]

characters: yuji, megumi, inumaki, yuta, todo, noritoshi, kokichi

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

yuji itadori

he probably would wait a while before he tells you but there are MANY signs before he actually confesses

he always calls you pretty and always wants to be near you

he also shows off on missions a little when you guys go together

he is constantly talking about you and asking you if you want to hang out

he is so sweet though, always paying for your food, making jokes to keep you laughing, letting you win when you guys play video games, holding doors for you, all that jazz

when he finally does confess he’d probably do something stupid like make todo stand outside your room with a boombox while he break dances

don’t break his heart he will never recover

megumi fushiguro

he doesn’t want to have feelings for you because he knows it’ll end with one of you getting hurt with the whole jujutsu sorcerer thing so he pushes you away a lot

he actually makes you think he hates your guts so you guys go a long time not talking unless you absolutely have to

when you guys do talk he is always blushing and looking away

over time you manage to crack him though and he starts treating you like a human being with emotions

he probably buys you a soda or some sweets as an apology for being an a-hole to you

you find out he likes you through nobara or yuji but he would never confess,

if you want things to work out between you guys you’d probably have to confess to him and hope for the best

toge inumaki

he also makes fun of you but in a WAY more light hearted way

like friendly picking on you, like he’d somehow find a way to make fun of you for being pretty

he likes to invite you to help him cook just so he can hang out with you

panda never hears the end about you

on your off days he always invites you to go out and do stuff with him, like literally anything, he’ll invite you to run errands with him or to go to the arcade

when he finally confesses to you it’s no surprise to anyone, yourself included,

he slips a note into your bag and it’s literally just the cutest confession ever like that note could bring a man to tears

inumaki may be a man of few words but he knows all the right ones

yuta okkotsu

he is actually terrified when he realizes he has feelings for you because of rika so he waits a while before he even talks to you because he wants more control over her, yk so she won’t bite your head off

since he’s never around anyway he decided to just talk to you once he got back from one of his missions about how you guys have so much catching up to do

he is very observant though, he watches you and he knows what you get up to and who you hang out with, what kind of shows and music you like but he doesn’t want to be creepy about it

he is very sweet though, you mentioned running out of your favorite candy and he surprises you with a new bag that you guys eat together

he is a very vanilla guy, if he likes you, and he’s able to express it, he’ll do things like ask you out on a date or bring you chocolate, open doors for you,

he also covers your eyes from certain things on missions, he knows you’re used to seeing stuff like that but he just doesn’t want you to see what HE does to curses

he would probably confess by inviting you to the park or something and asking you to be his <3

aoi todo

he is NOT slick about it at all

first time he sees you his jaw is on the floor

he is borderline harassing you but in a…. caring way?

like he’s the type of guy who would throw himself over a puddle so you don’t get your shoes wet

he wrote a song for you except he’s a terrible singer

he probably also got yuji to help him confess to you with said song

he’s honestly like your night in shining armor though, it’s almost like he can sense when your in danger because whenever missions are looking rough he busts in out of no where to save the day

whenever you guys actually get together you always catch him shamelessly admiring you, whenever you’re together his eyes are only on you

noritoshi kamo

also in denial about his feelings towards you, he would never confess to you first or even tell anyone he liked you, yourself included

he can’t stop himself from being near you or constantly doing favors for you though

he doesn’t invite you out or anything but he just likes being near you and being able to see you i guess

like he’s always looking out for you

he likes meeting you outside late at night and just talking to you

one time during your convos he let it slip that you were the prettiest person he’s ever seen and you ended up confessing to him after that

and they lived happily ever after

kokichi muta (sorry in advance)

this is a tough one since he’s kind of a robot for most of his screen time….

i think if he wasn’t mechamaru and he was an actual person he would be kind of cold but still soft towards you

like he wouldn’t necessarily be mean or nice to you but he’d bring you ice cream or something as a ‘here just so you know i actually like you’

he’s the type of guy to bonk u on the head

i think he’d probably confess with like chocolate or a flower but he’d be so nervous that he can’t even look at you while he does it but if you accept his feelings he can’t stop smiling

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prezaki · 1 year ago

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One core trait of Phoenix Wright as a character that I rarely see discussed is how utterly evasive he is about his private affairs. It sticks out the most in AA4 when we see Phoenix from the outside, but "Phoenix won't tell anyone anything important unless he absolutely has to (and even then, he probably won't)" is by no means a new development for him.

From AA1 onwards, we see Phoenix dodge people's questions about his personal life time and time again. In part, this is by narrative necessity - Phoenix knows more than the player is meant to know in order to achieve the optimal tension curve. But AA takes his narrative shortcut and turns it into a real character beat.

Phoenix Wright is the most cagey fucker on the planet.

At the end of 1-1 Mia asks him how he came to befriend Larry and Phoenix dodges the question with a vague promise to tell her later - this also means that in all of his time working with Mia, he's never actually disclosed his full motivation for becoming a lawyer to her.

In 1-2, Maya asks him how he knows Edgeworth and he dodges, because of course he does. The same song and dance repeats at the end of 1-3. And despite Maya's repeated prodding by 1-4, Phoenix still has not told her a thing about his past. That's from October until December that Maya is left going ??? and her questions go nowhere.

Then, between AA1 and AA2, Edgeworth is presumed dead by suicide. Does Phoenix tell Maya about this? Absolutely not. He does not tell her in letters nor is he clear about it when they see each other again in person, months later.

