#this one maybe took me an hour to complete

[abbotjack]

thinking about sending robby and abbot nudes but they’re both old and sext illiterate so they respond with something like 👍

Message Received (18+ MDNI)

Content & Warnings: NSFW (18+), suggestive photo reference, fingering (Jack), oral sex f!receiving (Robby), established relationship, dom!Jack energy, softdom!Robby energy, dirty talk, mild brat!reader, age gap, tension-heavy buildup, emotionally grounded smut, and just two very different men completely wrecked by one photo.

word count : 1,723

📩 Robby – “thumbs up.”

You send it on a whim.

Soft lighting. A lace bra you didn’t really plan to wear today. Not overt, but obvious enough.

You wait maybe thirty seconds before regretting it.

Another fifteen before his reply pops up.

Robby : 👍

Just the emoji. No caption. No follow-up. No “holy shit” or “you’re killing me” or “I’m leaving work right now.”

Just… a thumbs up.

You stare at it like it might change.

You : Are you serious?

Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then reappear again.

Finally:

Robby : Sorry. Was in the break room. Looked amazing. Shouldn’t be looking at you like that while Dana’s eating a yogurt next to me.

You laugh—because of course he’s being normal about it. Of course he’s being Robby.

You : Yogurt’s more important than me?

There’s a long pause.

Then:

Robby : No. You’re very distracting. I didn’t know what to say.

That makes you smile. Still, you want more.

You : Wish you were here.

It’s hours later when you hear the key in the lock.

Late enough that you thought he might not come. Late enough that part of you hoped he wouldn’t—just so you wouldn’t have to sit there pretending you weren’t still thinking about that dumb thumbs up.

But the door opens.

And Robby steps inside.

He shuts it behind him gently, like he’s trying not to make too much noise. Drops his keys on the table. Looks at you like he’s still catching his breath from something that’s been building all night.

You’re still in that bra.

The same one from the photo. Still waiting.

He exhales—low, unsteady.

“You’re so mean,” he murmurs. “You know that?”

You tilt your head. “I’m thoughtful.”

He starts unbuttoning his coat. “You sent that while I was sitting next to Dana.”

“I noticed.”

“I panicked.”

“You sent a thumbs up.”

“I panicked hard.”

He shrugs the coat off and crosses the room. Slower than usual. Like he’s not sure he can walk and think at the same time.

“I opened it,” he says when he stops in front of you. “And then had to sit there like I didn’t just get hit by a truck.”

You smile. “You seemed fine.”

“That was me dissociating.”

You laugh, but it’s quiet. He’s close now. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

He raises a hand and brushes it down your side—light, steady, like he’s grounding himself.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he says, voice soft. “What you looked like right before you took it. How long you waited to see if I’d say something else.”

“I wasn’t waiting,” you lie.

He just hums, stepping forward, crowding you gently until your back finds the wall. One hand braces beside your head. The other finds your waist.

“No?” he murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth near your jaw. “You weren’t hoping I’d come home like this?”

Your fingers twist in the front of his shirt. “Maybe a little.”

He kisses you.

It’s soft, at first. Familiar. But there’s a tremble behind it, something fraying. You sigh into his mouth, and when you do, he groans—quiet, rough—and presses in harder. His hands move lower, gripping your hips like he needs to feel every inch of you.

“I wanted to say something,” he whispers against your cheek. “Wanted to tell you what I was thinking.”

“Then tell me.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he drops to his knees.

You gasp, and he looks up once—just once—to make sure you’re still with him. You are.

He reaches up, hooks his thumbs into your underwear, and pulls them down slow. Gentle. Careful. Like he’s unwrapping something precious.

One hand glides up behind your thigh, lifting it over his shoulder. The other anchors you at the waist.

He kisses your hip first. Then your inner thigh. Then higher.

His stubble scrapes just enough to make you shiver.

And when his mouth finally touches you—hot, open, reverent—you feel your knees nearly buckle.

He holds you steady.

He groans softly at the first taste. Then again when you tilt into him.

You brace yourself against the wall, hand clutching the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair.

He moves slow at first. Methodical. Like he’s trying to memorize you. No rush, no teasing. Just full, devoted attention—lips, tongue, breath—all focused on pulling you apart with steady, quiet purpose.

When you gasp his name, he tightens his grip on your thigh and pulls you closer, mouth sealing over you deeper.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

Because this is everything he couldn’t say. Everything he didn’t know how to text. Everything he’s been holding back since you first pressed send.

