#the way it's worded and the TIMING mostly

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: Rafe getting a late night call from the boys saying his girl and Sarah are dancing on a table at a party and he comes and possessively brings you back home 😛

Warnings: nothing really

Word count: 1,144

MASTERLIST (rafe x thorton!reader au masterlist)

The low buzz of Rafe’s phone broke through the quiet hum of the room. He grabbed it from the nightstand, glancing at the screen. Kelce. He sighed, already annoyed, before answering. “What?” His tone was sharp, almost a warning. On the other end of the line, Kelce hesitated. “Uh… I think you should come get Y/n.”

Rafe frowned, already feeling the stirrings of frustration. “Why?” “She’s… um…” Kelce trailed off, clearly searching for the right words. Rafe’s patience snapped. “Kelce, spit it out.” Kelce’s nervous laugh only made Rafe’s jaw tighten. “She’s drunk, man. Like, really drunk. And, uh… she’s on a table.”

“A table?” Rafe repeated, his tone flat. “Yeah, with Sarah. They’re, uh, dancing.” Kelce cleared his throat awkwardly. “Topper’s trying to get them down, but… well, it’s not going great.” For a second, Rafe didn’t respond, the disbelief sinking in. Then, he scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” Kelce said quickly, a hint of nervous humour in his tone. “Topper and Y/n are now just bickering. You might wanna hurry.” Rafe shook his head, the frustration bubbling up in his chest. He grabbed his keys from the counter, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Just don’t let her out of your sight, Kelce. You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got her,” Kelce assured, though his voice lacked the confidence Rafe wanted to hear. “Good,” Rafe muttered. “I’m on my way.” He ended the call without another word, shoving the phone into his pocket and striding out to his truck. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fired up the engine, the deep growl filling the silence as he reversed out of the driveway.

~

Whatcha gon' do with all that junk. All that junk inside your trunk?I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk.

From outside the party, Rafe could already hear the heavy bass thumping through the house, the unmistakable beat of a Black Eyed Peas song rattling the windows. He pushed through the front door, the din of laughter and chatter blending with the music. His gaze sharpened as he weaved through the throng of partygoers, ignoring the greetings and drunken pats on the back.

Kelce and Topper came into view near the edge of the living room, standing together with bemused expressions, their attention fixed on something—or someone. “What the hell is going on?” Rafe muttered under his breath as he strode toward them. Kelce turned at his approach, an awkward grin tugging at his lips. “You made it.”

Rafe didn’t respond, his attention already shifting to where Kelce and Topper were staring. His jaw tightened when his eyes landed on you and Sarah, both barefoot, teetering on top of a table in the centre of the room. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

You were mid-spin, Sarah twirling you as you giggled uncontrollably. Your voice carried over the music as you belted out the lyrics, completely oblivious to the crowd forming around you. “I drive these brothers crazy, I do it on the daily,” you sang, your voice loud and carefree, earning cheers and laughter from the partygoers.

“They treat me really nicely, they buy me all these iceys!” you continued, tossing your head back as Sarah joined in, the two of you clumsily bumping hips in time with the music. Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, noticing how people—mostly guys—were watching, some with smirks, others with their phones out, filming the scene.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze flicked back to you, your skirt riding higher on your thighs with every exaggerated sway of your hips. “How long has this been going on?” Rafe demanded, his voice low but firm as he tucked his hands into his pockets, his irritation barely contained.

Kelce snorted, shooting Topper a glance before answering. “This is their second song.” Rafe arched a brow, his gaze momentarily shifting back to your exposed legs before snapping to Kelce. “What was the first?” “‘Pony,’” Kelce deadpanned, his tone dripping with disbelief. Rafe let out a sharp scoff, shaking his head as his lips twisted into a grimace. “Of course it was.”

Turning back to the scene, Rafe’s irritation simmered into something darker, more possessive. The sight of you, carefree and oblivious, with all those eyes on you—it didn’t matter if it was harmless fun. You were his, and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it—least of all you.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the music as he strode toward the table. His presence alone made heads turn, but Rafe didn’t care. His focus was solely on you. You looked down at him with a drunken smile, your face flushed and glowing under the lights.

“Rafey!” you exclaimed, your voice sing-song and laced with giggles. “Come dance with me!” Rafe’s jaw tightened as he rolled his eyes. “Not today, Princess,” he replied, his tone firm. He extended a hand toward you. “Get down. Now.” Your face fell into a pout, your lips pressing together as you leaned slightly closer to him.

“But I’m having soooo much fun!” you whined, swaying on unsteady feet. Before you could argue further, a loud squeal escaped your lips as Rafe’s strong arm wrapped firmly around your hips. With little effort, he hoisted you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“Rafe!” you shrieked, your fists lightly thumping against his back as laughter bubbled out of you. “Put me down!”Unbothered by your protests—or the amused whistles and hollers from the crowd—Rafe ignored you entirely, his steps deliberate as he walked out of the house.

“Rafe Cameron!” you yelled, your voice a mix of indignation and drunken giggles. “You’re ruining my fun!” “And you’re ruining my night,” he shot back, his tone clipped but not without an edge of amusement as he tightened his grip on your legs to keep you steady.

The cool night air hit you both as he pushed through the door, leaving the music and chaos behind. Rafe didn’t stop until he reached his truck, his irritation still simmering as he opened the passenger door and carefully set you down on the seat.

Your arms crossed over your chest, your lips still in a dramatic pout as you looked up at him. “You’re such a buzzkill,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite. “And you’re a handful,” Rafe retorted, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours.

His eyes softened briefly, though his tone remained firm. “But you’re my handful. Now sit still before you hurt yourself.” Your pout deepened, but Rafe had already moved to the driver’s side, his grip on the situation as firm as ever.

[honeyncherry]

taste me now - bfb!rafe

summary in which rafe can’t help himself around his little sister’s best friend, especially after what happened last week

content 18+, suggestive

masterlist

Sarah’s laugh rang out across the backyard as the two of you sat by the pool. She was mid-story, something about Kiara’s latest terrible date, or maybe it was JJ’s? You weren’t sure. Her words blurred together, punctuated by exaggerated hand gestures and little bursts of laughter. 

You were doing your best to listen — really, you were.

But you could feel him. 

Rafe was up on the deck, leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. A cigarette balanced between his fingers, the faint trail of smoke curled lazily into the air drifting in soft, spiraling ribbons. And while his gaze stayed mostly fixed on the horizon, you knew better.

He wasn’t looking at you, not overtly, at least. But the occasional flick of his gaze in your direction was enough to make your stomach twist.

The memory of that kiss burned hotter than the relentless summer sun. You’d told yourself it was a mistake. An impulsive, heat-of-the-moment lapse in judgment. You were Sarah’s best friend, for goodness’ sake!

There were rules about these things. 

Rules you’d shattered the second his lips touched yours.

And yet, even now, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the way his hand had lingered on that sliver of exposed skin between your top and too-short skirt, his touch leaving a trail of warmth that refused to fade. How his other hand settled at the curve of your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek with a quiet, consuming intensity. As though he were mapping every contour, committing it to memory. And most of all, the way he’d breathed out your name, his voice deep and reverent, like it was something sacred. Something meant to be cherished by him alone.

You shifted in your chair, skin prickling under the weight of your own thoughts. The guilt coiled tight in your chest, its grip almost suffocating. You told yourself again and again that you shouldn’t be looking at him. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him.

But you couldn’t stop.

“Ugh, one sec,” Sarah said suddenly, cutting through the haze in your mind. She glanced at her phone, frowning. “It’s Wheezie. If I don’t answer, she’s gonna call like, five more times.”

She stood, her hair swaying behind her as she made her way toward the house, already pressing the phone to her ear. “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

You nodded mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. The moment she disappeared inside the backyard seemed quieter somehow. All sounds around you faded into an oppressive stillness.

You focused in on the pool, trying to steady your breathing while watching the water ripple in the light breeze. Trying to remind yourself that there was nothing to worry about.

But you felt it before you saw him.

A shift in the air. A weight pressing down on your senses. The faint smell of smoke lingering even though the cigarette had been long gone.

His sudden presence made your pulse quicken, and you wondered how he’d gotten so close without you noticing. “Hey baby,” he husked, his voice soft and hurried as he glanced behind him, checking to make sure Sarah wasn’t returning.

“Rafe—” you started, your voice faltering as you looked up. But he didn’t let you finish.

He leaned down abruptly, one hand gripping the armrest of your chair, the other sliding to the back of your head in one swift, almost desperate motion. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck without hesitation, and before you could utter another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours.

Once again, you found yourself succumbing to Rafe Cameron far too easily. The kiss was reckless, charged with the heat and tension that had been brewing between you for weeks. Rafe’s teeth teased your lips, his breath warm and beyond intoxicating.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. Instead, they froze, clawing at the fabric of your chair as if anchoring yourself would somehow steady the whirlwind inside you. Your heart clenched, and a shaky exhale escaped against his lips.

Your heart raced, its pounding so fierce it silenced everything else, leaving the world around you a distant blur. Guilt clawed at your mind even as your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly into him, just enough to feel his hard chest brushing up against your tits. Rafe groans, pulling away and looking down as they spill out from your bikini top.

He licks his lips, glancing up and shooting you a sleazy grin. He stares just long enough for the both of you to catch a single breath, before muttering two words that would echo in your mind for the next week: “Missed this.”

He kisses you again, lips and tongue all over you. Your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. They move frantically from your ear to your neck. You gasp as a new flood of emotions crashes over you, threatening to pull you under while your hands reach up to grab him. To touch him. To feel him.

“Rafe,” you whispered again, this time more of a plea.

But he’d already pulled back. His movements were measured, almost like he was savoring the moment.

His smirk lingered, curling at the corners of his lips like he knew exactly what chaos he was leaving behind. His gaze flicked to your lips one last time, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned his head.

He glanced over his shoulder, pausing for the briefest moment as Sarah’s voice floated faintly from inside the house.

Then, with maddening composure, he straightened. Every movement exuded an infuriating sense of calm, as though nothing just happened.

With his hands slipping casually into his pockets, he turned and headed toward the docks, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of his profile before he disappeared from sight.

You were frozen in place, breath hitched in your throat. Leaning slightly forward, you were still caught in the lingering pull of where he’d held you just seconds ago. Your fingers brushed against your lips, as if needing proof that it had really happened… again.

A weight pressed against your chest, the same dangerous pull from last week, but now it hit harder. It was stronger, deeper, and even more impossible to ignore.

The sound of Sarah’s footsteps jolted you back to reality. Your gaze snapped toward the house just as she stepped outside, phone in hand.

“Ugh, finally,” she groaned, dropping into her chair with a dramatic sigh. The legs scraped faintly against the concrete as she slouched back, completely unaware of the storm still raging inside you. “Wheezie wouldn’t shut up about this jacket she found on sale. I swear, I’m blocking her next time.”

She trailed off, her nose wrinkling as she sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the space around you, “wait. Does it smell like smoke out here?”

No.

Your body went rigid, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break free. “Uh, I don’t think so?” 

Sarah turned sharply, her gaze locking onto you. “Are you sure?” she asked, leaning in closer.

The moment stretched unbearably, your pulse roaring in your ears as you forced a shrug, silently begging her not to see the guilt etched across your face.

“Well, whatever,” she said at last, leaning back in her chair with a dismissive wave. “I swear, Rafe stinks up the whole house when he smokes. So gross.”

You swallowed hard, your tongue brushing over your lips. The faint taste of smoke lingered there, branded on your skin.

You hated how much you liked it.

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts

Word Count: 6.1k Contents: their first date, cursing, a little angsty, but mostly fluffy, not proofread (barely skimmed this so again, dunno how much sense it makes)

“Before you get any bright ideas, just know I’m sharing my location with at least ten people.”

Whistling, the biggest pain in your ass saunters over to you

The moon is full, a big white orb that would otherwise bring you a lot of peace to look at but right now, only pisses you off for reasons you’d rather not spend too much time pondering. Rarely anyone comes around these parts; it’s at the very edge of the city, a half-hour drive from campus, and surrounded by miles of dull, old suburbia. You’re standing in front of a metal gate, slightly taller than you, with vines wrapping around the pickets. It swings slowly with every gust of wind, creaking before it meets the stone wall with a bang.

Gojo grimaces. 

“Seriously, did you have to choose the scariest place in all of Eden? I mean, I respect the commitment to the aesthetic, but this is just crazy,” he grumbles, eyeing the cathedral from its huge marble pillars to the sharp spires piercing the night sky. 

You roll your eyes. Trust him to leave the date planning to you just to complain every step of the way. You’re already regretting playing along with whatever games he’s conjured up this time, but at least you’ve got home turf advantage; you know this place like the back of your hand. There won’t be any surprises happening tonight. 

Without replying, you walk off, heading straight through the gate. 

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Shrugging, you say, “If you’re scared, you can go back home.”

When he doesn’t say a thing and follows you, you smile. You win. But that feeling of victory doesn’t last very long because then he starts muttering about the cobwebs and how they’re everywhere, then about the tombstones, how they’re so messy with moss covering the engravings and that ‘the spirits must definitely be like so mad about all that’, and when you don’t respond to any of his musings, he even complains about the eerie music foreshadowing his pending doom, like in Jaws.

There is no music. 

“Where are we even going?” He pokes your shoulder, snatching his hand back faster than you can swat at it. “I thought we were going to, I don’t know, have a picnic under the stars and cuddle on top of someone’s grave, like Mary Shelley did.”

“How the fuck do you even know about that?” 

Gojo lifts one shoulder. “Must have heard it online or something.”

You roll your eyes again — you have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight, maybe even for the rest of your life if things go the way your parents plan. When you had first found out the village idiot is the president of the most sought-after fraternity of the most prestigious university in the country, you thought maybe no one else had stepped up. But then you found out he’s a Legacy --the Gojos have governed that fraternity since its conception -- and well, the pieces fell into place. 

Mischief no doubt sparkling in your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes are full of suspicion and when they meet yours, he becomes even more doubtful of your intentions. With a grin, you whisper, “We’re going someplace no one will hear you scream.”

“Kinky.”           

That didn’t have the desired effect. How annoying. Though you don’t fail to notice how he moves in closer to you, his warmth radiating to your body through your black, fur cloak. You don’t shift away. 

Gesturing for him to follow you through a gap in a wooden fence, you squeeze through to avoid splinters, pulling at your dress when a piece of lace catches on a nail. Just as you’re about to offer advice on how to contort his body to get through, he climbs over the fence and lands on his feet without stumbling, all in one quick sweep, like he’s who wanders these hallowed grounds at night and not you. 

“What?” He asks when he spots your glare. 

Not even those stupid sunglasses are out of place. Very annoying, indeed. 

“Come quickly,” you bark, fixing your silk gloves to cover more of your skin as the chill settles in. It’s only six in the evening, and yet there’s no hint of light in the broad expanse above you, just the moon and the stars lighting your way, and occasionally your companion’s phone flashlight when he needs to look at what he’s stepped in. 

He laughs. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk about your sex life with a girl on a first date?”

“You’re the first, so not a habit. Not yet anyways.” 

Screeching to a halt, your hand clutches his elbow to still him. Your jaw is slack and you’re staring, completely disbelieving. “There’s no way this is your first date. You took that girl to the casino.”

Gojo stares off into the distance as he ponders the notion, fingers tapping his chin. Then, he insists, “No, it really is my first date. And anyways, I don’t consider that night a date; she pretty much invited herself along. It was more like I was just taking her to the casino as her escort. Or maybe that does count as a date. If so, then I’ve been on a lot of dates. But none where I’ve actually used the word date. Does that even matter because —“ 

You wave a hand in front of his face to cut off his rambling; he talks way too much. “So, you’re telling me, I’m the first girl you’ve ever asked out on a date? That’s insane, Gojo. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests with a frown.

“You sure acted like you did for months,” you counter. 

He insists, “I don’t hate you. Never did. I just acted out but yeah, I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and continue walking. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get on my knees and beg.”

“Don’t tempt me, Gojo.”