What Maya gets once it's inevitable to talk is a vague 'he's gone' and no elaboration other than the request to not speak about him again.

This is Phoenix's default coping mechanism.

In AA3, there are numerous instances where he mentions forgetting Dahlia, not speaking her name again, etc. Edgeworth is 100% getting the 'person who hurt me too deeply to think about' treatment here.

But to not even tell Maya a vague overview on the matter, when Maya knew him too? Rough. And it just keeps going.

It's six months between telling Maya that Edgeworth is 'gone' in 2-2 and her finding out that 'gone' seemingly means' dead' in 2-3.

Maya complains about it, too. This isn't a matter of 'she never asked again', it's a matter of 'Phoenix is dodging all questions'. Gumshoe has to intervene in order for Maya to finally find out.

And finally in 3-5, does he tell anybody why he's going to Hazakura temple and why he seems interested in Iris? Absolutely not!

At this point we get Edgeworth openly acknowledging that Phoenix keeps his emotional cards extremely closely to the chest. When he states that he wants confirmation on whether or not he has met Iris before, this exchange happens:

Even as Edgeworth directly calls him out on being evasive and never actually speaking to people, all Phoenix can do is acknowledge that this is how he is by apologizing - but he won't change his ways.

AA4 Phoenix is really just a natural evolution of Trilogy Phoenix - Trilogy Phoenix is already evasive, already hates telling people about his struggles or accepting help... It's really no wonder that he'd isolate himself instead of reaching out once he gets disbarred.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #ace attorney meta #is this a tag??? idk i am trying my best here

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scoutswritingcorner · 8 months ago

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Carelessly Curious

Cursed Cat Alastor Fic

Ft. Alastor x GN! Reader

A/N: More cursed cat Alastor cause it’s 2:38am and I’m having to stay up all night.

TW: Blood, talks of eating a body (mostly Cursed Cat Alastor), Alastor x GN!Reader shenanigans.

The few times your little cat friend was around and the one time Alastor got jealous.

You noticed a trend with the weird cat thing that looked like Alastor, everywhere you went the cat was not far behind. The only exception was if Alastor was actually near you, the cat would be behind a corner or a door watching every move. You would find it creepy but..it does the exact same thing Alastor does. It just stands and stares like Alastor when he doesn’t have anything particular to say or he’s trying to gauge how the room is.

Satan forbid if Lucifer got too close to you, the cat would literally start to vibrate as static and eerie growls left its mouth. It even tried to bite the King. You kept apologizing to him, having to rightfully shoo the cat away so you could have a conversation with Lucifer. Only for the cat to come back with a vengeance of 30 angry men.

Your favorite thing about the cat is how it just tends to take up the space in your lap if you're not busy- or whenever you're extremely busy with helping the front desk answer calls. It’s favorite thing (or you thought) was when it brought you body parts from the people it killed. It always sucked having to get blood out of your clothes, but Alastor was always helpful with that situation. The cat always dropped it in your lap staring at you but then realized you didn’t eat demon flesh and in turn devoured the limb easily bone and all.

The next few hours of your day had passed by slowly as you did your routine around the hotel, soft tip taps of paws following after you as a soft hum of radio static. Then the soft taps stopped as Alastor appeared next to you, pulling you into a slow dance by carefully spinning you around until you leaned into his arms, soft jazz playing from his microphone. You immediately smiled, leaning your head against his chest as he hummed along to the music. “No broadcast today?” You asked after a while leaning back as the soft tune turned into something more upbeat, practically beating him to his own game.

He chuckled, easily guiding you along into the dance, “Not today~” He whispered out and you finally realized that his usual attire had changed. The once red button up shirt was changed into a white one and his jacket was nowhere to be found, black slacks adorned his new outfit. You rarely saw him change into something other than his own red suit, you didn’t bring too much attention to it. A comfortable silence lulled between the both of you as the dance ended with him easily dipping you, leaving a gentle kiss upon your lips. The rest of the day was spent dancing away with him between fast paced dances that almost made you trip over your own feet to keep up with him to slow dances that made you sleepy.

You don’t remember when you fell asleep or how you woke up in your own bed, soft jazz playing from your radio. You tried to sit up but realized there was a weight on your chest and then a soft paw gently hit your head in retaliation to your movement. The cat (you still didn’t know if it was a cat) was laying on your chest purring loudly, radio static getting louder. “Sorry, sorry.” You whispered out laying back down and the static dissipated easily, the cat got resituated on your chest and slowly blinked it’s eyes towards you before looking away staring at a random wall as if it was protecting you.

You stared up at the ceiling for a while before the cat moved from your chest to the pillow next to you. Allowing you to slowly sit up stretching your back out and then your eyes landed on Alastor sitting in the armchair in your room, softly snoring as he leaned against his own hand. Slowly getting up, you walked over draping a blanket over his shoulders and taking the book from his lap making sure to mark his place for him when he woke back up.

The next time you saw the cat watching you was when you were bathing. Minding your own business as you relaxed after a stressful day only to see a bright red ball of fluff glaring at the tub, back arched as it let out a loud hissing noise. You chuckled and shook your head, “It’s fine..just taking a bath.” You told the cat but it only sent you a glance and hissed once more the red fur on it puffing up almost comically. Now that made you laugh loudly, tears forming in your eyes as you looked away.

Calming down from your laughing fit you reached a wet hand out towards the corner where the cat stood. The cat batted at your hand, hissing louder but it never actually hit you. “Oh so grumpy..you remind me of someone~” You cooed out, leaning back and smiling, glancing at the cat who now moved forward towards the tub. “Oh? Becoming adventurous?”