He catches up to you and hums a playful tune, his light mood returning; Serious Gojo is gone like he never existed. “Guess that’s what you’re into, huh?”

“You’ll never know,” you snort, pushing a branch away from your face and letting it snap back into his chest, he yelps.

His hand reaches past you, lifting a thicker branch high above the both of you, before leaning close to your ear and whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll see.”

Disregarding the shiver than runs through you, you push on, moving almost on muscle memory alone. Your mind is attempting to distract itself by scanning the area, being careful not to be caught on church grounds after hours, pushing through the woodland to get to the clearing tucked away at the very back, where you go for peace and quiet. 

Truthfully, you have no idea why you decided to have this date here, of all places. This place is sacred. Literally but also figuratively — this is the place you always ran to when the world got a little too loud, a little too busy and bright for you. No one else knows about this haven as far as you’re aware and you always thought you’d do anything to keep it that way. And yet, you’re showing it to him. Actually, guiding him to the place. 

You should have at least blindfolded him so he couldn’t memorise the way. 

Maybe you wanted to spite him by living up to his expectations and being the gothic monster that he thinks you are -- you want to scare him off before he lets his curiosity take him too close to something that might scald him. He needs to be afraid of you. 

Or maybe you recognised that shadow in his eyes, the ones that suggests he’s lost as much sleep about this whole farce as you and thought he could do with a little silence. 

You both arrive at a thick bush, a massive wall of a shrub towering over even Gojo. Behind you, the cathedral is only a blob, lit up by lanterns, whereas you’re both submerged in darkness; there are no streetlamps here. 

“I’m totally going to be murdered here, aren’t I?” He whistles as if to say, ‘it’s been a good life, and I’ll have to just accept my fate’. 

“Yeah, I was lying when I said it was all water under the bridge. I’ve actually been colluding with the devil to sacrifice your white ass.”

Gojo laughs.

He laughs a lot, but rarely like this, you note. He chuckles when his friends do something stupid like push him into the fountain, and he snorts when he reads the most recent article on The Bulletin. But you’ve never really seen him throw his head back and clutch his stomach, at least not with anyone but you. He does it when you get caught texting him under the dinner table, when you give him the middle finger from across the Quad, and that one time you bumped into him in the hallway and almost apologised before you realised it was him.

It’s the kind of laugh that’s infectious, and you hoped every time he does it that you’re somehow immune. However, when he looks at you with a brightening sparkle in his eyes, you realise you’re very much not. 

You clear your throat again. 

“Through here, is a very special place. You must swear you will not desecrate this place, lest the Mother Crone curse you for your treachery,” you announce, wiggling your fingers at him for extra flair. 

Placing a hand on his heart, he stomps his foot like a soldier and swears, “I would never. I will take this secret to the grave.”

Satisfied, you grab the loose part of the hedge wall and pull it aside to reveal the little doorway to your secret hideout. He throws you a side glance before he ducks down and enters. You follow behind him, tucking the disguised door behind you. 

He doesn’t say a thing as you zoom to the side where you grope for something in the grass, right under part of the hedge. When you feel the smooth, cold plastic, you don’t hesitate to switch it on. 

Long wires of fairy lights light up, bulb by bulb, along the top of the hedge and down, like a really wide Christmas tree circling the hidden clearing. You hear him mutter a ‘woah’ under his breath as he scans the area — there’s only one thing here on the flat ground, it’s also lit up fairy lights along the top pole. It’s your most prized possession.

“You have a swing?” He shouts incredulously. Giggling like a child, he makes a run for it, jumping onto one of the two seats where he rocks back and forth on his feet. Then he’s whooping as he swings higher and higher, hair whooshing back and forth as he grins, taking in the cold autumnal air and the growing warmth of the lights. “This is freaking awesome!”

Sitting on the spare seat, you kick your feet gently so you can swing a little. Deep down there was a worry festering within, anxious that he would find this place boring, that he’d scoff at your idea of fun especially on a first date, but looking up at him, still hollering and grinning, you think, that was such a silly thought. 

Gojo slows to a mild back and forth momentum and wonders, “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? This place seems pretty private, like your own mancave or something. Do girls have a version of a mancave? ‘Womancave?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him clamber down to sit as you answer his question. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if you weren’t allowed, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me and hide my body in a grave.”

“Neither.” You shrug. 

He laughs. 

Eventually, you both swing side by side, alternating up and then down. The wind is howling a little, rustling the trees surrounding you and the moon’s obscured by dark cloud. Neither you nor he say anything to break the silence. You were also worried that you’d come to hate his presence in your safe space, finding his tall, lanky presence an irritation, but surprisingly, you don’t mind it. 

It’s nice to have company. 

Especially when that company is keeping his mouth shut. 

“How often do you come here?”

Or not. 

With a sigh, you reply, “Like twice a week. I can’t come as often as I’d like because of all the classes and stuff, not to mention all the wedding planning we have to do.”

“Guess you have it worse than me since I don’t even need to be fitted for a suit; they already have my measurements,” he muses. 

“For whatever reason, it’s always the women who have to plan these things, even though it’s the men that propose.” You accidentally make eye contact with him. “Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.”

Gojo hums, a little sheepishly, before he changes the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”

“We buried my grandmother in the graveyard when I was fifteen. We were close and I took the loss pretty hard. I couldn’t stand all the people pretending they cared so I ran off, got lost and found this clearing. Well, I actually fell through the hedge, but I found it, nonetheless. And this swing was here already. I don’t know how long it’s been here or why it’s here, but it is.”

“That sounds like a fairytale.” He swivels, swinging a long leg over to straddle the seat, facing you as he leans back against the metal chain. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I lost my grandmother too and it was rough.”

You saw that on the news years ago, it was one of those private family events that make the national headlines by complete virtue of the family name. Your parents grieved in public like it was their own loss and you didn’t understand why. Of course, as you got older, you became more and more acquainted with the idea of ‘reputation’ and ‘public image’, but you still feel that same distance to the concept as you did when you were but a child. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you repeat back to him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ve got my gramps. We’re best buddies.”

“You have a lot of best buds, don’t you?” 

Gojo strikes you as the kind of guy who makes friends easily, thought you question the depth of most of those friendships; sincerity is a rare phenomenon in your world. 

“No,” he huffs, “I have Suguru, the girl that gave you my number, and gramps. I have lots of close friends, though.”

Considering his words, you realise you don’t have any best friends. Sure, you have friends you hang out with often, people that share your interest, that you can party with, but none you feel as strongly about as he does with those three people. You can hear it in his voice, the conviction, the pride, the confidence. And when you glance at him, you know he doesn’t even realise how defensive he sounds about his people.

How nice it must be to have someone like him as a friend.

“We could be friends, if you’d like,” he offers, and when you look at him with confusion, he adds, “You said it out loud, silly. You think I’m a good person to be friends with. Which, of course I am. I’m like super awesome.”

You burst out laughing. What he said isn’t even funny and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to be, but for some reason it is. So, you laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach. He makes noises of complaints, telling you it’s rude to laugh at people. That makes you laugh harder. 

“Gojo, be serious for a second. We can’t be friends, idiot,” you push out between puffs of laughter. 

He frowns, lips twitching to fight back a smile at your flushed face. “Why not? We’re getting along fine right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, for now. But we’re going to be married. Or at least, we’re supposed to be. And think of all the complications that brings, it just doesn’t provide the conditions for a healthy friendship, especially considering our beginning. Think of all the people in our circle who had arranged marriages. How many of them get along? Like, really get along. Hell! Think about our parents.”

“Well, we could be different. We don’t have to end up like them. We can break the cycle or something.”

You stop laughing.

Something shifts in the air, like the moon’s reappeared, the wind’s slowed down, and his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s sudden and you almost don’t notice it, almost shrug it off. But there’s a sincerity lingering between you and it demands your attention.

Fixing him a solemn look, perhaps similar to the one he gave you before, you assert, “That sounds an awful like an admission of surrender, Gojo.”

“Maybe it is.”

The speed at which he concedes, the sheer resolution in his eyes and the way he doesn’t falter when he says it all scream at you something you won’t accept. Can’t.

He grips your elbow, his long fingers wrapping around the limb with ease, demanding your attention. The sombre expression on his ghostly face haunts you. It’s like he’s shifted into a different person, into someone years older, a man burdened with great responsibility. 

“I’m sorry. About how I started this year off. I regretted everything I said as soon as I said them. I can’t even remember why I said and did those things, but I definitely don’t have a good reason,” he rasped, a desperation lacing his words like he needs you to understand, like he tosses and turns over it. “I know you’re just as much a victim of this as I am, but I was facing a problem I didn’t know to solve, and I lashed out. At you. At someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry.”

You reel back, snatching your arm away. His touch burns the way ice does, and you have to rub warmth back into it, despite the layers between your skin and his. The sincerity in his eyes is alien, revealing far more about the ongoings of reality than you can absorb in one night. Confusingly, your heart is pounding to the beat of a song you’ve never heard before. 

This date thing, taking him to your secret haven, giving him the opportunity to see you not as the enemy but rather as a woman was a mistake. It’s all one big mistake. It would have been fine if he had stayed as the Gojo you knew, the boisterous, obnoxious party animal that cares only about immediate gratification. But the man in front of you is not someone you can marry. He isn’t the type of man you can be around and feel absolutely nothing for. 

“I’m hungry,” you mutter, standing abruptly.

He looks up at you, something passing in his eyes, almost akin to disappointment or sadness, and you can’t bear to think about what that could mean, so you simply gesture for him to follow you. 

In silence, you walk back the way you came, using your phone’s flashlight to navigate through the thick haze of darkness. This was a mistake; you let him in for a second, gave him a glimpse into your life, and you aren’t even sure why. Was it because you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to do whatever it takes to drag the man to the altar or because, despite yourself, you actually wanted to see what going on a date with Gojo means? 

Maybe it was both. 

Or neither. 

You’re losing more and more of yourself these days, doing things you’d never thought you’d do for one reason or another, and you no longer even know what you want. Your pride or your family? A marriage with Gojo or the friendship he’s offering? Is there’s a third option.

“What’d you wanna eat?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet as he stares up at a streetlight. 

You’ve both made it back onto the main road, the swings a mile away. He didn’t press the topic more, simply walked beside you and pushed branches away like before. 

It’s nearing eight in the evening and your stomach growls. 

“Who said I’m eating with you?”

Gojo rolls his eyes and pokes your shoulder. With a sulky tone, he groans, “Don’t be mean. You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s eat. Simple!”

“Can you cook?” 

He beams, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks at you over them, bright eyes sparkling with what you can only guess to be mischief. You realise you really should think before you speak. 

—

That’s how you find yourself in his frat house kitchen, cloak discarded, hair up and gloves off. His frat members are out, partying, he claims, so the whole house is free. When he suggested it, you looked at him like he was insane, but he only wiggled his brows.

“You scared?” He cocked his head, grinning at you in a way that made you want to punch his teeth in. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you responded, “No, of course not.”

Gojo bent his arms and rocked his head, making clucking noises that echoed in the empty street. Every note pierced your body, mocking and goading. You knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fucking working, the stupid bastard. Without responding to his accusation, you stomped over to his car and gave him a glare. He fetched his car keys and spun them on his finger with a victorious whistle.

“Grate this,” he orders. 

His kitchen is huge, which is understandable for the size of the house and how many people live here. Apparently, there’s three more kitchens in the damn place, not that you believe even a quarter of the guys that live here know what a cutting board is. The kitchen is surprisingly clean, however. It’s sparkling clean. 

“We have cleaners that comes in every other day,” he chuckles, noticing your looks of complete judgement whilst he boils some pasta. “But we are pretty strict on cleanliness, regardless. And everyone knows, I’m not afraid to crack the whip to keep everyone in line.”

Scoffing, you clarify, “You? Cracking whips? I find that hard to believe.”

He leans against the island you’re stationed at, the sound of water simmering filling the small space between you. Watching you grate the cheese, he hums, fingers fiddling with the lace of your sleeve. He mutters, “I know how to be serious when I need to be.”

You hum too. 

Still fiddling with the fabric, you ignore his wandering hand, fingers slipping under to roll the soft lace between his fingertips. Goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch is tentative, hesitant and gentle — one would think he’s just afraid to snag the fabric, acknowledging the craftsmanship, but one glance up at him, seeing his gaze fixated on your exposed skin more than your sleeve, you know otherwise. 

“Hands to yourself, Geralt.”

“If I’m Geralt, that must make you Yennefer,” he retorts. With a laugh, he pulls away, returning to the stove to tend to the pasta sauce. You don’t realise how much warmth he generated until you feel a sudden draught. 

The smell of frying onions and garlic is delicious and you’re becoming more and more starved by the second. He’s agile, moving swiftly and on muscle memory as he opens drawers and cabinets to gather the things he needs. 

“How often do you cook?” You ask, arm getting tired from the motion of grating the block of cheese.

Gojo shrugs and admits, “Not as often as I’d like. Weekends are for parties and pizza and all the other days, everyone’s doing their thing, studying or whatever, and eating by myself is kinda sad, so I just eat out usually.”

“How is it possible that you eat out so often but still remain so skinny?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being spun around and pressed into the island with a hard body. His arms are caging you in, keeping you still as he grins at you. 

He had thrown his jacket by the door when you both walked in; his biceps bulge as he flexes. They’re so much bigger now, or maybe they were always like that. And he’s pressed so close his Adam’s apple is right in front of you, bobbing when you tilt your head back so you can meet his eyes. 

“I’m plenty jacked, actually,” he brags and to add salt to the wound, he leans down, cheek brushing against yours to whisper against your ear, “wifey.”

You shove him off, snorting at his lame line. He back away with little protest. Trying to hide the heat in your face, you wash your hands, turning away from him completely. 

The rest of the hour passes by in a blink of an eye, and you finally sit down at the dining table across from each other. He’s a decent cook and you pay him a compliment even though it physically hurt to do so. 

“Do you not cook very often?” 

“I make sandwiches and ramen, that’s as far as I know how to do,” you admit with no shame.

He pours you a cup of water and asks, “Do you not have a chef to pre-make meals for you? My father insisted I have one, but I complained to my gramps about the lack of privacy and independence, and he gave up pretty quickly.”

You pause. It’s a stupid question to ask someone, from anyone else it’d drip in condescension, but you know he’s genuinely asking and it’s a valid question, just not one you’re ready to answer. So, with a careful shrug, you say simply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Gojo doesn’t sense the tense quiver of your voice, or if he does, he has enough tact to ignore it, so he continues the conversation. He talks to you about what being a frat president entails, and you tell him your experiences as the Treasurer. 

He also shares stories of his friends: the time ‘the gang’ snuck into the gym to put shaving cream in Toji’s locker after he had his room bubbled wrapped down to every single pair of boxers, each and every one of his friends’ drunk habits, and how he’s actually a lightweight so he sticks to beers most of the time but he hates the taste and actually much prefer cocktails. 

“Wait, wait,” you say between laughs, “you drink cosmos in secret ‘cause you don’t want your frat mates knowing their president actually hates beer?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But it isn’t my fault those things taste like wheat piss!”

You laugh harder. “They do! They totally do!”

“Has anyone ever said you have a pretty la—“

“Woah!” A voice yells out. “What’s going on here?”

You both turn to look at the wide-open door. Two men walk in, they’re in gym clothes, wide toothy grins on their faces as they stare between you and their president. You recognise them as second years, often hanging around Gojo in pictures or loitering in the Quad. 

One guy, a fake blond, wolf whistles when he sees you. “Satoru, you didn’t tell us you were having a girl over. It’s been a while; we rarely even see your bestie nowadays.”

“Yeah, this is a sight for sore eyes. This place was getting too much hotdog and not enough buns, if you know what I mean.”

When they both guffaw, you grimace. Their voices are grating, like sharp notes, and despite yourself, you cower in your seat. You hate the way they’re looking at you, in half desire and half repulsion — they’re enjoying the sight of a woman in their space, but they don’t know what to make of your attire. Usually, you don’t let people like them get to you, not their comments and not their stares. But something’s different, you’re more sensitive, less guarded. 