The cat grumbled as loud static echoed through the room and it stood up on its hind legs to peer into the tub, watching the water. The next few seconds felt like a horror movie. Shadows wrapped around the poor little cat's frame and dropped it into the tub of warm water causing it to freak out and climb out of the tub. Then Alastor appeared, holding fresh clothes for you. A smirk played on his lips, “Careful..you're getting careless~” He growled towards the smaller cat who growled in return. You rolled your eyes, getting up and wrapping a towel around your frame and exiting the tub. “You’re so mean to my little protector.” You pouted towards Alastor who gently grabbed your cheek and squeezed it.

“Well you’re little protector is getting too chummy with you, Darling. I have to show him who your beloved is~”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x gn!reader #gn reader #cursed cat alastor

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reidmarieprentiss · 28 days ago

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The Profile of Attraction

Summary: Spencer tries to give you a profile at a club, you think he's the unsub.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: being at a club, reader wears a dress

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: just thinking about when this happened on the show lolol

main masterlist

The pulsating lights of the club made it hard to focus, and the blaring music didn’t help either. You were still standing at the bar, sipping your drink when a tall man approached you, his demeanor commanding your attention. He had an air of authority, and despite the casual setting, you could tell he was someone serious.

“Excuse me,” he said, leaning in closer so you could hear him. “I need to ask if you’ve seen someone. Tall guy, kinda lanky, doesn’t really look like he belongs in a place like this. Probably acting a little out of place, maybe observing more than participating?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to piece it together, but before you could respond, the man added, “I’m Derek Morgan. I’m with the FBI.”

Your eyes widened at that. The FBI? What kind of trouble was happening here?

“Um, actually, yeah,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the back of the room. “I was literally just talking to someone who fits that description a minute ago. He was being really weird, talking about how out of place everyone looked, making these, like, really specific observations.”

Morgan’s expression shifted slightly, his previously casual demeanor now replaced by a more urgent tone. "Can you show me?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room with growing intensity.

"Yeah, of course," you replied, your concern deepening. The uncomfortable feeling you’d had while talking to that man earlier now seemed more significant. You led Derek through the crowd, weaving between people dancing and chatting, trying to pinpoint where you had last seen him. Your heart pounded a little faster as you approached the area, your nerves heightened by the seriousness of the situation.

“There!” you finally said, spotting the man who had given you the creeps. He was standing awkwardly near the bar, wearing a sweater vest, completely out of place in the pulsating, lively atmosphere of the club.

Derek’s eyes zeroed in on the man, and without hesitation, he moved quickly, his expression focused and anxious, ready to make an arrest. But then, he paused abruptly, seeing the direction you were pointing in. He shot you a puzzled look. "Wait, sweetheart, can you be more specific?"

You nodded firmly, pointing again. "That one! The guy in the sweater vest."

Morgan's lips twitched, barely containing a laugh as he realized who you were referring to. He glanced at you, amusement dancing in his eyes, but he managed to keep it together. "Alright, come on." He guided you over as he approached the man, clearly trying to maintain his composure.

"Hey, man," Morgan called out as you both neared the guy in question. "This lady says you were freaking her out."

The man spun around immediately, his eyes wide with panic and hands raised in a gesture of apology. He looked utterly mortified. "What? I’m so sorry! I was just trying to give you the profile," he blurted out, his face flushed.

That was when Morgan lost it. He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, doubling over slightly as he slapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. "She thought you were the unsub, Reid!"

"The what?" you asked, feeling completely lost as you looked between the two men.

Still chuckling, Derek took a moment to catch his breath before turning back to you. "The unsub. It’s what we call the unknown subject of an investigation—the bad guy. But turns out, this guy," he gestured to Spencer, "is not the criminal you’re looking for. He’s just an FBI agent with a bit of a… let’s say, unique approach."

Spencer stood there, still red-faced, looking both embarrassed and apologetic. "I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just, uh, trying to give you the profile."

You couldn’t help but laugh, though you were still a little embarrassed yourself. "So, you’re with the FBI too?"

Spencer nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I didn’t mean to come off... creepy."

Morgan laughed harder, shaking his head. "Man, you’ve gotta work on your delivery, Reid."

You couldn’t help but join in the laughter, realizing how absurd the whole situation was. "Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about you being a serial killer then."

Spencer cracked a small, awkward smile, clearly relieved. "No, definitely not."

Derek noticed the way Spencer’s eyes glazed over, the telltale sign that only ever appeared when he was around someone he found particularly striking. Sensing an opportunity, Derek decided to throw him a bone, a playful grin forming on his face. “Alright… why don’t you try giving the profile again,” he said with a wink, “and I’ll go talk to more people, see what I can find out.”

Before Spencer could respond, Derek patted him on the back and walked off, leaving the two of you standing there. You glanced at Spencer, who looked momentarily flustered as if he didn’t expect to be left alone so quickly. He cleared his throat, shuffling on his feet awkwardly.

“Why did you think I was the unsub?” Spencer asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and lingering embarrassment. He peered at you, still a little baffled but trying to understand how you’d come to that conclusion.

You laughed softly, shaking your head, suddenly feeling a bit silly about it all. “I don’t know! You were just… standing there, kind of observing people without really interacting, and when you came over to me and started analyzing everyone, it just felt really... weird,” you admitted, feeling the flush rise to your cheeks. “I guess I got a little freaked out.”

Spencer blinked, and for a moment, his analytical brain kicked in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He looked genuinely apologetic, shifting his weight. “I was just profiling the crowd. I do it out of habit, honestly. I should’ve realized how it might come across.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, really. It’s just not everyday you meet an FBI agent at a club giving a profile on random people.”

Spencer smiled awkwardly, clearly relieved that you weren’t holding it against him. “I suppose it’s not the most typical introduction.”

You tilted your head, curious now that the initial misunderstanding had passed. “So, what was the profile you were giving me? You started but then… well, things got sidetracked.”

Spencer perked up at that, his eyes lighting up as he shifted into his more comfortable mode—explaining things. “Well, based on the way people are interacting here, you can tell who’s a regular and who’s not. For instance, you don’t seem like someone who comes to clubs often—your drink choice suggests you were looking for something familiar and safe, which indicates you might feel slightly out of place here.” He paused, glancing at your expression to make sure he wasn’t overstepping again.

You nodded, amused. “Okay, not bad. Go on.”

Spencer adjusted his sweater vest slightly, taking your encouragement as permission to continue. “And the way you were standing when I first approached, you were slightly turned away from the crowd, keeping an eye on the exit. It suggested you were a bit anxious, maybe uncomfortable with the environment.”

You blinked, impressed by how accurate his observations were. “Wow, you really don’t miss much, do you?”

He smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s kind of my job.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I really didn’t mean to scare you, though. I just... tend to see patterns in everything, even in social settings like this.”

You found yourself warming up to his awkward charm. “Well, next time, maybe lead with something a little less intense, like… ‘Hi, I’m ….’” You teased lightly.

Spencer chuckled softly, his gaze meeting yours with more confidence now. “Spencer. Noted. I’ll work on my introductions.”

"Spencer," you grinned, your voice taking on a playful tone, "Can I get your number? You know, in case I find myself in any trouble?"

Spencer felt the air shift around him, and his mouth suddenly went dry as he realized the flirtation in your voice. His mind raced to come up with a response, but then his eyes fell, almost involuntarily, to your dress. The fabric clung to you, sheer in just the right places, accentuating the lines of your figure. The asymmetry of the hemline added a touch of elegance, while the sheerness of the material hinted at something far more daring.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. His brain was calculating, running through statistics and social cues, but nothing was helping him navigate this unexpected situation.

"I, uh…" Spencer stammered, clearly flustered. "You—you'd probably be safer not relying on me for protection." He managed a nervous laugh, though his eyes quickly darted back up to your face, struggling not to get distracted again by the provocative dress you were wearing.

You tilted your head, your grin widening. "Oh, I don't know, Spencer," you teased. "Something tells me you'd be more helpful than you're letting on." You let the words hang in the air, your gaze holding his as you patiently awaited his next move.

Spencer's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well... in case of any trouble, I suppose you could use a direct line," he finally said, fumbling with his phone as he handed it over to you, trying not to think too hard about how flustered he'd become.

“And I’ll be able to reach you this way?” you asked, your fingers brushing against his as you took the phone from his hand. There was a playful challenge in your voice, one that had Spencer nearly frozen in place.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, you will,” he replied, his voice slightly strained but still soft. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if he were trying to process the situation, but his thoughts were clearly scattered.

“Great,” you said, your lips curving into a smile that held the promise of mischief. You tapped in your number and handed the phone back to him, your fingers again briefly grazing his. “I’ll be calling, Spencer.”

His name on your lips seemed to hang in the air, and Spencer, despite his usually sharp and quick mind, could only manage a nod, his heart racing in his chest. He watched you with wide eyes, both intrigued and unnerved by the way you carried yourself with such ease, your confidence weaving a spell that left him slightly off balance.

As you turned to walk away, your dress catching the light just right, Spencer stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, already wondering what he’d say if and when you did decide to call.

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heliads · 3 months ago

Text

wouldn't you love to love her? - jack hughes

The New Jersey Devils have a new social media intern. Jack Hughes is determined not to care at all, except for the fact that he does.

masterlist

“We’re getting a new social media intern,” Luke remarks offhandedly.

Jack tries not to roll his eyes. He’s not sure he succeeds. For as long as he’s been at the Devils, there have been perhaps dozens of new social media interns, one after another in a chain of pretty girls shoving phones into his face. Every time, it’s always the same. Another girl, fresh from college or in between jobs, asking him and the others to learn dances or take part in trends. Luke will flirt with the intern. Dawson too, probably. Even Jack, when he gets bored. Then, the internship will be up in a month or two, and they’ll get another one. Prettier, maybe, or funnier. And the cycle will begin again.

It’s not like he can really blame them, either. The hockey industry is precious, even for people who aren’t playing. If these girls want in, an internship is a great way to start. Any entry post’s a good one if it gets you where you want. Only, social media’s a pain. Jack came here to play hockey, not be in a dozen new photos and videos a day. It drives him crazy sometimes, or all the time.

So, when his brother tells him they’re getting another intern, he really couldn’t care less. Luke, more prone to fits of passion over the latest girl in Devils red, is still staring at him wide eyed, waiting for a reaction, so Jack rolls his eyes and gives him one.

“Good,” he says dully. “It’s been too long since I saw a phone camera shoved in my face. Can’t wait.”

Luke groans. “Come on, man. They’re fun, don’t give me that bullshit again. Besides, I saw you trying to buy the last one drinks.”