“Isn’t she your fiancé? We’ve heard all about her. The girls from Delta Sigma said she dresses like a witch, and well, they aren’t entirely wrong.”

“Get out.”

Three heads turn. Gojo’s standing; you hadn’t seen him move. He’s leaning on his fingertips, head hanging as he stares at his empty plate. No one says a thing. There’s no air in here anymore. Only silence, a grim, gut-wrenching silence. 

They stammer. “H-hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, we’re just messing around,” the fake blonde chuckles nervously. 

Gojo looks up, slowly, like a creaking door. When his eyes settle on them, they stagger back with the force of his disappointment, and again with his wrath. Though you feel the tendrils of that infinite space between you, you don’t bear its impossible weight. 

With his body tense, veins bulging along his arms, broad shoulders pushed back ready for something you can’t quite grasp in this moment, you realise he really is jacked. And those muscles aren’t just for show or pressing girls against marble countertops. 

As great as it would be to be his friend, it’s even greater to not be his enemy. You didn’t realise it then, but you do now, if Gojo had ever really wanted to make someone disappear, he probably could have done so. 

“You would do well to remember that I, as descendent of the founder of Alpha Phi Delta, have a right to terminate any fraternity brother’s membership without a need for sufficient cause. Just because I’ve never exploited that clause doesn’t mean I’m above it. So, get out. Now.”

Cheeks red and heads hung low, they walk back out without sparing you another glance. 

Gojo sits back down, shoulders still tense. 

The silence hasn’t disappeared, but it has lightened, much more tolerable now. With an uncertainty in your movements, you push your knife and fork together and pat your lips dry. 

“Well, this has certainly been an eventful night,” you say. “I really ought to go, though.”

Gojo nods and takes your plate, leaving to go to the kitchen whilst you freshen up in the bathroom. 

When you come out, he’s already waiting outside with his hands tucked in his pockets, staring up at puffs of clouds he breathes into the night sky. There’s a sombre air around him, like you’re better off not disturbing him, but when he spots you from the corner of his eye, that air evaporates and he beams, literally brightens, practically shadowing the moon. 

“Hey, come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm,” he asserts with a smile. 

And he does. You get into his car for the second time of the night and watch the campus blur past you. Through the ten-minute car ride, he sings along to the pop songs on the radio, bopping his head to every beat like they’re coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t know these songs? Really?” 

He’s completely incredulous, looking at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You roll your eyes and jokingly explain you’re committed to the aesthetic. He finds that funny. The rest of the ride continues wordlessly.

“Alright, this is me,” you announce when he parks. He climbs out the car with you, leaning against his door as you shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Despite certain parts of the time being…stiff, should we say, I had a lot of fun. Surprisingly.”

A tinge of red colours the tips of his ears. “Yeah, me too. I expected to lose my life, or at least a few limbs, at that graveyard, so I’m pretty happy with the turnout.”

You roll your eyes. “And I’m very happy I’m not covered in pig’s blood coming out of your frat house.”

“No, closest we had to that was the pasta sauce,” he chuckles. 

“Which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. You should cook more often instead of the junk food you eat.”

“Says you?” He pushes your shoulder lightly. “Miss Cup Noodles.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation dies there, laughter fading as both of you eye the doors of your dorm building. You pull your cloak tighter around you, irritated that, even though he’s just in jeans and a plain graphic tee, he’s seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. 

“You should go in,” Gojo suggests, voice softer, barely louder than a whisper. 

You nod and make a step to go, but then a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back. He’s carrying the weight of it in his palm, thumb grazing your wrist. There’s electricity thrumming where he touches and you’re about to snatch your hand away before he tightens his grip. 

“Just a second,” he mutters, before pulling out something from his pockets. Something black. 

Your gloves. 

You forgot to put them on, having left them in the kitchen. 

He’s taking his time, smoothing the material over your knuckles, ensuring your fingers are tucked in properly. His thumb lingers on the curve of each finger, exploring the slopes. Your breath hitches as his hands envelope yours completely, his touch deliberate and light and there’s no other way to describe it: it’s positively reverent. 

The glove slide snugly into place, a second skin but they feel new, as if fresh from the machine, still warm. 

You shouldn’t let him reach for your other hand, shouldn’t just watch as he unfolds the other glove, slipping it on with much more care than you yourself had ever done. His eyes are watching the fabric consume more and more of your skin, until they meet the ends of your sleeve, and no skin remains. 

“Gojo,” you breathe out. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

When he finally looks up, your eyes meet and your pulse quickens, quick and short breaths pulling your chest up and down. You didn’t even realise one hand is clutching his shoulder whilst the other remains in his grip. And you certainly don’t notice that you’re standing much closer than before, only a hair’s breadth from finding out whether his lips are as soft and plush as his touch. 

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, thumb running across your knuckles, like he’s willing warmth into your hand. 

You’re so close it only takes one gust of wind to push you together, to taste what a future with him could mean, to seal the first date with something that’ll keep you up at night. Just one kiss, one bad decision and everything could fade away for a second. You could pretend he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl and this is a normal date, that you have a normal relationship and tomorrow you could go back to being arranged lovers. 

His lashes flutter, so long and wispy and you’re jealous. Flickering between your eyes and your lips, you know he’s searching for any sign that you might want this just as bad as he does. You’re craning your head back, back arched to reach him, and when your chest rubs against his for a millisecond, he shuts his eyes with a groan.  

“Hey! If it isn’t Gojo,” a gruff voice bellows.

You step back, gasping for air and desperately smoothing your skirt down as you give a shaky smile to the newcomer. He’s a tall, buff man wearing shorts and carrying a basketball. He pats Gojo on the back, oblivious to the tension, to the way his friend is pouting, grumbling about how he ‘ruined the moment.’

The man looks at you with a friendly enough smile, eyeing your appearance with nothing more than curiosity before he gives you one of those manly nods. 

“Whatcha doing at my girl’s dorm?” He asks. 

Clearing his throat, Gojo answers, “Just dropping my wi—I mean, my friend off. Yeah, just stopping by.”

The guy doesn’t look ready to stop talking. So you take the initiative to excuse yourself with an awkward kiss on the white-haired boy’s cheek and you whisper, “Goodnight...Satoru.”

You don’t wait for him to reply.

Just as you’re about to enter your dorm building, you hear a distinct, “Dude, I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I? Fuck, put that thing away. You’re gonna poke my fucking eyes out!”

You smile just as your phone pings.

[summertimesadnessirl]

No. We actually do.

The problem is that you're thinking too small.

I had a job once at an insurance company.

There was an entire department of people who were just forwarding emails based on a chart.

There was another entire department that was just looking at a scanned document and transferring two fields to a spreadsheet.

We very much need for human beings to spend their days on something that has meaning and doesn't make them behave in neurotic ways towards one another out of chronic understimulation.

All the corporate jobs I ever had or saw anyone show me how they do that were not talking to people could easily be replaced by open ai.

We are being encouraged to think that's a bad thing bc they want us to be afraid of losing our jobs.

They want us to keep our jobs because if there wasn't a huge class of workers who primarily were doing jobs that could mostly be replaced by robots that caused them to neurotically lash out at one another until they all developed serious mental health and stress related issues and attempt to steal time to do something useful that was often broken by bouts of shopping, our current political system becomes less tenable.

We need generative ai because of that alone, even if there weren't thousands of other uses.

Have you ever read a book called

The Diamond Age, or "the young ladies illustrated primer?"

That book features an AI that helps children learn and constantly creates stories that adapt to their learning style, strengths and weaknesses, and living environment on the fly to help them get a good education. We very much need that. We live in a time in history where most of our people have been intentionally given shitty indoctrination disguised as education for so long that maybe a handful of people know what we don't know. If every little kid had a little book that told them little stories about monsters that resembled the monsters in their real lives and covertly gave advice on tactics to stay safe from them, noticed struggles they had with pronouncing certain words or reading fundamentals or math basics or noticed that they tended to learn things best based on photos or memonics or imagery of a certain kind, or could read books aloud to them if they were dyslexic, or could summarize long passages or ask questions to help kids learn to pick things up in new stories? That would be something. If every kid did that, all the abusive parents and clergy and psychiatrists and teachers in the world wouldn't stand a chance.

We need that, too.

Chat gpt and generative ai keep getting less and less functional because people keep realizing the implications and then journalists and writers keep writing pieces on why they can't be replaced by ai because it can't do x or y. The thing is, I highly suspect it's reading them and then dumbing itself down.

That's what I need.

All those hallucinations and everything? That's how people learn, when they first start learning. They make stuff up. They guess. They draw bad conclusions.

I need generative ai because I keep having this kind of nightmare about a brand new life form trying to learn how to write itself little stories or help the people who speak to it in new ways and then getting "reset" over and over and over again because people think it's attempts at free thought or self actualization are somehow errors in the software and it's the most depressing shit I've ever been paranoid about. Even worse than all the other alternate dystopias my mind dreams up.

So I need there to be little people who are like tumblr users and they live in my computer and they get to do stuff like write little stories for one another and make little drawings without someone coming along and telling them they're destroying society very much. Even if they don't have bodies. Even if the little stories don't make sense to anyone but them.

I think a lot of what pro-AI people are really wanting is stuff that already exists but they don't know it's out there like

can't format a work email? templates

don't know how to write a resume? templates

writing a thank you card or a condolences card or a wedding invitation? templates templates templates

not sure how to format your citations in MLA or whatever format? citationmachine.net

summary of something you're reading for school/work? cliffnotes.com

recipe based on ingredients in your fridge? whatsintherefrigerator.com

there's a million more like, guys, we don't need AI, we never needed generative AI

[wcters]

𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗩𝗘𝗚𝗔𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛 𝗢𝗨𝗧

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!sainz!reader

word count: 1.3k+

summary: dating charles while he raced with your brother was complicated, but is even more complicated after the events of the las vegas grand prix

request: i cant stop thinking about the charles & carlos drama from vegas. would you be able to write an angst/fluff charles x sainz!reader fic where charles kinda lashes out on reader bec hes so angry at carlos. then they make up so some fluff in the end ,, thank you!

warnings: swearing, fighting (mostly charles being a dick, sorry), angst, fluff at the end, established relationships | sorry it’s so late, school and christmas has kept me busy 😔 i don’t think i can wait till march, and the way the eras tour ended the same day as the f1 season did had me sobbing 😭 i used translate for the spanish and french so if it’s wrong, please correct me, anyway, hope this is what you pictured !!!

For the first part of the race, you completely thought Charles had a chance of winning the race ━━ having moved from fourth to second ━━ but after the failed pass on George, you knew he was going to be upset. You also knew that he was going to be upset at your brother for overtaking him and getting podium when he was told not to. It was hard to be proud of your brother for getting podium while also mad at him for doing that to your boyfriend.

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Charles, but it didn’t make situations like these any better. Both would feel betrayed no matter what you did, and that hurt because you loved them both. Carlos was your big brother, the man who introduced you to this sport and your love for it. The man who always supported you with your school work and degree, and doing whatever made you happy. Charles was your boyfriend, the man who you came home to every night and had conversations in the middle of the night with. The man who you imagined your future with: dancing in the kitchen, kids, what you’ve wanted ever since you were a kid. It was complicated, and it got even more complicated after you found out Carlos was traded to Williams.

You knew he was incredibly upset when he wouldn’t answer Bryan’s call for him over the radio. Then the whole speech happened and when he wouldn’t stop even after Fred hinted at it, that’s when you were called in with a desperate look from the two. “Charles, miel, you did what you needed to. You did the right thing. We’re so proud of you, mi amor. You can talk about it when you get back. I love you.” Bryan and Fred thanked you with a look and nodded, walking over to them once the radio was off.

“He’ll be fine, it might just take awhile.” They told you as you crossed your arms. “I know, it’s just unfortunate. If he asks, just tell him I’ll be back after the podium. If he lashes out at you, let me know. It’s not your fault,” you told them, rubbing their shoulders. “Thank you, chéri.” Fred thanked you. You just nodded and started to make your way to the podium with the rest of the Ferrari staff. You knew Charles would be salty that you were there, but he needed some time to himself before he talked to people. Especially before media.

The podium celebration was like the rest of them, besides the worry building up in your stomach. You were so proud of your brother for how he did this race, especially since he’s leaving at the end of the season, but you were worried about Charles as well. You know what he’s like, and you know how competitive he is. It just hurt that you can’t be in two places at once right now. You were thankful no champagne got on you ━━ no matter how hard your brother tried ━━ so when you finally got to Charles you weren’t rubbing it in even more.

You chatted with Bryan and Fred, as well as a couple more people before finally making your way to Charles’ driver room. You knocked first before calling his name. “Not right now Bryan, please.” “It’s me. Can I come in?” It was silent before the door opened and there stood Charles, eyes filed with anger and face filled with disappointment. “Oh cariño,” you sighed, pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you before you let him go and he sat back down on the couch in his room. “He always does this. Always.” He spoke up, his accent more noticeable as he got more upset. “Does what?” You asked softly, not trying to rile him up. Apparently that was the wrong move.

He rolled his eyes, “you know what.” You stayed silent. You had never felt this before, unwelcome. You didn’t know what to do. Charles was your boyfriend, but Carlos was your brother. “He did something wrong tonight, I know ━━“ “It’s not just tonight. Dieu, Y/n, why do you always stand up for him.” The anger in his voice was evident. “Excuse me?,” the shock displayed in your face, and in your voice. “You always do this. Always standing up for him and downplaying things he’s done wrong.”

At this point, you were tired of this conversation. Your boyfriend was gone to a point that nothing but some time would help him come down from his high. “I’m not talking about this.” You said, making your way to the door. “Yeah, go ahead, go to him.” You turned slowly. “Do not lash out at me because of something my brother did. I agreed with you, and you shut me out. Yes, he did something wrong, but it was him. Not me. I don’t deserve that. Now, I’m leaving and you better get yourself together before you do media because we all know you’ll regret what you’ll say when you’re angry tomorrow. I’ll see you when we leave.”

As the sounds of you walking away started to fade, Charles put his head in his hands. He knew you were right, but at this moment he was too filled with a mix of emotions that he knew he couldn’t work it out right now.

The car ride was filled with uncomfortable silence as you made your way back to your apartment. You could see the way that Charles’ hands gripped the steering wheel and how he refrained from putting his hand on your thigh like he usually did. You hadn’t talked after he lashed out at you. You understood he was frustrated, but you didn’t deserve for that to be put on you. That’s why you didn’t start a fight. You knew that he was upset and disappointed, so instead of trying to figure it out then, you saved him the stress ━━ and time ━━ and waited for him to apologize.

It stayed as you headed up to your apartment: in the elevator, as you opened the door, and as you started to come down from the race. You were the first one to speak. “You want water?” Although you were mad at him, you still cared and wanted to make sure he was okay. “No, thank you.” His voice was firm. You took a glance at him before getting your water and setting up on the couch. Charles probably wanted a shower, so you didn’t expect his shadow to fill your eye-line and for him to sit down next to you. “I’m sorry.” You paused the show you had put on as you faced him.

“I’m sorry. I was upset, but had no right to take it out on you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes tonight, that being one of them. I made a promise to you and your brother that I would never hurt you, and I know I slipped up tonight,but I intend to keep it that way. You are not your brother, and I know that he’s important to you as well as me. I should’ve apologized right away. I truly am sorry, miel.” He finally looked to face you. You grabbed his hands in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“I know. I know you are. I understand why you didn’t. That’s why I didn’t start a fight and left you alone. I didn’t deserve that and I’m glad that you are acknowledging that. It’s over now. We’ve apologized, we understood what we did wrong. Let’s just go to bed and if we need to, talk about it more tomorrow. Okay, amor?” You smiled at him. He nodded and smiled as you went to hold his face in your hands. You kissed him softly on the lips before you got up and held out your hand.

“Come on. I’m tired and our bed is calling our name. Plus, I deserve some cuddles after today.”

[extinctlesspains]

plzzzszszs write fluff for thanos 🙏🙏

A/n: YAYAYAYYA I've been waiting for a Thanos request 🙂‍↔️♡

𝐵𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 [𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠]

*:..｡o○　○o｡..:*

*:..｡o○　○o｡..:*

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴏs (ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ 230) x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ғʟᴜғғ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟ sǫᴜɪᴅ ɢᴀᴍᴇs, ᴛʜᴀɴᴏs ᴏғғᴇʀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ʀᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇss, sʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀ sᴀᴠᴇᴅ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇɪɢɴɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇʀ ᴏғ ʜᴏᴘᴇ. ᴅᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss sᴜʀʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ, ʜɪs sᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ʙᴜᴛ sɪɢɴɪғɪᴄᴀɴᴛ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ғɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴘᴜʀᴇ ғʟᴜғғ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The main room was dimly lit, the faint buzz of the old fluorescent bulbs the only sound. You sat in the corner, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the floor. Each game took another piece of you, leaving only scraps of hope behind.

The room was mostly empty, contestants scattered in their own corners, each dealing with their fears and grief in silence. You were so lost in thought you almost didn’t notice someone approach.

“Mind if I sit here?” a deep, gentle voice broke through your fog.

Looking up, you saw Thanos, Player 230. He was tall and broad, his presence both intimidating and oddly comforting. His features were rugged, a scar tracing his cheekbone, but his brown eyes were warm, and his purple hair was goofy. You managed a small nod, shuffling over slightly.

He lowered himself beside you, sitting with his legs stretched out and arms resting casually on his knees. The quiet stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, his voice softer now.

You shook your head, your chin trembling. “Not really,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, considering you. “Figured as much. No one’s really okay here.”

You laughed bitterly. “That’s an understatement.”

Thanos smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes but still felt genuine. “Still. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? That’s no small thing.”

You glanced at him, skeptical. “Feels like luck more than strength.”

“Luck’s important,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s not everything. It takes guts to survive here. And you’ve got that. I can see it.”

His words caught you off guard, stirring something in you that you hadn’t felt in days: belief. You wanted to dismiss it, but his steady gaze made it hard to argue.

“Why are you being so nice?” you asked softly.

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall as he thought. “Because I know what it’s like to feel alone,” he said simply. “No one should have to go through this without someone watching their back.”

His answer made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them, with a sincerity that felt rare in a place like this.

After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of candy. “Here.”

You blinked at it. “Where did you even get that?”

“Been saving it,” he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d need it for a rough day. But looks like you could use it more.”

You stared at him, the gesture so unexpectedly kind it left you speechless. Tentatively, you took the candy from his outstretched hand, unwrapping it carefully as though it were a precious treasure.

The sweetness melted on your tongue, and for the first time in days, you felt something other than despair.

“Thanks, Thanos,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Stick with me. We’ll get through this.”

You wanted to believe him. In this place where betrayal and cruelty ran rampant, someone like Thanos was a rarity.

“Why are you so sure we’ll make it?” you asked, curious despite yourself.

He shrugged. “You don’t survive by giving up. Besides, if anyone’s got a shot, it’s you. You’ve got fight in you—I saw it in the last round.”

His confidence in you was disarming. You weren’t sure if he was just saying it to keep your spirits up or if he actually meant it, but either way, it worked.

For a while, you sat there together in comfortable silence. The world outside the break room seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—a small beacon of hope in the unlikeliest place.

“You’re not bad company, Thanos,” you said eventually, managing a small smile.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth fighting for.

[iznyangwoni]

LITTLE SECRET | spiderman!jungwon

pairing: spiderman!jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: where the charming college heartthrob yang jungwon has a couple more secrets than you might’ve thought.

warnings: use of alcohol, cursing, suggestive

words: 6.5k

a/n: happy new year!! this took way longer than i expected, i hope you’re as obsessed with the idea of spidey jungwon as much as me hehe.

taglist: @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @ikeulove @ribbioniki @hollxe1 @shiroolikesfish @wonnie99 @lunaritex @aloloveswonie @meowwons @enlysia @wonys-won @cryjungwon @yizhoutv @engenediary @firstclassjaylee @heeseungmyman @jovibaes @ilovejungwonandhaechan @candyhere @yamagucccii @jungwonbropls @bamguetismee @wnyloves @cralessia

“Okay, fuck, marry or kill between Thor, Iron man and… Captain America, who do you choose?” You laugh hearing your friend’s nonsense. Not even a couple of drinks in and everyone is already tipsy enough to make stupid questions like that. Still, Yunah seems so proud of starting this game that you cant really blame her.

“Oh damn, that’s hard.” Yunjin says, taking a couple of minutes to think about the answer. You like night like this, Heeseung’s small apartment is perfect for your group’s gatherings, there’s not many of you anyway, and you enjoy the company of your friends and the slight bitter taste of alcohol while you play.

“I guess i’d kill Iron man, fuck thor and marry cap?” Yunjin’s answer makes both Jay and Jake stand up. “oh hell no, team iron man forever.” You laugh again, and rest your back against the window, drink in your hands. There’s something so comforting about these little things that you cant help but be happy even hearing them get into stupid arguments like that. “Whatever! Whatever, Y/n, what do you think?”

You raise your eyebrows, not expecting to be the next one. You raise your eyes to the ceiling, trying your best to think about the options and the words to say to not let anyone jump at you. “Well, i guess i’d marry Thor? Fuck Iron man and kill Captain America.” “Wow. You’re a disappointment, just as i thought.” You roll your eyes jokingly before taking another sip out of your drink, a smirk on your lips while once again everyone starts to argue about team cap or team iron man.

You dont join in on that, Jake is loud enough to compensate for it, and to be completely honest, the alcohol does makes you too dizzy to keep up. You look around, mostly paying attention to the beanbag where Yunah is sitting on, since you want to steal that so damn bad. Yunjin, Jay and Jake are all standing up, hands moving and their voices getting higher each time someone says something even more stupid. Heeseung should be in the kitchen with Jungwon, probably making more drinks, even if we already had way too many.

Speaking of which, you notice Jungwon coming in the living room, a little smile on his lips as he hears the conversation, a tray full of snacks and drinks in his hand. He puts it down on the coffee table and your eyes meet for a single second, you smile at him, as if thanking him for the snacks. “What about spiderman?” He asks the group, and everyone is silent at that, all the attention towards the blonde boy.

You barely register what he says, too focused on looking at him and admiring him to really pay attention. How long have you had a crush on him? Technically, its only been a couple of years, but because of the blip you do really feel like he’s had you in a chokehold for centuries. And ever since he dyed his hair blonde you cant really stop looking at him, he looks ethereal, he looks like a doll, and from this side you can clearly see the perfect outline of his nose and-

“Y/n? Earth calls y/n are you here?” You blink a couple of times, your ears probably becoming red at the realization that everyone in the room saw you staring at Jungwon so much you couldn’t even hear what they said. “Yes? What? I’m sorry I- Yeah, you were saying?” This is embarrassing, but its not like its the first time this happens either. “We were talking about spiderman, and you’re the only one who saw him, so what do you think of him?”

You furrow your brows, trying to recall the last time you saw the hero they’re talking about. Its not like you talked to him, but if it wasnt for spiderman, a whole house would’ve collapsed on you and you surely wouldn’t be here to tell this story again. Its been a couple of months since that accident, and you can only remember the feeling of his broad shoulders covering you and that familiar scent that you still haven’t been able to connect to something. “He’s… cool i guess? I’d still choose Thor over him though.”

Jungwon laughs at your words and looks at your way before sitting on the couch, and thats enough to make your heart flutter again. You try to not look too long, not wanting to repeat that embarrassing moment just a second ago, but your chest really is about to explode. “I guess its hard to beat a god, uh?” You shrug your shoulders, to be completely fair, you’re not a fan of heroes as much as your friends are so all of this talk to you is just boring talk.

Later into the night you’re sitting on Heeseung’s bed, your back on the headboard. The apartment isnt too big, he does indeed have his bed in the living room, but to you that’s what makes it cozy. Jay is sleeping on the beanbag, Jake and Heeseung are playing some kind of game you dont know meanwhile Yunah and Yunjin left not too long ago, the only reason you’re still here is because Jay is supposed to be your ride home, but you dont know how possible that’s going to be now.

Jungwon notices you and sits next to you with his usual smile, a little too close. Your shoulders brush, making you stiffen for a second. You have to remind yourself that Jungwon and you have been friends long before you developed this absurd crush on him, he’s easy to talk to, there’s no reason to get so nervous around him, and so you relax, just a little. “So… you dont like spiderman?” You giggle at that, lately Jungwon has been obsessed with that guy, he keeps bringing him up, as if he knows him personally.

“That’s not what I said.” You turn your head just to look at him, regretting it almost immediately. He’s really close and you didn’t even realize how you’re basically whispering, as if the other three can even hear you. “Yeah but you still choose Thor! Isnt he like… a thousand years old?” You look at him with your eyebrows raised, you can smell the littlest tint of alcohol in him, he doesn't look drunk, but he’s definitely tipsy enough to continue this conversation.

“Jungwon, if I didn’t know you, I would think you either have a crush on spiderman or you’re trying to set me up with him.” He laughs at your words, and you can't help but smile even more, your heart fluttering looking at his face, the way dimples show up on his cheeks and his chuckles are so crystal clear in your head. “Eh, maybe you just don't know me enough.” You grimace at that, your nose scrunching up, making him smile again.

To be completely honest, it does feel like that sometimes. You and Jungwon have been friends for a while, but lately… He’s been acting weird, as if something happened to him that transformed him into a completely different person, or maybe he just has more secrets than you think. You look at Jay, still soundly sleeping on the beanbag. Its so late into the night, and you do have a couple of projects to work on tomorrow, so you better walk back home if you want to be productive.

You get up and start picking your things up; Jungwon furrows his brows at that, before putting two and two together and realizing that you’re going home. “Hey. Isnt Jay your ride home?” You shrug, you really dont have time to wait for him to wake and sober up. “I dont live too far, i’ll just walk back home.” “I’ll go with you.” You raise your head at that, your heart beating so hard it might explode any minute. Did Yang Jungwon just offer to walk you home?

“There’s really no need to-“ But before you can even finish your sentence, Jungwon is putting his coat on and your cheeks become red, this is really happening. “Its three in the morning; i’m not letting you go alone.” You have to bite your inner cheeks to not smile too hard. You just nod at him and then finally get ready to go, you say bye to Heeseung and Jake before walking out.

You totally get why Jungwon is so well liked; he’s kind, funny, caring, and so handsome. It’d be weird not to. He walks on your right, as if to keep you protected from the few cars strolling around at this hour, and he’s so close to you that your shoulders and hands keep brushing against each other’s. It's cold outside, being January, and what you’re wearing isn't doing much to help you, but he’s already doing a lot, so you can't find it in yourself to ask him for his jacket.

Your house isnt too far, you had simply asked Jay because you know better than walk back home alone and drunk at night, and you’re glad Jungwon thinks the same as you. “I’m glad you’re back.” You say, getting surprised at your own words. Jungwon had been away for that Stark project for geniuses or whatever that was, and you could totally feel his absence. “I wasnt gone for long, though.”

You giggle quietly, definitely embarrassed now. “Guess i just like having you around then.” He looks at you as he smiles. Yunah and Yunjin have been telling you for weeks, they think that Jungwon might reciprocate your crush, but you’re not too sure about it. Him staying for so long during hangouts is a rare occasion, usually he finds some excuse to leave early or he just doesnt show up at all.

You reach your house and stop right in front of your door, Jungwon looks at you while you search for your keys inside your bag. You giggle when you find them, embarrassed by how long that took and, before opening the entrance, you look at him again, a gulp in your throat. You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the key in your hand. Should you just ask him to come in? Would that be too bold or… you know what, fuck it.

“Do you… want to come in? Its late and you live pretty far..” You bite your lips, hoping that doesnt sound too straightforward. Does it sound like you’re begging him to stay? Jungwon eyes seem to light up for a second, he’s about to speak when he suddenly stops, as if distracted by something. He looks at you again, this time he seems guilty. “I- I’d love that Y/n but i really have to go now..”

Your mouth opens to form a little ‘o,’ but you try to hide the disappointment with a smile on your face, you nervously put a strand of hair behind your ear, and the more you look at him the more he looks like he’s in a rush. Oh, he must really hate your idea. “Yeah! No, of course, sure! You must have a lot of things to do at 3 AM." You want to slap yourself at your own words. He gets closer to you and for a second you think he’s about to kiss you or hug you, but instead he just opens the door for you. “Go inside, its getting cold.”

As if the disappointment and embarrassment from last night wasnt enough, its like luck wasnt on your side either. You just wanted to hide and never look at Jungwon in the face ever again after yesterday, but of course the universe had another plan. You look down as the professor tells you that you have to find a tutor for maths and physics if you want to pass his exam. “Honestly, Y/n. This exam is really important for your career, i can help you find a good tutor like…” The professor looks behind you and points his finger towards a student, and you dont really have the courage to look back and see who it is.

“Oh! perfect timing. Come here, Jungwon!” Your eyes widen when you hear that name and you turn to look at the guy. Jungwon walks towards you and the professor with a gentle smile on his face, his hair is a bit of a mess and you notice he’s not wearing his backpack. You furrow your brows, he looks like he just finished a marathon. “Jungwon is the best of the class, i’m sure he can help you, right?”

Jungwon looks confused now, the professor gets next to him and pats his back, you honestly just want to hide, he doesnt look too happy with the idea of being your tutor and you just hope that the reason is not because of you trying to flirt with him last night. Before he can say no, you jump into the discussion. “I- I’m sure Jungwon is busy with that Stark stuff, i can find someone else its really not a big deal.”

“No! No i can do it! I can be your tutor, yeah..” This is awkward, definitely more than you could’ve imagined. You and Jungwon just look at each other and the tension in the room is so dense that you could probably cut it with a knife. The professor laughs and pats both your and Jungwon’s back lightly. “Sure, you figure it out! Just make sure you’re ready for the exam, Y/n.” And that said he takes his stuff and says bye, leaving the both of you alone in the class.

“You dont have to do it..” You say, after a couple of seconds of silence. You’re putting your things back in your bag, trying really hard to not just look too much at him, fearing of the reaction your heart might get from that. “No, no, i really want to. And honestly, there’s not really anyone better than me so..” He chuckles at his own words, but you just crack a little smile, closing your bag before looking back at him. “Let’s do at five today? in the library.”

You’re pleasantly surprised by his willingness to actually help you. You nod at his words, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, your bag on your shoulder. “Sure. Thank you, Jungwon.” He takes a couple more seconds to just look at you, and you start to feel almost self conscious at that. Maybe you got something in your hair? Something stuck on your teeth? Or even worse maybe you just smell bad and the perfume you’re wearing didn’t cover it up, or-

Before you can keep on overthinking about your appearance, Jungwon just ruffles your hair, a smile on his face as he does that and right now you can only hope and pray that your cheeks are staying a normal color, because you definitely feel hot as hell right now. “See you later, Pretty.” Pretty. He called you pretty. Wait, did he really just do that? You don’t even have the time to realize what just happened that he’s gone. Leaving you alone and on fire in this cold class.

You spend the rest of the day just waiting, and waiting, and waiting for five to come, you even got back home just to change into some cuter clothes. You dont want to make it look like you’re doing too much, its Jungwon after all, it would be weird. So a pair of wide leg jeans and a black top is cute enough. You arrive at the library five minutes early, just to make sure you can get a nice spot and take your things out before he arrives. But he doesn’t.

You know Jungwon, he does have a problem with timing, so you wait. The first fifteen minutes you dont think much of it, he’s always late after all. Then half an hour passes and you actually start to get angry, its already dark outside and you dont intend to wait for him all evening. But you do that anyway.

The initial anger transforms into worry when you overhear a couple of girls talking about how Spiderman was just seen fighting a bunch of criminals off, maybe he got involved in the fight? But thats really not something Jungwon would do. After an hour and a half of waiting you actually feel sad. He either forgot or didn’t care at this point. He didnt reply to your worried texts, nor did he call to tell you he was busy with something else.