Jack can’t argue with this. He had been trying. It was something to do. “Won’t do it this time. I’ll leave that for you.”

Luke heaves another dramatic sigh. Jack wants to do something to stop the oppressive judgment, so he does, snatching the hat off Luke’s head and shoving it towards his mouth. Luke, predictably, nearly falls out of his chair and starts squawking indignantly. Jack just chuckles and gets up from his seat, heading towards the door. They’ve been idling in one of the cafes in the massive arena where they practice, called there early for business stuff that ended up getting delayed. Meetings always run late, and now Jack has the rare feeling of tardiness not actually being his fault.

He heads down the hall towards the locker rooms, ready at last for practice. Luke follows a few paces behind him, still complaining, something about saving violence for the ice. Bullshit, obviously. Jack does what he wants, where he wants. Hasn’t Luke figured that out by now?

Jack steals a glance over his shoulder just to rub in the injury. Luke meets his gaze and glowers, still pissy from almost taking a nose dive off his chair, but all of a sudden his eyes widen at something in front of them. Jack whips around just in time to collide with someone exiting one of the offices.

It’s not an accidental almost-impact, either, this is a complete disaster. Papers go flying. Jack manages to keep his balance, but the victim of his distraction is worse off. He has to fling out both hands to steady them, catching at their arms at the elbow before they fall over. A dozen apologies rise to his lips, but Jack only gets through about half of them before he actually looks at the person he’s just bumped into– and look, indeed, he does.

Jack has just run into a girl his age, and a very pretty girl at that. He gets lost in her eyes without even meaning to, captivated by the way the light shines in them as she opens her mouth and says, “What the hell are you doing?”

Jack blinks in surprise, feeling like he’s just been abruptly pulled out of a dream. “Huh?”

The girl stares at him like he’s crazy. “Why are you holding onto me?”

Too late, Jack realizes he never actually let go of her when he was trying to steady her. He snatches his hands away, the sinking feeling settling in that he actually has no idea how long he was standing there, captivated. No wonder this girl thinks he’s insane. This random guy comes up, runs into her, then silently holds her in his arms for what’s probably more than just a second or two? Yeah, that’s crazy in anyone’s books.

“Sorry,” Jack says again. They look at each other warily for a moment longer, then collectively, both gazes drop to the papers spilled across the ground.

Immediately, Jack dives for them, trying to gather as many as he can. He springs up again, and, not trusting himself to say anything that isn’t stupid, just awkwardly holds out the papers until she takes them. The girl gives him one last disbelieving glance, then walks purposefully past him. Jack turns and watches her go, wondering why he feels vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t stopped to talk longer. He didn’t even get her name.

Raucous laughter breaks out the second the girl disappears around a corner. Belatedly, Jack remembers that Luke has witnessed the whole thing, which is just great. The last thing Luke needs is more ammunition for making fun of him.

“That was, like, the least smooth thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Luke chokes out. “What the fuck was that?”

Heat flares into Jack’s cheeks. “Shut up,” he says, turning back to continue walking down the hallway.

Luke, however, is unwilling to let go of the horrific blunder. He trots up to walk by Jack’s side, regardless of how much Jack tries to pick up the pace. “I mean, Jesus. Way to make an entrance. Poor girl’s probably going to log that with HR.”

“Shut up,” Jack repeats through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen you do worse in front of fans.”

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you,” Luke says happily. “I’m so telling Quinn about this.”

“You are not,” Jack warns, but even after many threats of serious violence, he’s not entirely convinced that his older brother won’t hear about this.

Jack almost manages to put the whole thing out of his mind until he and the others are hanging out in the locker room later that day. They’re all dressed, but their coach wanted a few words before they hit the ice, apparently something bureaucratic that Jack can’t wait to forget.

Instead of being introduced to a new friend of the owner or some wealthy donor, however, Coach announces that they’ll be meeting their new social media intern. Online presence is crucial for sponsors, apparently, and the Devils need to up their game. So they say. Jack thinks it’s a lot of nonsense, and is fully prepared to treat it as such until their coach beckons the new intern into the room and Jack realizes he knows her. This isn’t a stranger, someone he can ignore without another thought. This is the pretty girl Jack just ran into earlier today, and she’s the one in charge of most of his Internet footprint.

Great.

Across the room, Luke is grinning ear to ear. This is so not what Jack wanted. The coach is saying something about how they’ll all be pulled one by one today for introductions and a few quick videos that can be parceled out during the next week or so. Usually, they would ask Nico first, captain rights and all that, but they need him to advise on some drills, so they go for the next best– Jack himself.

They’ll be filming TikToks or whatever a few halls over so as to not distract anyone, so Jack makes his way over with no small amount of trepidation. She hadn’t seemed so excited to meet him earlier, but maybe she’ll have forgotten who he was. It was a fast exchange. Maybe this means nothing at all, and they will have a great meeting, and he could even get her number or something. Yeah, not a problem.

The girl is setting up a phone on a stand when Jack shows up. She glances once at him as he approaches, then nods. “Oh, we’re starting with Mr. Observant. Cool.”

Jack feels his face turn a bright scarlet. “I’m not– I’m sorry about that. Honestly. I just didn’t see you.”

“That’s fine,” the girl says with a listless wave of her hand. “It was funny. I just thought hockey players would have more reflexes or something, I don’t know. Anyway, what’s your name, again?”