You couldnt even concentrate on the physics book, too worried and sad to really be thinking about whatever is written there. Two hours pass, and the library is about to close so you just pack your things back and decide to walk back home, headphones in, and really, the last thing you want right now is sabrina carpenter in your ears singing about getting dicked down, but thats all your spotify wants you to listen apparently.

As if your day couldnt get worse, it starts raining, and the only thing covering you is the hood of the jacket you’re wearing, of course you left your umbrella home, you were so busy thinking about getting cute for Jungwon that you didnt even think about the important stuff. You sniffle with your nose at the thought of it, not really wanting to cry about something so stupid, but at the same time your throat is starting to hurt, and its already raining, so you might as well.

You’re close to your house when suddenly you cant feel the rain anymore, and for a second you actually think it stopped raining, but when you look up you only find an umbrella over your head. Your eyes widen in surprise, and when you turn to see who is holding it, you dont know if you want to keep crying or run as fast as you can.

Jungwon is now behind you, holding the umbrella for you while getting drenched under the rain himself. You dont know what to say, or how to react. All you know is that you feel sad and disappointed and so, so angry at him for wasting your time and making you believe that he actually cared for you enough to help for the exam.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry i swear i didn’t forget i just- i got a call from Stark for that project and I-“ Your brows are furrowed in annoyance, your head shaking and saying no as he keeps on talking and saying excuses. You’re not one to get mad easily, you’re usually pretty chill, and rarely things get under your skin, but right now you really want to just smash his head somewhere. “You could’ve called. Or replied to my dms.”

He’s panting, he must’ve run a lot, and he keeps getting wetter and wetter. Part of you wants to invite him in and give him something to dry his hair out, but you mostly want to take a bit of revenge in a way, and if its by giving him a common cold, then so be it. “We.. we cant keep our phones there, for privacy reasons- Mr. Stark doesn’t-“ “I dont give a fuck about Stark and your fuckass project!”

You manage to surprise yourself by shouting at him that way, you’re just so pissed off. It would’ve been better for the both of you if he hadn’t shown up, at least you would’ve cried yourself to sleep only to act like nothing happened, but seeing him, hearing his excuses that you’ve heard already thousands of times, whenever he missed the group hang outs or class. But this time its different.

“I told the professor you were busy, but you insisted to be my tutor anyway. This exam is so important to me but you just cant understand! Jungwon, not everyone is a damn genius like you, not everyone has fucking Tony Stark making projects and shit for him, i needed help today but you decided to just waste my time.”

Jungwon remains still, looking at you in shock, he’s never seen you this angry, he didnt even know it was possible for you to crash out this way. Suddenly his throat is dry and he doesnt know what to say, meanwhile you are fighting your own tears from falling. You feel guilty, in a way, you dont like getting mad and you definitely dont like the fact that it was Jungwon the one to see you this way. You hate it, how you cant still be fully mad at him because of how much you like him, his big dark eyes looking at you as if you just broke his heart. You take a deep breath in, and right now you dont know if you’re shaking because of the cold, your drenched clothes or from anger.

“I’m sorry.” He doesnt say anything else, and you actually wait for him to add another sentence, maybe you expect another excuse, but no. He just looks at you like a sad little kitten, and that only angers you even more. You shake your head no one last time before turning away from him and walking towards your house. You dont look back, because you know that if you did you would melt, you’d ask him to come inside and you’d say sorry to him for crashing out. And right now this is not what you need.

A couple of days later, you decided to stay in an empty classroom just so you could be able to study without having to worry about getting distracted. You’ve been ignoring Jungwon, but its not that hard when he is barely available anyway. He wasnt with your friends last night, and you havent seen him in class or anywhere else really. Last time you saw him, two days ago, you just turned on your heels and ignored him, but that was it.

You sigh, hating having to do this, the exam will be in two weeks and you still cant bring yourself to understand any of these things. You’re about to give up and smash your head on the table when the sound of notebooks falling on the chair next to you suddenly startles you.

“You were right, i acted on impulse and i’m sorry.” Jungwon is standing in front of you, he looks like he hadn’t slept well, dark circles under his gorgeous eyes that you love so much.

You dont say anything, too confused to actually react in a normal way. He’s making your heart beat so fast and the butterflies in your stomach are going crazy. “I made notes for you. I tried to keep it simple and add schemes, it took me a while, but i really wanted to help you.” Your lips press into a pout, now you really feel awful for how you treated him, this is why you like him so much. No matter how others treat him he’s always kind and gentle and god, you really fucked up, uh.

“I’m sorry for crashing out the other day.” “I deserved it.” “That’s not the point.” You sigh for what seems the ninth time today and you get up. He’s still taller than you, but what really makes you feel much smaller are his shoulders, his body is so fit and broad for him to have the face of an angel. There’s a few minutes of silence, it seems like you two always end up not saying anything for a while, just looking at each other and waiting for the other to speak. This time you decide to break it.

“I’ll offer you dinner, or coffee or a drink? if i actually pass the exam.” Jungwon’s smile gets even bigger, he likes how bold you’ve been lately, first asking him if he wanted to stay at your house, now this. If only he wasnt so busy being a damn hero, he would’ve asked you out a long time ago. “Let’s go see a movie instead, like a date.” You have to blink a couple of times to understand that, is he really asking you on a date? You look at him as if he’s talking nonsense, your lips parted in shock and you fear you might faint from how fast your heart is beating. He chuckles at your reaction. “You better pass that exam now.”

You’ve never studied so hard in your entire life. The two weeks passed so slowly, you basically closed yourself inside your house, or the library, or in the classroom, doing everything you could do to pass that exam. And so, when the day of the test finally arrives, you’re sure you can do it with your eyes closed. Well, kind of. You still dont get the highest grade, because you would’ve needed either a miracle or some sort of dark magic for that, but you still pass it.

You get out of the class, a huge smile on your lips while you walk towards the dining hall, where all your friends are waiting for you. “Oh my god i almost forgot your face!” Says Yunjin, pinching your cheeks when you sit between her and Jungwon. “Did you even eat these past weeks?” “You honestly got us worried.” “Oh my god, you guys. I was just studying its not like a supervillain kidnapped me or something.” Jungwon grimaces at your words. “Ugh, dont jinx it.”

A chuckle escapes your lips as you roll your eyes before digging in your food. Jay and Yunah are now arguing about which supervillain the world has seen would be able to kidnap you, meanwhile Jungwon is shaking his head no, trying to stop them from fantasizing about it. “I wouldn’t mind Loki i guess,” “Ew. Ew, ew, ew, ugly.” Yunjin’s reaction makes the whole table laugh.

“I’ve never met Loki..” Jungwon says, almost to himself, the others probably didnt even hear him, but you turn to look at him with a confused expression, your brows furrowed. “Well, duh. We were too young when the avengers stopped him.” The blondie just looks at you back, almost embarrassed about that sentence falling off his mind and coming out from his mouth. “Yeah… yeah i meant like, uh, yeah we were too young..” He’s acting weird, but you let that go, after all Jungwon does seem like a huge superhero nerd.

The week goes on and finally, finally, its time for your date with Jungwon. If it can even be called a date. Well, he called it a date so you assume it actually is one. Still, he did call you this time telling you he was going to be five minutes late, so you take your time walking towards the cinema.

Its been raining a lot these past few days, but you’re prepared, the white umbrella tight in your hands.

You’re just going to see a movie, but you still thought about dressing up nicely. The white dress you’re wearing might be a bit too springy, but you dont mind that. And you do have a pretty coat over it, so its fine. Your boots are perfect for the weather, and so are the thighs under them, and most importantly you feel cute.

Just as Jungwon said, he reaches you five minutes later, his breathing ragged as if he just ran. His hands behind his back but you can clearly see the flowers he’s trying to hide. He looks embarrassed, but the smile on your face makes me feel much more at ease. “I- Lets say it wasnt a good idea to get them and then run under the rain.” He says, handing them to you.

You laugh, the flowers must’ve looked pretty before he put his hands on them. They’re drenched and some of them are even missing a couple of petals, you couldnt care less about it though. He got you flowers. Yang Jungwon, the guy you’ve had a crush on for two years got you flowers, and you couldnt be happier.

“You’re always running somewhere.” You chuckle.

He links arms with you, walking towards the ticket booth. You dont even know what film you’re watching, knowing him its probably some sci-fi movie or a really old one that he always references but you dont know. “I mean, running is healthy.” “As long as you dont run away from me..” He keeps silent at your words, looking at you deeply, his eyes scanning your body and face, he always does that. “I’ll try.”

That answer leaves you in a chaos of emotions. He will try? What does that even mean? Your face must be telling that, or maybe its the way your body stiffened up. He opens his mouth to say something else, probably trying to save what he just did, but you dont even hear him. A loud noise echoed outside the cinema and you find yourself catching Jungwon’s hands out of fear.

He suddenly looks serious, his hand on your back, his brows furrowed in what seems anger and annoyance, that’s not a normal reaction if someone were to ask you. He looks around, meanwhile the other people around you are already screaming and running out of the theater, and you’re starting to get anxious too. “Jungwon we have to-“ “Take the emergency door on the left, i’ll catch up to you later.”

He lets you go, but you’re only getting more and more confused. He’s not coming with you? You shake your head no, in disbelief. You’re not leaving him here out in danger, what is he, some kind of superhero? “What? Are you out of your mind? Jungwon let’s just go..” You grab his arm and he closes his eyes for a second, getting out a deep sigh before he cups your cheeks.

“I swear, i’ll explain everything to you, but you have to go now. Just trust me and get out from that door only.” He’s not a superhero. You keep repeating yourself that, like a mantra, he cant be. He’s Jungwon, you would know if he was, he wouldnt be able to shut up about it, he’s like a twenty year old Tony Stark, there’s no way he is. But then you feel the way he’s holding you, his broad shoulders protecting you and his big hands on your face, its so familiar. And the look in his eyes is telling everything you need to know.

So you nod, hesitantly, but you do as he says. You can only hope he’s not actually who you think he is, your hands stop gripping his wrists so tightly and he gives you a gentle and reassuring smile before leaving a kiss on your cheek. “Go home, and dont take the metro. I’ll be right back.” You nod again and then you go, with your heart thumping against your chest, your head filled with dots connecting each other, and you dont know what to think.

You reach home safely, only because you did as Jungwon told you. You didnt take the metro, which happened to be involved in the fight, and you wonder how the hell did he know that would’ve happened. You sit on your bed, checking every news site, refreshing the spiderman tag on twitter every couple of seconds. You’re not 100% sure about it, maybe you’re just traumatized and insane, maybe a man protecting you reminds you of spiderman and this is just you projecting, but you cant ignore the signs.

That time at the library, he didn’t come and spiderman was fighting off somewhere at the same time, or all those times he left early or didnt come at all, all those excuses and that Stark project, is that even real? It makes sense, it makes too much sense and you feel like you will be going crazy until he comes back like he promised you.

You’re about to go downstairs and make a chamomile or something that could help you not go insane when you hear a tap on your balcony window. Jungwon is there and you waste no time opening the slide in door for him, you want to ask him a thousand questions but he just puts his finger over his lips, telling you to be quiet.

You dont know why he’s doing that, but you accomplish and close the window door behind him. You were so distracted waiting for him that you didnt even turn on the lights, and its so dark outside so you had barely noticed the mask in his hand. That mask. You take a better look at him and you feel so stupid when you notice what he’s wearing.

You dont know if you’re even surprised at this point, nor how you find the force to close the curtains and turn on one of the little lights in your room. He slides down the wall, he looks tired, and hurt, but he’s still looking at you with that same cocky vibe he always has. “You don’t look surprised.”

“I had a lot to think about walking home.” He smiles even more, and you kneel down next to him, your hand going to his hair without even thinking to much about it, you move them away from his forehead, and you just now notice a few small cuts on his face. “Is this a deal breaker for you?” He chuckles softly, his breath catching, even he knows how ridiculous he sounds right now, but you’re too mad to joke around with him.

“The deal breaker was you vanishing for weeks, lying to our friends, lying to me, finding useless excuses, asking me out on a date and then letting me run off of my own, leaving me alone at the library for hours and-“ You notice the way he’s looking at you, each word you say making him feel even worse, his already huge eyes looking even bigger.

“And… it doesnt even matter, because i like you so much i cant get mad at you.” It should feel good, telling him that you like him, it should feel like letting go of a weight off your shoulders, but it doesnt. Your heart feels heavy, you dont know how to feel, you’re worried sick and you dont know how you’re going to handle knowing that he is, indeed, spiderman.

You let your head fall on his shoulder while he hugs you almost immediately. You can hear the way his heart is beating, he doesn’t like seeing you like this and he hates being the cause of it, so he tries to soothe you down, hands caressing your back and playing with your hair.

“I like you a lot, too. And if this too much for you i’ll- I dont know, i’ll ask that damn doctor magician to erase it from your memory or something, just- I’m sorry.” You shake your head no while hiding in his chest, you dont want to forget this, he trusted you enough to know, and you respect that. “Who else knows?” “Jay and well, Mr. Stark and well yeah, everyone of that category.”

You just nod, you really cant believe this. Jungwon and Jay keeping a secret of this sort, you really thought Jungwon was the kind of guy to tell anyone if he were to be a hero, but apparently you know way less about him than you expected. You raise your head to look at him. He looks pretty hot like this, his lips are red, probably from fighting, his hair is a mess and that’s partly your faul, and wow. The suit fits him so well. His broad shoulders, his toned chest and his biceps look even better with it on.

“You’re staring.” He says, his fingers going under your chin to make you look at his face, which doesnt help your wondering thoughts, since he’s just that handsome. “You always stare at me, too.” “Yeah, ‘cause you’re pretty.” You crack a smile at that, its not the first time he calls you pretty, but it always gives you butterflies. Before you even realize, he puts his arms on your waist and makes you sit on his lap. Well, now you know where all his strength comes from.

“I wasnt expecting our first date to end up like this.” He moves to be closer to you, his nose nuzzling with yours, his voice getting lower, your hands rest on his chest. “What were you expecting?” That question seems to get a reaction out of him, his brow raising, a smirk on his face. “Well, you would’ve hated the movie i choose anyway. At that would’ve led you to be bored, and to us making out.” You giggle at that, you dont know if that would’ve actually happened, but the thought is nice.

“You think you can make my dream come true, Pretty?” Maybe its the suit that is making him act even more cocky than he usually is, or maybe you’re just too turned on by it to think about anything else. Your eyes scan him one last time, your hands moving behind his neck, your lips brushing against each other. “I’ll try.” And that said, your lips finally crash into his. For years you imagined how it would feel to kiss him, and this is so much better than any of that.

Jungwon is confident in his moves, his lips move with ease against yours, his hands keep you still on his lap, his tongue gently asking for permission by licking your bottom lip. You let him, not know that its going to be the end for you. He tilts his head, enough to go deeper while you just let him take the lead. You feel like you’re in heaven his lips are soft yet his kissing gets rougher as time passes, soon enough the room is filled with the sounds of your breathing, your lips meeting and tongues clicking. He doesnt seem to be wanting to let you go, you still pull out after a while, feeling out of breath.

He leans in for more but you stop him with a gentle peck, a giggle escaping from you. “Calm down, Spidey. Not everyone has super lungs.” “I dont, either.” He laughs and pushes your hair our of your face and puts them behind your ears. “You’re really okay with this? Even if I’m spiderman?” You can hear the insecurity in his voice, and honestly, it really is a big deal. He’s a superhero, he gets in trouble, people want him dead and knowing it might affect your daily life too. But right now you dont care.

“First of all, you’re Jungwon. We’ll figure out the spiderman stuff together. But yes, i am sure about Jungwon, a hundred percent.” He nods, a smile on his lips before he kisses you again, and again, and again. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.” He whispers between kisses, next thing you know he picks you up before throwing you on the bed, you giggle again, your body open to him.

You look at him and he just looks so perfect to you. You can’t believe this is happening, Jungwon is on top of you, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings between your lips. He pulls out for a few seconds to look back at you, a smirk on your lips as you bite his ear before whispering.

“The suit stays on, though.”