This is a simple question. It really is. Yet for some reason, Jack finds himself bothered. He’s been with the team for a while now, had that A on his uniform for a while now, and maybe he shouldn’t, but he’s gotten comfortable with his reputation. People know who he is. He’s recognized on the street, asked for photos while he’s getting coffee, all of that. And now this girl– this intern– is pretending like she doesn’t know who he is, and insulting his reflexes to boot?

“Jack,” Jack replies tersely. “Are you going to tell me your name, or should I just guess?”

“Y/N,” the girl answers him. “What do you do on the ice except run into people?”

“I play hockey,” Jack deadpans. “What else do you want me to say?”

Y/N just smiles at him, the picture of innocence. “Your position? This is supposed to be an introduction, isn’t it? I have to make sure I have a good picture of the team.”

Fine. Fine. Jack can be civil. He’s going to play along and then he’s going to leave and make somebody else deal with her.

“Yeah, position. I'm an alternate captain, a center. Left wing. That matters.” He feels like he’s rambling. This is stupid. He’s stupid. He never does this.

“Sure it does,” Y/N says, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have to tell everyone you’re cool or just the interns?”

“Huh?” Jack asks. “I’m not– I’m just talking.”

Y/N nods. “I’m sure you do. Talking and hockey, that’s impressive. I can see why the Devils wanted you.”

“Your team spirit needs some work,” Jack notes. “Why’d they hire you, your winning personality?”

“That, and I’m wonderful at making infographics,” Y/N informs him breezily.

“I bet they’re terrible,” Jack says on instinct. “Clashing colors and all that. Can you even draw a straight line?”

Y/N cocks her head to the side. “I don’t know, can you shoot on goal without getting injured?”

Jack takes a step forward on instinct before he remembers that he cannot fight social media interns and backs down. Still, the anger simmers in his head so bad he’s not sure if the red all around him is for the Devils or just the film of rage clouding his eyes.

This isn’t good for him. His team needs him out there on the ice with a level head, even in practice. Jack forces a smile and says, “I guess you’ll see at our next game, won’t you?”

Y/N meets his gaze with a mirror smirk, which bothers Jack more than if she’d tried to one-up him again. He grabs his stick with more force than necessary, making himself step past her and onto the ice before he does something he’ll regret. Once he’s out there, skating broad loops to warm up, Jack can almost put the whole exchange out of his head.

Almost.

Luke finds him after practice, because of course he does. Somedays, Luke swears that little brothers must be born with an innate knowledge of how to stick their heads into other people’s business. Fleetingly, he wonders what Quinn would think about that, then moves on before that lesson can settle in.

“I love our new intern,” Luke says happily on the drive back to their apartment.

Jack scoffs. “Sure you do. You love rubbing this in my face.”

Luke glances at him, surprised. “No, honestly. I think she’s great. Super funny, too.”

Jack turns to stare at him with disbelief so abruptly he almost swerves the car into a telephone pole. Veering to correct course, Jack spits out, “Y/N? You think Y/N is great?”

Once Luke stops pretending like they’ve almost died– which they didn’t, by the way, Jack had everything under control– he calms down enough to say, “Yeah, I do. She was super nice to me. I need to ask if she’s local so we can hang after the internship ends.”

Jack feels as if he’s been dropped into an alternate reality. “You’re serious. You really do like Y/N?”

Now Luke’s looking at him like he’s the crazy one. “Like I said, yeah. Why, what happened when you talked to her? Was she still mad about earlier?”

“You could say that,” Jack grits out, knuckles white around the steering wheel.

Luke chuckles. “That’s kind of funny, actually.”

“It is not,” Jack mutters, but Luke remains in high spirits the whole drive back anyway.

To the great amusement of his younger brother, Jack and Y/N continue to be at odds the next time the Devils have to film social media videos, and the next time, and the next. Even when they start off a meeting on relatively stable ground, something will happen to have them sniping again, and they’ll be at each other’s throats by the time they leave the building in the evening.

What makes it worse is that Jack is apparently the only one suffering from Y/N’s cold shoulder. Everyone from the captain to the rookies seems to have gotten along just fine with their newest social media intern, yet Jack feels like he walks around with a target on his back every time she’s in office. They’ve started to ignore each other instead of purposely tossing insults, but that’s as close as he’ll ever get to a truce.

Jack has started counting down the days until she leaves. He would love some peace and quiet. Maybe the next intern will be normal, or they’ll all be poisoned forever just because Y/N L/N showed up and changed Jack’s life for good.

God, he feels like she’s crept into every part of his world. He’ll be scrolling on his phone and the videos she filmed will appear on his For You page out of nowhere. Jack swears he can sense her in every quick cut, every box of text, every song selection. Walking through the arena, he sees her everywhere– ducking into a meeting room, discussing potential videos with some of the PR agents, tucked into the bleachers so she can watch them practice and snap some shots. Jack is starting to seriously wonder if there has ever been a time when she hasn’t been wound around him like a loose thread come undone from his favorite coat.

Even now, he can see her. Jack has finally left a late-night practice, breath fogging up in the cold evening air. He’s glad for the warmth of his car when he slides in. Luke went back with some friends, but Jack had wanted to hang around a while longer to practice some skills before the next game.

Y/N must have been working late too, because he can see her now, walking out of the parking lot and towards the sidewalk leading into town. Jack assumes she’s waiting for someone to pick her up, but Y/N’s steps don’t show any indication of slowing down. Is she actually walking on a night like this? Jack is cold just thinking about the weather outside. Y/N has a coat on, but it won’t be enough to discourage the bite of the wind.

Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he’s pulled his car alongside her. Y/N looks panicked when he comes to a stop, but relaxes somewhat when Jack rolls down the window and calls out to her. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I’m walking back. Have a nice night.”

She turns back to the sidewalk, evidently expecting him to keep driving. Jack also expects himself to keep driving, but he doesn’t. “It’s awfully cold to be walking. How far is your apartment?”

“Not far,” Y/N says. “Twenty minutes, maybe?”

That settles it. “You’re not walking twenty minutes in the freezing cold,” Jack decides. “Besides, I thought you were dropped off. Isn’t someone coming to pick you up?”

Y/N pauses oddly, and it occurs to Jack that he probably shouldn’t be noticing how she gets to and from work each day. Still, when she speaks again, he’s pretty sure the annoyance in her voice isn’t directed at him, for once. “I was dropped off, but my friend canceled on me. Hence the walk.”

Jack’s mood immediately sours. That’s a shitty move for sure, and even if he doesn’t always see eye to eye with Y/N, he’d never leave her out here, shivering even after a few minutes of walking. And he won’t tonight, either.

“I can drive you, if you like,” Jack offers abruptly. He’s not sure why he does it. He never has before. They’ve never been in a position like this before, and maybe they won’t either. Still, he doesn’t take it back.

Y/N, apparently heedless of the gravity of this offer, just smiles and shakes her head. “That’s alright, I’ll just call an Uber. Thanks, though.’

Jack blinks and stares at her. It had taken such a rush to get the words out that it honestly didn’t occur to him that she would just say no. “Is this because you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” Y/N laughs. “I’m walking. You should get going soon, you’re going to disrupt traffic.”

“Fuck traffic, you’re cold,” Jack says disbelievingly. “Get in the car, Y/N. Please?”

She looks like she’s going to argue, but a particularly frigid gust of wind rips through that thin jacket and a moment later, Y/N is settling into his passenger seat. She turns to look at him, and Jack looks back at her, just a few spans apart. They’re close enough that he can see the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. Close enough that he could reach out and touch the slow bloom of cold on her cheek if he just tried.

“So?” Jack manages to pull himself together long enough to ask, “What’s your address?”

Y/N blinks, evidently startled out of some reverie, then pulls it up on her phone. Jack follows the directions, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel. The car is quiet, and it weighs on him like a burden until he finally blurts out, “Why do you hate me, though?”

Y/N looks baffled. “I don’t hate you.”

Jack snorts. “Of course you do. You get along with every single member of this team but me, it’s a little hard not to take that personally. Come on, just tell me. Is it because I ran into you that first day?”

Y/N laughs again. It’s one of the few times it’s with him, not at him, and Jack lets the sound wash over him like sunlight. It’s a good sound. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again, maybe.

“That was funny. No, it wasn’t that. It’s just–” Her voice drops off, suddenly serious. “Do you remember Emma? She was your social media intern last summer. She’s the one who suggested I take this program, actually.”

Vague memories appear in Jack’s head. “Kind of? We’ve had a lot of interns.”

“Yeah, well, she’s one of my best friends, and the most important piece of advice she gave me before I started was to stay the hell away from you.”

Jack almost misses his turn. “What? Why?”

He risks a glance away from the road and towards her, but Y/N is keeping her head perfectly straight, not allowing herself to look at him in the slightest. “Something about you breaking her heart. She seems to remember you flirting a lot, buying her drinks, then dumping her for someone more interesting the second the internship ended.”

Jack winces. “That does sound familiar, actually. Sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

Y/N interrupts him with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, no, I get it. I love Emma, I really do, but she’s got a habit of moving quickly. Still, she was really hurt for a while. I figured anyone who could do that to my friend and not even remember was someone who didn’t need me to be nice to them.”

Guilt starts to pool in Jack’s stomach, icing him down to the core. “Still. I was a dick.”

“You still are, on occasion,” Y/N says, smiling slightly, “But I’ve been bad too, I think. I wanted to get revenge for my friend, but I’ve been more mean than needed. I’m sorry too.”

Jack comes to a slow stop in front of one of the notoriously long red lights of their shared city. As the scarlet of the traffic light washes over them, Jack takes advantage of the stopped traffic to hold out a hand to her. “How about a truce, then? If we’re both sorry?”

Y/N considers his outstretched hand, then nods at last and shakes it. “I’m good with that. Let’s start over.”

“Let’s start over,” Jack repeats.

Her hand is still a little cold in his, even after the few minutes they’ve spent talking. It occurs to Jack that he could probably sit here for a while longer, warm her hands up with his, and then Y/N nudges him in the side and Jack realizes the light has turned green. He drops her hand hastily, turning back to the road in the hopes that she won’t notice the slow flush of heat to his cheeks.

The rest of the drive back is uneventful. Jack offers to walk Y/N to the door of her apartment complex, which Y/N jokingly calls creepy then smiles for real when he insists. They part with a promise to try harder next time, and Jack doesn’t think his feet have ever felt so light on the walk back from practice. He goes to bed that night like a little kid, practically giddy at the thought of the day ahead.

Looking back on it, Jack isn’t sure what he expected to happen with them after that. A celebration, maybe some fanfares? Or just a normal conversation in which she expressed how glad she was to see him and Jack could do the same? He doesn’t get any of that. In fact, they hardly see each other for most of the next few days. This isn’t too unexpected; although they love to complain, the players and media don’t see each other that often unless someone’s sworn on live TV or otherwise messed up their online presence.