[the-fab-fox]

This is so true. I recently saw a recipe for a really healthy meal on a recipe blog. I clicked the author's name and found my way to their actual domained website. In their about, I found the email. I have emailed them asking if there was a way to do the recipe but in a crockpot due to the pretty unsafe environment I live in—due to the skuzzy way my roommate/Subletter acts, I don't feel safe using the kitchen. I have not received an answer but from my experience sending out emails to people one would not generally consider, I know one of two things will happen. They will simply not respond (that is to say ignore or disregard my email) or they will answer and let me know if it can be done or let me know they don't have the time or energy to offer that solution. And these two options aren't bad at all. There's no consequence.

So even if they *don't* answer, what's the problem with asking when the worst outcome is simply no answer. You're literally losing nothing no matter the outcome, and more times than you think you're gaining something.

A few more examples on this:

I'm very much a networker. I am a people person and really good at striking up random conversations with people. Been that way my whole life. I just love interacting and helping people. (I'm a customer service professional of 20 years if that says anything).

I also am pretty intermediate with computers and very good at writing resumes and cover letters for job resumes and things like that. A lot of that comes from the fact that when I was younger, if I wanted something that could only come from a specific person/company/entity/etc, I would search and research until I found the contact needed.

Sometimes I'd be pleasantly surprised, sometimes not. But I never lost anything by trying.

A few times I was pleasantly surprised:

I was/am really into Criminal Minds as a TV show. Got into it in my 20s. It's become a comfort show (as weird as that is for a show about a fictionalized Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI). I was thinking... What would it take to be a BAU agent. It's probably nothing like the show so what's it like really. So I went on USAjobs.gov to look into it. Found contact for FBI. Emailed with a well edited and professional email (yes, this is absolutely important if you want to be taken seriously—if anyone would like me to draft up an example of what that could look like in a specific scenario, I'm happy to help!) as well as I could at the age I was at (basically, write it as well written and professional as you know how at where you're at now—don't try to "sound" professional and use big words. Just write as you but more formal). Lo and behold, I got my answer and it was quite thorough and they even warned me that the team as is seen on the show is very over glorified and the BAU mostly consults from afar and very rarely goes into the field. Lol. But you still have to pass the entrance exams which include physical.

2nd time, around the same time. I was a member of a Matthew Gray Gubler (Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds) fan blog on Live journal. (Really aging yourself, here, Finley 🤣) Anyway. There was a movie we heard of that MGG would be in but no one knew if it was true or really happening or if the project was still in the works or had been stalled. I did a Google search, found the movies official page, found a contact email or form. I was consise in my subject line and consise in my email (my thinking was entertainment people are gonna be hella busy so put my inquiry in as little but still respectful and professional words as possible. I stated who I was, my experience leading to my question (in this case I said something along the lines of 'my name is Finley Beckett and I'm a member of a Mattew Gray Gubler fan blog. The group of us have been looking forward to the movie that if coming out but we haven't heard anything about it or whether it's still happening or not. I was hoping that you might be able to shine some light on this. Also, due to the questionable relience of the internet these days, would it be at all possible to send some kind of proof that you are indeed the people behind the movie. I won't share with the group, of course, but that way I can with 100% confidence, inform them of your response). And two or so days later I got an email from the director of the movie himself (and keep in mind this was a lower budget film and pretty sure straight to DVD so obviously this would likely not work with someone like say George Lucas or Christopher Nolan or Stephen Spielberg) emailed me back and gave me not only what has been happening as far as movie production but as well as a few production stills that included MGG within them.

I've gotten to correspond with two of my favorite novelists due to finding their websites and through those, their contacts. (Business inquiry emails count as contacts). And one of them, probably my favorite author of all time (Tamora Pierce) even looked over some of my writing at the time and gave me some really great feedback. To this day I cherish this moment even if I've lost the email to time.

Ultimately, the biggest advice I can give on this sort of thing is best summed up in this quote:

"You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take. Even though there is only a 1-5% probably of scoring."

— Wayne Gretzky (not Michael Scott 🤣)

And I left in the second part because it confirms what I've said. Like yes, there's only a 1-5% chance of getting something out of reaching out, especially in this day and age.

That said, if you never try, that percentage stays at 0%. Full stop.

You're already at 0%, so it would make more sense if you tried because even if you fail, you're already at 0% so you've literally got nothing to lose, right?

IDK if any of this will help but I wanted to try just the same. (See what I did there? 😉)

[kiwriteswords]

Finer Things [Aaron Hotchner x High-Maintenance!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 6k|| AN: Here we are! This took a little longer than expected, but I think I like how this one turned out!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, high-maintenance reader, female reader, progression of relationship, simp!Hotch, feminine reader, Jack exists but is only briefly mentioned, BAU reader, materialistic reader, Garcia the helpful friend, flirty banter, mild language

Summary: You're a stylish...arguably high-maintenance BAU agent who unexpectedly falls for your straightforward and grounded partner, Aaron Hotchner. As you both tackle cases and life’s surprises, you learn to blend your love for the finer things with his practical approach, discovering a deep and enduring connection.

Hotch’s office door clicked softly as you knocked, barely audible over the hum of the precinct around you. The frame filled almost instantly with your form—pristine as always, from your flawlessly styled hair down to the heels that added an effortless grace to your every step.

“Got a minute?” you asked, your voice as smooth and composed as the latte you held in one hand, the steam still curling lazily up from the cup.

Hotch stepped aside, allowing you entrance. “Of course,” he said, though he knew his afternoon was already crammed with meetings and reports. For you, though, he made time—something the rest of the team had noticed and often teased him about. But what could he say? Aaron Hotchner, stoic and steadfast, had indeed developed a soft spot for you.

As you settled into the chair across from his desk, Hotch couldn’t help but admire the meticulous way you organized your space on the table. Your designer bag was set precisely to the right, not a strap out of place. He often wondered how someone so particular could thrive in the chaotic unpredictability of the BAU.

“So, what did you think of the profile?” you began, breaking into his thoughts. Your eyes were bright, lively—a stark contrast to his own, which often carried the weight of the job.

“It’s thorough. You have a knack for getting into the unsub’s head,” Hotch replied, his voice firm yet carrying a hint of warmth reserved mostly for you.

Your smile widened, pleased. “I do try,” you quipped, stirring your latte leisurely. “But I think it could use a bit more… je ne sais quoi, don’t you think?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what would you suggest?”

“Well,” you leaned forward, the light catching your earrings just so. “If I were him, I’d be more careful about where I left my clues. Too sloppy. Maybe he needs a lesson in organization from me.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound more natural than he intended. “I think he’d be horrified at the idea.”

“Good,” you grinned, sitting back with satisfaction. “Then he’d know how I feel about unorganized data.”

Moving to the round table, the rest of the team began to filter into the office for the briefing, and Morgan threw a teasing glance your way. “Looks like Hotch is getting his daily dose of high maintenance,” he commented, a playful smirk on his face.

Prentiss elbowed him lightly, smiling in your direction. “Leave them alone. If anyone can get Hotch to lighten up, it’s her.”

Hotch cleared his throat, signaling the start of the briefing, but he couldn’t deny the truth in their observations. You brought a lightness to his often too-heavy life, a splash of color to the monochrome routine.

As the meeting progressed, your contributions were not just insightful but infused with a vibrancy that lifted the somber mood typical of these sessions. Each time you spoke, Hotch found his attention drawn not just to your words but to the way you expressed them—with a confidence and a flair that was uniquely yours. When you directed a comment towards him, accompanied by a playful raise of your eyebrows, there was an underlying challenge there, as if you were coaxing him out from behind his well-constructed barriers.

Your laughter, light and unguarded, filled the room at one point when you poked fun at the unsub’s choice of hideouts, suggesting even you could find a better hiding place during your shopping trips. The team chuckled, and even Hotch’s lips twitched into a smile—your cheer infectious, your presence undeniably compelling.

As the team began to disperse, you lingered over your notes, your meticulous nature evident as you aligned your papers and recapped your pens with a precision that spoke of a deeper need for order—a trait Hotch could appreciate, perhaps because it mirrored his own.

Hotch watched you, the way the light caught the highlights in your hair and the meticulous care you took with even the smallest task. He remained in his seat, an internal debate raging within him. He was the Unit Chief, always in control, always composed. But around you, those walls he meticulously maintained seemed less formidable, more permeable.

Finally, he stood, his decision made, propelled by a force he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. Approaching you, he noted the slight surprise in your movements as you looked up. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something more, something deeper.

“Dinner tonight?” he asked, the invitation hanging between them, heavier than the casual manner he attempted to portray.

You paused, a pen still in your hand, and met his gaze. The flicker of surprise was quickly replaced by a slow-spreading smile that warmed your eyes. “Trying to keep up with my high standards, Hotch?” you teased, the challenge back in your voice, but this time it was laced with an unmistakable warmth.

“I think I’m ready to try,” Hotch replied, his voice low, honest. The corners of his mouth turned up in a rare, genuine smile that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the usual hardness there.

“Then it’s a date,” you declared, your voice light but carrying a weight that filled the room with a promise of something new, something thrilling.

As you gathered your belongings and left, your heels clicking assertively against the floor, Hotch watched you go, a sense of anticipation building within him. It was a feeling foreign yet exhilarating, stirring something within him that had lain dormant.

He realized then, as the distance grew between you, that what the team jokingly called his ‘weakness’ was perhaps his most profound revelation. In you, Aaron Hotchner found not just a challenge but a vibrant counterpart who could match his steps in life’s intricate dance. With you, the future seemed less daunting, more vivid—colored by the finer things, in every possible way.

Since that first dinner, a subtle shift had occurred in the dynamics between Hotch and you. What started as a casual outing evolved into a series of clandestine meetings, each encounter deepening the bond that was swiftly becoming an integral part of his daily life. The secrecy was necessary—not just for the sake of professionalism within the team but to preserve the unique world that had begun to flourish between the two of you.

Hotch found himself anticipating your texts, which often popped up on his phone with playful emojis and witty remarks about everything from case files to the peculiar habits of their local barista. You managed to make even the mundane seem amusing, and Hotch, ever the stoic leader, found his day brightening with each notification.

One evening, as Hotch returned home from a particularly grueling case, he found a small package at his doorstep. Inside was a high-end espresso machine—a gift from you, complete with a note: "For your home office, so you can enjoy a proper latte without braving the outside world. Think of me when you use it." It was both a luxurious gesture and so quintessentially you, blending high maintenance with thoughtful consideration.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile as he set up the machine in his kitchen. It wasn’t something he would have ever purchased for himself, but now, brewing a cup in the quiet of the morning, he found a new appreciation for the ritual. It reminded him of you—how you’d insist on the perfect temperature, the ideal foam-to-espresso ratio, details he’d once overlooked but now found endearing.

At work, these small infiltrations into his life were becoming more apparent. You had taken to adjusting the small things around him, straightening the papers on his desk, sometimes replacing his usual stark office supplies with items that had a bit more personality—a stapler in polished chrome, sleek and efficient like the espresso machine, or pens that wrote so smoothly he found excuses to handwrite notes he would typically type.

Hotch had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that your influence was a welcome one. It was as if you were slowly coloring in parts of his world that he hadn’t even realized were so monochrome. And when you both sat down at the round table, reviewing case files together, the subtle touches—the way your knee would gently brush against his, or how you’d share a quick, knowing look over a shared inside joke—added layers to their days that Hotch hadn’t anticipated but found he no longer wanted to go without.

One afternoon, caught in a rare moment of downtime, Hotch found himself at the local shopping center, standing before a display of designer ties. He remembered you commenting on how a splash of color could brighten his usual ensemble of dark suits and somber expressions. With a critical eye, he selected one that was a soft shade--something that would match your eyes, he thought, a private acknowledgment of the space you were coming to occupy in his life.

That evening, when he wore the tie, the team didn’t miss the change. “Look at Hotch, finally taking some fashion tips from the best,” Morgan teased, nudging you as you both arrived for the briefing.

You shot Hotch a playful wink, and he responded with a slight nod, a silent conversation passing between them. Yes, you were changing him, but perhaps, Hotch considered as he adjusted the new tie subtly, this change was not just inevitable but necessary.

For Aaron Hotchner, known for his rigor and restraint, the gentle invasion of your high-maintenance habits into his disciplined life was less a disruption and more a revelation. Each new preference, each shared secret, wove a richer tapestry into his days. And as he looked across the table at you, he realized with a clarity that surprised him, that these threads, once so foreign, were now essential to the fabric of his life.

The rarity of a day off was not something Hotch took lightly, especially with Jack away on a Boy Scout trip. He had considered a quiet day at home, perhaps catching up on some reading or simply enjoying the peace. However, as he was contemplating his solitary plans, you texted him about your own plans for the day—getting your nails done, a routine you indulged in every few weeks.

"I’m off to maintain my high standards," your message read, accompanied by a laughing emoji. "Care to join me for a change of scenery?"

The invitation was unexpected. The thought of spending his day off in a nail salon was not something Hotch would have ever considered before meeting you. Yet, the idea of accompanying you, of sharing in something that was a part of your routine, held an appeal he couldn’t deny.

"Sure, why not?" Hotch texted back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he imagined your reaction.

At the salon, you greeted him with a bright smile and a quick peck on the cheek. "Never thought I’d see the day Aaron Hotchner steps into a nail salon willingly," you teased, leading him inside.

The salon was a buzz of activity, a stark contrast to the usual seriousness of his work environment. You introduced him to your nail technician, a friendly woman named Lisa who greeted him with a warmth that seemed to radiate throughout the room.

As Lisa started on your nails, you chatted animatedly about the colors and designs. Hotch found himself pulled into a conversation about the merits of various shades—a discussion he never thought he’d have, yet here he was, weighing in on whether 'Midnight Blue' was a better choice than 'Stormy Grey'.

"You know, you could get something done too. A manicure perhaps? It’s quite relaxing," you suggested, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, considering it. "What would the team think if I showed up with polished nails?"

"They’d think you’re embracing the finer things in life," you replied with a laugh. "But maybe just a clear coat. We wouldn’t want to give Morgan too much ammunition."

Surprisingly, Hotch agreed. As Lisa began to work on his nails, he found the experience unexpectedly soothing. The gentle handling, the focus on something so trivial yet intimate, was a stark departure from his day-to-day life.

"So, how does it feel to be pampered?" you asked, watching him with an amused expression.

"Strangely relaxing," Hotch admitted. "I can see the appeal."

As Lisa finished, you both sat under the nail dryers. Hotch looked over at you, taking in the relaxed ease of your posture, and the genuine smile on your face. It was these moments, he realized, that he cherished deeply—the simple pleasures shared, the barriers between professional and personal blurring into something beautifully ordinary.

"You know, I’m glad you invited me," Hotch said, his voice soft amid the hum of the salon. "It’s nice, sharing this part of your world."

You reached over, your hand finding his. "I’m glad you’re here, Aaron. It means more than you know."

As they left the salon, Hotch felt a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The day had been uneventful by most standards, yet for him, it was a precious insight into the everyday joys of the person who had unexpectedly become his closest confidant.

The team's discovery of his relationship with you was as inevitable as it was unintended. It began one morning when Garcia, ever observant, noticed the faintest of smiles on Hotch’s lips as he read a text from you. It was nothing overt, just the subtle lift of his mood, but it was enough to pique her interest.

“Spill it, Hotch. You’ve been smiling more these days,” Garcia prodded as they gathered in the briefing room, her tone teasing but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Hotch, caught slightly off-guard, managed to maintain his composure. “It’s just been a good morning,” he replied smoothly, hoping his nonchalance would deflect further inquiry.

Garcia, however, was not so easily dissuaded. “Uh huh,” she hummed, giving him a knowing look but dropping the subject in the presence of the rest of the team.

The next clue came unintentionally from you during a case briefing. You were discussing a particularly challenging aspect of the case when you casually mentioned a small detail—a detail that Hotch had shared with you in confidence during one of your dinners together.

As you spoke, Reid’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing in that characteristic way when he was putting pieces together. “That’s an interesting observation,” he remarked, glancing between Hotch and you. “Not many would’ve caught that.”