Still, by the time Jack’s path finally crosses with Y/N’s, he’s really hoping for something special. He’s sort of crazy the whole time they’re filming videos, all raised eyebrows and hopeful glances, but instead of seizing the opportunity to make fun of him, Y/N just giggles a little and goes on with her life. It’s not bad, all things considered, but Jack– Jack wants more.

When hasn’t he, after all, wanted more? He wants to be better at skating. He wants to score more goals. He wants to stop getting brushed off by the commentators. He wants, more than anything, for some reason, for the pretty girl interning for their media department to do more than just look at him with a faint smile every now and then.

The sheer wanting starts to consume him. Jack goes out of his way to be exceptionally funny, astoundingly clever, practically fantastic in every way, yet nothing seems to wow Y/N. They’re just talking, which is certainly more than he had a few weeks ago, but Jack doesn’t want to just be talking to her, he wants to be back in his car again, with her leaning over and laughing at his jokes, her cold hands in his, telling him that maybe she’d misjudged him after all. Jack doesn’t just want more, he wants her, and that is making him insane.

Worse still is the fact that he doesn’t have her. Jack has spent his whole life, it feels like, hating the ‘pretty boy hockey player’ persona. He’s certain it’s cost him deals or trades or something over the years with the way people refuse to take him seriously. Yet now, Jack isn’t cursing its existence, but rather wondering why the hell it hasn’t worked. He’s still the same guy, same face. That stubborn acne patch on his chin has been clear for weeks now. He got a haircut, and people said it was good this time. Everything should be in his favor, looks-wise. So why doesn’t it seem to have a single effect?

It’s baffling, honestly. Jack cannot stand it. Worse still, the internship period is starting to slip away, and soon enough Y/N will be gone for good, leaving Jack to reel in her absence and wonder why he couldn’t make her like him enough to stay.

His mood sours whenever he thinks about it, which is often. Like now, even, in between Jack’s hours on the ice. They’re swapping out players in shifts, and Jack won’t be on for another five minutes or so. He’s sitting on one of the metal bleachers, hoping that watching the others will help keep his mind off things, but it’s not working too well.

Someone sits down right next to him, and Jack is about to start asking why they couldn’t pick anywhere fucking else to sit when he realizes it’s Y/N.

“Oh,” he says, trying desperately to sound cool and not bone-tired from practice, “Hey. D’you need another TikTok or something?”

“No TikToks,” Y/N says, smiling. “We can do a bonus one if you want, though, I know how much you love them.”

Jack chuckles. “They’ve been growing on me.” No reason why.

Y/N grins like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “High praise. I hope you carry that spirit to the next social media intern, too.”

Jack sighs plaintively. “Do you really have to go? You fit in well, you know. You might as well stay a little longer.”

“That so?” Y/N asks, one eyebrow raised.

Jack looks away. “I don’t know. I heard some of the guys saying–”

Y/N cuts him off, lips twitching up into a smile. “I don’t care about the guys, Jack. What do you think?”

“I think you should stay,” Jack mumbles. He still can’t look her in the eyes. “With me.”

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. It doesn’t have to be through the Devils or not. He just wants Y/N with him for a while longer, to tease him when he’s being stupid and cheer for him during the games. He wants to hear her laugh longer than just the next few days. He wants to get coffee and buy flowers and match outfits and do a hundred things that would be special because he’d be doing them with her. That, more than anything, is what he wants.

A soft pressure on his hand; Jack looks up to realize Y/N has put her fingers over his, and squeezes slightly. He squeezes back by instinct.

“I want that too, Jack,” she tells him.

The smallest spark of luck is creeping back into his veins. “I thought you didn’t go for hotshot hockey players,” he says. “Especially not ones that flirted with the interns.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing slightly, so they’re okay. “I wasn’t supposed to do that. The idea was that I would try to avoid it.”

Jack grins. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Surprisingly badly,” Y/N confesses. “I’m not too mad about it, though. Something tells me we’re going to make this work out.”

“It will,” Jack promises. He’s going to make sure of it. Looking at Y/N, the light in her eyes when she smiles, Jack knows that he’s going to do everything in his power to keep her. He rubs his thumb over her hand, still in his, and cannot help but think about how lucky he is.

Y/N looks like she’s going to start blushing. “Let’s talk about this when all of your teammates aren’t watching,” she says suddenly.

Jack glances up and realizes that he’s on the receiving end of quite a few curious looks from the Devils still on the ice. Luke, especially, looks like he has several questions he wants to ask. Jack groans, mentally preparing himself for the absolute nuisance his little brother will become on the drive home.

Still, it doesn’t faze him for long. “How about we talk about it this Saturday?” Jack asks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Y/N is breathtaking when she smiles at him. Jack might have to keep looking forever, just so he remembers. “I think that sounds alright to me.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something stupid like how he can’t wait, but the coach blows a whistle to usher him and some of the others back onto the ice, and Jack is saved from himself. “I’ll see you then,” he repeats somewhat needlessly.

Y/N nods, and Jack turns to leave. He’s still got most of his senses intact, despite evidence to the contrary, and Jack does know better than to kiss Y/N in front of his whole team and coach in the middle of practice, but– well, there’s a difference between what Jack knows and what Jack does, and today, he kisses her anyway. It’s good. Really good. Good enough to deal with the teasing when he finally makes it down to the ice. Good enough to keep him hooked until their date, and the next, and the next. Good enough for forever.

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