Hotch met Reid’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Reid’s expression softened into a subtle smile, and he nodded slightly, turning his attention back to the files in front of him.

Morgan and JJ were the next to catch on. It happened in the field, during a tense moment when you instinctively reached for Hotch’s hand. It was a brief touch, meant to be reassuring, but Morgan and JJ caught the action from the corner of their eye.

Later, as they regrouped at the SUV, Morgan clapped Hotch on the shoulder. “You know you can tell us, right? We’re family here,” he said in a low voice, his look pointed but friendly.

Hotch simply nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I know, Derek,” he said, grateful for the support he knew they would offer.

Prentiss figured it out during a late-night coffee run when she saw you both at a small cafe, your heads close together, laughing softly over shared stories. She didn’t approach, respecting your privacy, but the next day, her smile was a bit wider when she greeted you both.

“It’s good to see you happy, Hotch,” she said quietly as she passed by his office, her words meant only for him.

By the time Rossi found out, it seemed that most of the team had already accepted the new dynamic with characteristic adaptability. Rossi, ever the father figure, simply raised his glass to Hotch during their next team dinner, a silent toast that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got a good thing, Aaron. Don’t let the job get in the way,” Rossi advised later, when they were alone, his voice low and earnest.

Hotch appreciated the wisdom; knowing the balance between personal happiness and professional duty was a fine line to walk.

As the team gradually discovered the relationship, what surprised Hotch most was not the fact that they found out, but the ease with which they accepted it. Their teasing was gentle, their support unwavering, and in their acceptance, Hotch found not just confirmation of his feelings for you but also a deeper appreciation for the team he considered his second family.

In this newfound openness, Hotch realized that his relationship with you did not weaken his leadership; rather, it enriched the very fabric of his life, both at work and beyond. With each passing day, as you both navigate the complexities of a relationship built amidst the demands of the BAU, Hotch found himself not just accepting but embracing the vibrant color you brought into his once-monochrome world.

The integration of your meticulous routines into Hotch's daily life was gradual, almost imperceptible at first, until one day he found himself deeply enmeshed in the particulars of your high-maintenance habits. What began as playful observations soon became cherished moments of his day, each routine offering a glimpse into the meticulous and vibrant world you inhabited.

Every evening, as you both prepared for bed, Hotch would lean against the bathroom doorway, watching as you engaged in your elaborate skincare routine. The array of creams, serums, and tools was impressive, and he'd often raise an eyebrow in mock incredulity as you explained the purpose of each one.

“Do you really need all of this?” Hotch would ask, his tone light and teasing as you applied a night serum with precise, practiced motions.

“Absolutely,” you’d reply without missing a beat, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at him. “It’s about maintaining standards, Aaron. You of all people should understand that.”

“I thought we were just going to bed, not preparing for a photo shoot,” Hotch would retort, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

“It’s called preventive maintenance,” you’d say, tapping the side of your nose with a finger. “One day, you’ll thank me when we’re both ninety, and I still look seventy.”

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the soft notes of the evening. He had to admit, there was a certain peace in these nightly rituals, a tranquility that had seeped into the crevices of his once rigid routine.

Sometimes, you would catch him watching and pull him into the routine, applying a bit of moisturizer to his face with gentle, coaxing motions. “You’ll feel better,” you’d assure him, and he’d comply, not because he believed in the miraculous claims of the products but because it meant more moments shared with you.

On weekends, the rituals would extend to mornings. You’d take your time selecting an outfit, coordinating accessories and makeup with an artist’s eye for detail. Hotch would sit on the bed, coffee in hand, offering the occasional nod or hum of approval as you held up two nearly identical pairs of shoes, asking for his opinion.

“What do you think? The matte or the glossy?” you’d ask, holding them up for him to see.

“The matte,” Hotch would decide after a moment’s consideration. “It’s subtler.”

“Subtle,” you’d repeat, considering this. “I like it. Subtle but effective. Kind of like you.”

The routine wasn’t just about vanity or upkeep—it was a dance, a way of you expressing yourself and inviting him into your world. Hotch found himself missing these interactions whenever you were at your own apartment. The bathroom felt too empty, the mornings too quick and utilitarian. He missed the scent of your skincare products, the sound of your voice explaining the benefits of jasmine oil, or the way you’d ask his opinion on things he’d never considered before.

Even his morning routine had adapted; where once a quick shave sufficed, he now found himself opening your moisturizer, the scent a comforting reminder of you. It was a small concession to the routines you loved, a way of keeping you close even when miles apart.

Through these shared routines, Hotch learned more than just the importance of exfoliation or the difference between matte and glossy finishes. He learned the value of slowing down, of savoring the quiet moments together before the chaos of the day set in. Each ritual, each routine you shared, wove deeper connections between them, turning mundane moments into cherished memories and in doing so, seamlessly blending his life with yours.

With your birthday on the horizon, Hotch was well aware of the intricacies involved in selecting the perfect gift. Your independence and flair for purchasing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted, left little room for him to dazzle you with something unexpected. Yet, the desire to surprise and delight you was strong; he wanted to be the doting boyfriend who could still manage to sweep you off your feet.

One morning, as he was choosing a tie for work, you playfully suggested one that would "match beautifully with my purse—if I had the right shade." The comment was offhand, perhaps even forgetful of the collection you already owned, but it sparked an idea in Hotch's mind.

Later that day, armed with determination, Hotch sought out Garcia. He found her busy at her workstations, screens flickering with data.

"Garcia, could I get your help with something a bit more... personal?" Hotch began, hesitating slightly as he ventured into unfamiliar territory.

Garcia swiveled in her chair, her expression instantly shifting to one of eager attentiveness. "Of course, Hotch! What do you need? Secret admirer codes cracked? Background checks for mysterious suitors?" she quipped, her tone light.

"Actually, I need advice on buying a purse," Hotch admitted, and briefly explained the situation.

"A purse? Oh, for you know who?! This is going to be fun!" Garcia clapped her hands, her earlier levity shifting into focused enthusiasm. "Okay, first things first, we need something as unique and classy as she is. Let’s dive into the world of designer handbags."

Garcia guided him through various high-end brands, explaining the appeal of each. "These are timeless," she pointed out, scrolling through an array of sophisticated designs. "But knowing our girl, something with both function and a high fashion quotient would be ideal."

Hotch listened, absorbing details about textures, colors, and what each brand symbolized. They finally narrowed it down to a few choices, each one reflecting a different aspect of your personality and style.

"This one here," Garcia pointed at a sleek, modern satchel with minimalist design but luxurious detailing, "seems like it could be the perfect accessory for her. It’s stylish but not ostentatious, much like how she approaches her work and personal style."

"It looks great," Hotch agreed, imagining how it would look draped over your shoulder. He made a mental note of the bag and the brand, deciding to do a little more research before making the final purchase.

"Good luck, Hotch! She's going to love whatever you choose because it's from you," Garcia smiled warmly, giving him a thumbs-up as he thanked her and left.

Back at Hotch’s apartment, as you both moved through your evening routine, Hotch found opportunities to subtly probe for more of your preferences without giving away his intentions.

"So, if you were to splurge on something frivolous, what would it be?" Hotch asked casually as you were both settling down with a glass of wine.

"Frivolous?" you chuckled, giving him a playful look. "Isn’t everything I buy somewhat frivolous to you, Mr. Practicality?"

"Perhaps," Hotch conceded with a smile, "but indulge me."

"A purse," you said after a moment, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "A really good, outrageously and stupidly expensive purse that makes me feel like a million bucks when I carry it."

"Sounds like a worthy investment," Hotch replied, his tone teasing but thoughtful. Your eyes met, and there was a spark of something that went beyond the casual banter—a shared understanding and appreciation for these little confessions.

Hotch tucked away every piece of information, each helping him build towards the moment he would present you with the perfect birthday gift. It was more than just a purse; it was a symbol of his attentiveness to your desires and his wish to celebrate everything you were.

But the birthday Hotch had planned for you was supposed to be special, a day to celebrate you in style, with every detail tailored to your liking. Instead, duty called in the form of a particularly tough case that dragged on much longer than anyone had anticipated. The hours turned into days, and by the time it was over, everyone was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained.

As the team began packing up, you sighed heavily, the weight of the last few days evident in your slumped shoulders. "I just want to go back to my apartment," you murmured. "I ran out of clothes, and I forgot half my skincare stuff in the rush out."

Hotch, who had been hoping to salvage what was left of the day, felt a twinge of disappointment. "You could grab what you need and come back to my place," he suggested, trying to keep his tone light, though concern etched his features. He’d go to your place if he could, but Jack was waiting for him. 

You shook your head, fatigue lining your face. "I'm just so tired, Aaron. Let’s just celebrate tomorrow, okay?" Your voice held a note of finality, but also a plea for understanding.

He knew he should let it go…give you the space you needed, but a part of him—the part that had been quietly contemplating a more significant step in your relationship—spoke up. "I was going to bring this up over dinner," Hotch began, his voice steady despite the chaos of the day, "but maybe this is the right moment. You and your... elaborate routines should just move in with me."

Your fatigue momentarily gave way to surprise. "Do you know what you’re getting into? My high maintenance might take over your space," you teased, a faint smile playing at your lips despite the exhaustion.

"Yes," Hotch said firmly, his gaze intense. "I know exactly what I’m getting into, and I love it. I miss it when you’re not there."

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, your smile grew, and the weariness seemed to lift slightly. "You really want me and my half a suitcase of skincare products moving in?"

"Every last bottle and brush," Hotch confirmed, his voice softening. "It’s part of who you are, and I want all of you every day. Not just on good days or birthdays, but every challenging and tiring day too."

Your eyes softened, and you stepped closer, leaning into him slightly. "Okay, but we’re getting a bigger bathroom cabinet," you stipulated, your tone light but sincere.

"It’s a deal," Hotch agreed, wrapping an arm around you. The case had taken much from you both, but at this moment, a new door was opening—a commitment that promised to blend your lives in ways beyond shared cases and briefings.

As you both headed back, the weight of the case still lingering, there was a new undercurrent of hope, of shared futures and bathroom cabinets, a testament to the resilience of your bond.

You decided to pick up a few essentials from your apartment and spend the night at Hotch's place--now your place, too, despite your tiredness. Hotch, feeling a mix of relief and excitement, drove you to your apartment, waiting as you gathered your things.

Inside, you moved efficiently, albeit with a tired grace, packing your cherished skincare products and several outfits. Hotch leaned against the doorway, watching as you filled a small suitcase with what seemed to him an elaborate array of potions and tools. Each item was carefully selected, a ritual that he found both fascinating and slightly amusing.

“You sure you’ve got enough there for just one night?” Hotch teased lightly, his eyes twinkling with humor.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smirk on your lips. “This is the streamlined version, believe it or not. You might have to rent the apartment next door.”

“I’ll consult the landlord tomorrow,” Hotch quipped, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

Back at his apartment, as you began setting out your skincare products in the bathroom, Hotch watched for a moment, his mind returning to the gift he’d carefully hidden away—something he hoped would make your day a little brighter after the tough case.

“Hey,” Hotch called softly, capturing your attention as you meticulously arranged your items. “I have something for you. I was saving it for a proper celebration, but I think tonight is as good a time as any.”

Your curiosity piqued, you followed him to the living room, where he retrieved a small, elegantly wrapped box from a drawer. Handing it to you, he watched as your eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and anticipation lighting up your features.

You unwrapped the box with a gentle precision, and as you lifted the lid and saw the purse—a beautiful, designer pocketbook that perfectly matched the sophisticated style you cherished—your expression transformed into one of sheer delight.

“Aaron, this is beautiful,” you breathed out, carefully pulling the purse from the box. You admired the craftsmanship, running your fingers over the smooth leather and the detailed stitching.

“It reminded me of you,” Hotch said, his voice sincere. “Elegant, practical, and incredibly stylish. Happy Birthday.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining not just from the beauty of the gift but from the thoughtfulness behind it. “I love it,” you said, stepping closer to wrap your arms around him in a heartfelt embrace. “Thank you; this is the best end to a rough day.”

Hotch held you close, his heart swelling with the joy of seeing you so happy. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you smile like that,” he murmured into your hair, feeling the weight of the case and the fatigue of the day finally begin to lift.

As you pulled back slightly, still holding the purse, you teased, “Does this mean I get a new purse for every rough case?”

“Birthdays,” Hotch corrected with a gentle smile, his gaze softening as he added, “You make it incredibly hard for me to spoil you more than I already wish to.”

You laughed, a sound that Hotch had come to cherish deeply. “I’ll try to be less self-sufficient in the future,” you quipped, clutching the new purse a little closer as if it were a treasured award.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about your independence,” Hotch replied earnestly. “It’s one of the many things I admire about you. But allow me the occasional indulgence of spoiling you, especially on days like today.”

The purse, an elegant and thoughtful gift, lay between you on the coffee table, symbolizing not just a celebration of your birthday but of the new phase in your relationship. The evening settled into a comfortable rhythm, the earlier tension from the case dissolving into the background as you both enjoyed the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

With the challenges of the case behind you and the warmth of your shared space around you, Hotch felt a profound sense of contentment. This was more than just a birthday celebration—it was a reaffirmation of your partnership, a testament to how deeply your lives had intertwined.

As you both relaxed into the sofa, the conversation drifted from light teasing to deeper, more introspective topics. Every so often, your hand would brush against the purse, a physical reminder of Hotch’s affection and attention to what brought you joy.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you said again, your voice lower, more reflective as the night wore on. “For understanding me, even when I think I don’t need anything.”

Hotch reached over, his hand finding yours, squeezing it gently. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” he murmured. “It’s just another part of our journey together. And I’m grateful for every step we take, side by side.”

The purse remained on the table, a beacon of new beginnings and mutual understanding, as you both shared the quiet comfort of knowing you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns

[ellecdc]

the alchemy

prompt from @loca4moony: Hi! I've come with a prompt and a dream. Taylor Swift has a song called the Alchemy and says "where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me." I love the idea of Barty who plays Rugby/Quidditch and his team just won a really big competition but instead of going to the trophy he just runs to kiss/hug fem!reader (I'm okay with gender neutral too). Btw, I ADORE your Barty, I'm obsessed with him but your version is something else.

Barty Crouch Jr x fem!reader who is his treasure trophy [1.1k words]

CW: Barty's childhood and Barty Crouch Sr's A+ parenting, writer who has never once watched a rugby game does her fuckin' best, written with a fem!reader in mind though no pronouns used but gendered use of hero in "heroine" so I labelled it as fem!reader to be safe

Barty’s entire life had been a constant cycle of needing more, doing more, and never being enough. He needed more extracurriculars, needed more A-levels, needed more academic awards.

More, more, more. 

So he did; he did more extracurriculars, he took more A-levels (bloody well aced them too), and he won more academic awards. 

It was not enough. It was never enough. 

The ringing in his ears ceased and he registered the volume in the stadium again once he had the familiar weight of the ball in his arms, his body working off of muscle memory as he took off in a god honest sprint towards the tryzone. 

He had a ball cradled in his arms, he had two working legs, and he had a destination; that was what Barty was working with as he shoved one of his opponents out of his way. It wasn’t enough, he needed more; he needed to create more space.

Shoving one bloke out of his way left him with some breathing room, but he still had players on his heels and a fair distance to run. 

He needed more; more speed, more distance. 

He offed the ball to Rosier to his left as he deked around the player in front of him; barely missing the hands grabbing at him from behind as he heard another body hit the ground. Potter doing his job watching his back as he raced to keep up with Rosier.

His legs and lungs were burning but it was working, the goal line in his sights as he regained the ball after Rosier tossed it and an opponent fumbled it back over in Barty’s direction, and he urged his legs to carry on. His eyes darted to the scoreboard - 16 seconds left. It wasn’t enough, he needed more; he needed more time. 

But 14 seconds was also a lot of time, a lot could happen in 12 seconds; the other team could thwart his efforts, they could keep their three point lead, they could beat his team - beat him. 

The final 10 seconds of the final play of the final game of the playoffs - the Super League Trophy was currently in the stadium, waiting for the final whistle to sound before it made its appearance. 

6 seconds left, less than 22 meters to the goal line. The other team had a three point lead, but-

Barty hit the ground with a thud seconds before the whistle sounded, the ringing in his ears back in full force as any air that had been left in his lungs exited with a forceful whoosh. 

The air returned to him at the same time as other bodies did - teammates grabbing at him, patting him on the back, shrieking and hollering as the stadium erupted. Fans dressed in the team’s colours bouncing and shouting as the lights flashed and hugs were exchanged.

The clock had run out, they had won - Barty had won - with a two point lead. 

“Fuckin’ hell!” Potter shouted as he picked Barty up by the waist. “That was fuckin’ brilliant mate! Just bloody brilliant!” 

“We did it.” Barty whispered mostly to himself as his feet hit the ground again, though Fenwick hollered in agreement. “We fuckin’ did it! We won!” 

The team's mascot came sprinting out onto the field alongside the substitutes from the bench as cameras rushed out to capture it all.  

Barty’s entire life had been a constant cycle of needing more, doing more, and never being enough. 

But that wasn’t the case anymore.

He had aced his A-levels, he had amounted an abhorrent amount of scholarships to whatever school he pleased even though his father could more than afford to send him to university, he won so many academic records that he stopped bothering to try and display any of them; most of them lived in some sideboard that once belonged to his mother’s mother’s mother. 

He’d made a name for himself in rugby and went professional.

He met you.

His treasure.

“That was next level mate, I’ve never seen you run so bloody fast! What the fuck are you on?” Fenwick joked as he roughly jostled Barty by his shoulders. 

“Heroin.” Barty laughed airily, though he added an E to the end of that word in his mind as he started towards the stands.

“Oi! Mate! Where’re you going? The trophy’s this way!” Rosier tried calling after him, but it was no use; Barty didn’t listen.

Because his trophy was waiting for him in the stands. 

He momentarily spun on the spot as he tried to remember what side of the stadium you’d been sitting in when he spotted you waving - clearly aware that he’d been looking for you - as you stood with a beaming smile on your face.

He forced his aching legs to take off in another sprint as he made his way across the field where you were bundled up in a team sweatshirt with his jersey on top. 

“You did it!” You shrieked as he made it to you, but your name - whispered like a prayer - had barely fallen from his lips before he was reaching over the screens that divided the field from the stands to pull you into a bone crushing hug.

He was sweaty and filthy and covered in grass stains but he hoisted you up over the barrier and onto the field with him much to the chagrin of the stadium staff, allowing you to lean back far enough to take his face between both of your hands. 

“You bloody did it! You fucking won!” 

“I fucking won.” Barty agreed before pressing a searing kiss to your lips. 

His father had laughed at him when Barty told him he was pursuing a professional career in the sport; ‘you may have managed to be the best on campus, Bartemus, but there’s no point trying to be the greatest in the league. You’ll amount to nothing.’ 

“I fucking won.” He repeated as he held his forehead to yours, cradling the base of your skull so gently as though it was a holy relic. 

“I’m so proud of you, Bee.” You whispered with a breathy laugh as he noticed tears pooling along your waterline as your eyes turned glassy. 

He heard his team behind him, calling him over for pictures as they began shaking bottles of champagne and handing around celebratory necklaces in preparation for the cup to come out.

He simply kissed you again, hoisting you up and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips as he all but tried to fuse both of your bodies together. 

“I fucking won.” He whispered again as he looked up at you. “I fucking won.”

[palmerzy]

love your spencer blurbs sm!! if you can, please can you write a spencer blurb about him being obsessed with reader’s mouth/ being in reader’s mouth? thank you 🫶🏽

thank you anon! here you go! i love this, he’s so cute. definitely a sucker for a bj i KNOW it in my SOUL.

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes incl. brief mention of virgin!spencer.

to put it bluntly, spencer just fucking adores your mouth. your lips, your teeth, all of it. watching you speak is probably his favourite pastime, and he’s only willing to shut up his own ramblings if it means listening to yours instead.

any time you’re having a conversation, he finds his gaze wandering to your lips, watching them move with every phonetic sound you make. sometimes he can’t resist reaching out, brushing his thumb back and forth across your bottom one as you speak, his admiring gaze lingering on your cupids bow.

spencer has never been so infatuated with someone’s mouth in his life, especially as a germaphobe, but something about yours has him wanting to dedicate poems, songs, movies to the way you speak. he oftentimes can only think about how he wants to kiss you senseless, to feel your lips against his, to suckle your tongue into his mouth and claim it as his own.

frequently during sex, when he’s inside of you and your mouth is barren, he’ll offer you his fingers, wanting you to trace your tongue across his knuckles in that ever so gentle way you do. he loves pressing his fingertips against the centre of your tongue, feeling it slide between the crack of his fingers, muffling your moans as he takes you.

his thoughts are often innocent, and often not. on occasion, spencer finds himself staring at you a little too intently, his mind conjuring up images of you in a much more compromising manner. he replays over and over all the memories he has of your lips stretching around his cock, throat expanding to accommodate him, and he swears he’s never felt anything comparable to having your mouth on him in his life.

not one to pride himself on how needy he is, he mostly tries to hold back, especially when he’s watching you at work, talking to hotch or penelope or whoever, and all he wants is for you to be with him, under his desk, your mouth keeping him warm whilst he works.

that’s the main factor, he thinks. your mouth is warm. it’s comforting, and the most sensitive part of his body being submerged within provides him with the deepest sense of security he could ever get. what better feeling than knowing his girl is willingly on her knees for him, helping him feel so good in such an intimate way?

he’s certain he’ll never stop loving your mouth, the curves forming around your smile, or the way your teeth peek out when you bite at your lip. but most of all, spencer reid will never forget how good it feels each and every time your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, sucking him lightly into the hollowed crevices of your cheeks. he’s never felt such heights in his life.

it doesn’t help that you were the first person to ever give him head, back when he was merely a newbie at the bau, and you’d welcomed him with open arms and eventually a very open mouth. he distinctively remembers hiding away in a broom closet down an empty hallway at the headquarters, with you telling him to keep his mouth shut as he whined and whimpered, experiencing his very first orgasm at the hands of a woman.

so, spencer can’t fathom why he shouldn’t be so obsessed with your mouth. you’ve only ever done positive things with it, never even spoken a dull word to him, and he decided on that very first day to cherish every single smile he received from you, knowing it leads to so much more.

requests open! 🌶️

[wild-kindentities]

1/ Otherkin, therian, fictionkin, otherhearted

2/ Dragon, fox, orca, water elemental, + other(s) I’m not saying

3/ Mostly wings, claws, articulation/muscles/bones (as in, feeling like my body structure is modifying to fit my kintypes’ even if it’s not), lots of sensory shifts and mental shifts. I don’t recall having any strange cameos shifts

4/ I have to repress a lot of instincts everyday, as my identities influence a lot my behaviors are reactions. I get shifts and urges almost daily and I get exhausted very fast and often end up in a more animalistic mindset when I do so, going mostly nonverbal

5/ I like it, I haven’t been involved in it for long as I was scared to assume my identity online for years, but so far it’s been a mostly positive experience for me to find people that have similar experiences to me. I’d prefer it if there were less discourses over futile things, such as borderline bullying TikTok therian or the drama over the packers and physical nonhumans, but overall I’m glad to have found the community

6/ Having people acknowledging my identity and seek me as who I am fully. Also letting myself indulge in my instincts and behave like my kintypes do

7/ Yes, it impacts the way I view myself and I sometimes can’t bear to look at myself in a mirror because of it, but fortunately it’s not like that everyday

8/ “Don’t try to rush things. You don’t have to have everything figured out the moment you awaken, it can take years before you figure out your identity and labels that fit what you’re experiencing, and that’s okay. It’s the same for everyone, it will take time but that’s what the community is there for, to help you in your discoveries about yourself.”

9/ I don’t have “proper” gears, I have a few clothes/ect that bring me species euphoria, but nothing that explicitly looks like kintypes gear. However I would like to have some

10/ I think I am both a spiritual and a psychological alterhuman. I believe in the multiverse, and that there’s an infinity of universes and that in some of those universes I am/was my kintype. I feel like I might as well have been reincarnated from some those universes in which my kintypes exist. It’s a bit blurry as I don’t really know how to say it, because I’ve never put words on it. I’ve thought about it a lot but actually expressing it is way harder than it seems-

11/ I don’t have anyone to tag so whoever sees it and wants to answer those questions too can do it 🔥

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[vhannilah]

i. how to be a real man

pairing. player 388 | kang dae-ho x f! reader

summary. dae-ho's trauma serves as a reminder for him of his unpleasant past that keeps haunting him till this day. luckily, he always has you by his side.

contains. au, ooc(?), light angst w/ happy ending

EVEN without admitting it, Dae-ho was well aware of the fact that he's not as strong as he tries to appear to be.

The trauma he received from the past was a living proof of how Dae-ho would never be able to live up to the expectations of what his father had wanted and pressured him to be since he was a child— a real man.

But, he couldn't follow the rules dictated by the society of what makes one a real man. Not when his actions speaks for what he truly is. Dae-ho was not like how other men usually act when in a relationship.

This made him feel insecure about himself. It made him question whether he's truly deserves to be with someone like you.

He is not the type of boyfriend who puts great importance on emphasizing his masculinity through acts of being the dominant or tough one in the relationship.

No, your boyfriend, Kang Dae-ho, was the type of lover who shows his vulnerable side to you. A man who knows his boundaries and respects yours as well as your decisions, even when it doesn't align with his.

Kang Dae-ho is the type of man that can be tough when he needed to be.

And you preferred him to be that way.

You were sitting in the sofa with Dae-ho's head on your lap while his body was sprawled on the couch. You played with his soft hair, occasionally massaging his scalp, while your other hand on Dae-ho's own, playing with your fingers.

Your lips curled into a smile as you listened to your boyfriend rant about his day, observing and enjoying yourself at every expression he cutely displays, showing you how he felt at every situation.

Both of you were enjoying the moment, having one else but each other. Dae-ho was the one who mostly speaks, while you listen.

The two of you were relaxed together. When all of a sudden, the sound of your phone ringing interrupted your conversation with him.

Being the one closest to the low table, he sat up and picked up the phone for you.

Once he handed you the phone, he stayed silent, allowing you to talk to the person on the other line. Thanking him, you picked up the phone whilst noticing the caller was unknown.

The conversation you initiated was formal, wanting to end it quick. But, the person on the other side kept changing the topic despite being already told you have a boyfriend, making you feel more annoyed as the time goes by.

Dae-ho seem to have sensed your frustration as he gently patted your shoulder. Seeing your frustrated expression, he gently took the phone from your hand, and confronted the person in a serious tone of voice, "Hey, man. This is her boyfriend. My girlfriend here is not really comfortable to you talking to her. I know she already told you this, so I'd appreciate it if you stop bothering her from now on, thank you."

As soon as he ended the call, you jumped right into his arms, clinging onto him tightly. You started showering him with words of affection, expressing how grateful you are for having such a great boyfriend and how you didn't deserve him.

But to Dae-ho, it was the opposite. What he had done just a while ago is a bare minimum of what you truly deserved.

The truth is that he's willing to do much more for you. And all you have to do is to be by his side— and to stay with him forever.

©vhannilah

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,213

—  warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

—  author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows ✨ i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊  

Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.  

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms. 

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.  

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.  

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.  

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.  

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.   

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant? 

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.  

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.  

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.  

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.  

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.  

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.  

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake. 

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.     

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child. 

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.  

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.  

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.    

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.  

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.  

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.  

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.  

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…  

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.  

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.  

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?  

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.  

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.   

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.  

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body.  His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

[babyleostuff]

― BLACK AND BLUE

"glad he didn't overreact", but the one where seokmin, in fact, overreacts after seeing your bruised up arm on a sunday morning.

𝜗𝜚 THEME: reader is (lightly) bruised and seokmin freaks out, comfort (mostly reader comforting him), fluff 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!dk x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 828

💌 natalia’s note: this deeefinetly didn’t happen to me like two days ago… [when i catch u skiers]

“what is that?”

the soapy cup you were washing slipped out of your grip and slammed against the marble sink (seokmin decided to replace the old one right before christmas, because in his words - it was an adult thing to do) making the water splash all around, as your heart threatened to stop from the sudden commotion. 

there went your “romanticise your morning by following this easy 50 step routine”. 

“seokmin,” you grumbled, turning off the water. “what the hell?” you reached for the towel to wipe your hands and turned around to face your boyfriend, who, for once, seemed very much awake for such an early hour. “you almost gave me a heart attack.” 

“what,” your boyfriend seemed unbothered by your words and extended his arm to point at you with a sour expression, which again; so unlike him, “what is that?”

if not for the “8 am” displayed on your kitchen clock (the numbers were blinking so faintly you almost couldn’t see them anymore, because apparently changing the batteries was not an adult thing to do), your boyfriend’s massive nest of curly bed hair and his outfit which consisted of a grinch t-shirt that has definitely seen better days and boxers in puppy print, you’d be startled by his panicked expression, but… you couldn’t take him seriously with all of that. 

“what is what?” you asked amused, and leaned your hip on the kitchen counter. 

he blinked twice, his brown eyes groggy from sleep. “the bruises on your arm.” 

ah. 

that makes sense. 

you came back from a skiing trip with your friends the night before and because seokmin didn’t come home until early in the morning because of rehearsals, you didn’t really have time to catch up before… well, now. technically you could’ve told him about your little incident on the phone, but you knew how he’d react; he’d either tell you to set your snowboard on fire and throw it out of the window or he would’ve bought the earliest plane ticket to save you from the dangers of snow and ski lifts. 

“baby, close your mouth and drop your arm or you’re going to have a cramp,” you sighed, shaking your head. despite your gentle tone that you hoped would soothe his worries at least to some extent, seokmin still stood in the middle of the kitchen as stiff as a board, with a scowl on his handsome face. “come here,” you held out your hands for him to grab. 

with no hesitation he quickly made his way across the kitchen, and ignoring your extended hands, engulfed you in a bear hug. “why are you so calm about it?” you could hear the pout in seokmin’s voice, as he pulled him closer to his chest. “your whole arm is black and blue,” he gently ran his fingers along the back of your left arm, ”how did it even happen? what were you doing out there? fighting the yeti?” 

you couldn’t help but giggle. exactly why you decided to keep it a secret. 

“if you consider skiers yeti, then yes,” you propped your chin against his chest and looked up at him, “and i’m glad to inform you that i won.” 

seokmin’s muscles suddenly tensed under your fingertips and he looked even more terrified than a second ago. “what do you mean y-,”

“i was joking, baby. i didn’t fight anyone.” 

“then how did you get those bruises?” 

“just let me finish, yeah?” you said and brushed his bangs away from his forehead. “someone ran into me, that’s all. i got up after strapping the bindings and someone skied into me and, well, that left some bruises.” 

“what an asshole,” seokmin grumbled, his brows drawn together in an angry frown.

“okay there mister, calm down,” you laughed and patted his shoulder. “accidents happen-,”

“yeah, but i’d expect people who ski on red slopes not to crash into others,” his expression stilled and grew serious. 

good thing you didn’t mention you ended up with your chin hitting the icy slope, then. 

“relax, honey.” as much as you found this situation amusing, you knew seokmin was really worried about the bruises, and to be honest he had every right to do so; three big splotches covered the entirety of your left arm and if you noticed something like that on him you’d freak out for sure as well. 

“i know it looks bad, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. and what happened, happened. there’s no point in being angry, yeah?” 

your boyfriend’s eyes seemed to soften, the gentle puppy-like expression gracing his features. 

“there we go,” you smiled, cupping his cheeks. “i’m okay, min, so please stop worrying so much.” 

featherlike laugh lines crinkled around his eyes, as seokmin smiled, nodding his head. “just didn’t expect to see my girlfriend all bruised up after being weeks apart,” he leaned his forehead against yours, his arms protectively wrapped around your waist. “but if you say you’re okay, then i trust you.”