And it’s all here now—on his knees, in his hands, in the way he keeps going until your head hits the wall behind you and all you can do is feel.

📩 Jack – “what is that”

You send it because you’re bored.

Lying in bed. Still damp from the shower. Wrapped in a towel that barely covers anything, legs stretched out across the sheets like you’re not waiting for an excuse. The lighting’s soft—just your bedside lamp, low and gold. It makes your skin look warm. Intentional. You angled yourself toward it on purpose.

You look good. You know you look good.

And Jack? Jack’s on shift. Third night in a row. Which means you haven’t seen him—really seen him—in two days, unless you count that half-second yesterday when you passed in the hallway, both headed in opposite directions. He didn’t stop. Barely glanced. Just muttered “go home” without breaking stride—like looking at you for more than a second might’ve done something to him.

Like it already had.

So you take the photo. Legs just slightly spread. A caption typed with two thumbs and no shame:

You : come home, I miss you

Delivered. Read

Then:

Jack : what is that

You stare at your phone.

You blink.

You : What do you mean what is that. It’s a nude, Jack.

Read.

And then… nothing.

No follow-up. No typing bubbles. No emoji. Not even a fucking ellipsis.

You huff. Dramatic. Roll onto your side with a groan and grab a fistful of blanket like it’s going to do anything to cool the ache you definitely caused yourself.

If you didn’t know him, you’d think he didn’t care.

But you do know him.

And that silence?

That’s not indifference.

That’s a promise.

You’re in for it.

You’re lounging in bed in your underwear when you hear the door.

It’s late. Past midnight. You don’t move.

Jack steps in. Damp from the rain, scrubs wrinkled. He closes the door, sets his keys down, shrugs off his jacket.

Still doesn’t look at you.

You wait. Quiet.

Then—

“You send that picture just to piss me off?”

You smirk. “I was being sweet.”

He finally turns.

“You don’t do sweet.”

“Didn’t realize nudes were so boring to you,” you murmur, stretched out across the sheets. “I won’t do it again.”

His jaw ticks. “I was working.”

You tilt your head. “And now?”

He moves.

One step. Then another. Slow. Controlled.

Until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you like he’s still deciding which part of you to ruin first.

He climbs onto the bed, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. You watch the tight line of his shoulders, the way his jaw works like he’s still biting back everything he couldn’t say earlier.

“Now you’re getting what you wanted.”

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Oh? What’s that?”

Jack shifts closer, grabs your thigh—strong, steady—and lifts it over his hip, settling himself between your legs. His palm drags down your outer thigh like he’s lining you up. Holding you there. Making you wait.

“Me.”

Then he kisses you.

Rough. Steady. Like he’s been playing this on loop since the second that photo hit his phone and ruined him.

His mouth opens over yours like he needs it just to stay upright. You arch instinctively, back bowing into the pressure, thighs tightening around his hips.

“Thought about this all fucking day,” he mutters into your skin, lips at your throat. “You don’t get to send me that and pretend you didn’t know what it’d do.”

You smirk, rocking your hips into his. “Did it ruin your shift?”

He laughs under his breath—dark, quiet. Dangerous.

��Don’t push it.”

You grind into him again. Slower this time. Testing.

“I missed you,” you whisper, low and saccharine.

He hums—sharp, dry. “Yeah?”

Then his hand moves.

Fast. Precise.

His fingers hook under your panties and tug them down—slow enough to draw a shiver out of you, fast enough to say he’s not asking. They’re gone a second later, tossed somewhere near the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

Doesn’t say a word as he slides his fingers between your thighs.

You gasp when he finds you—already wet, already aching—and his lips twitch like he’s smug about it. Like he knew.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice barely audible. “Figured.”

His fingers move slow at first. Two of them. Deep. Steady.

You moan—quiet, caught—and Jack exhales like that was what he needed. The confirmation. The surrender.

His thumb finds your clit. No teasing. Just pressure—tight and constant and mean.

Your hips jump. Your fingers grip his wrist.

He doesn’t let up.

“Jack—”

He shushes you with a kiss, his hand working between your legs like he has all the time in the world.

You cry out—nearly choking on it.

He curls his fingers.

You jolt.

“There she is.”

His voice is steady. Like nothing about this has affected him. Like he’s not hard under his scrubs, not unraveling with every pulse of you around his hand.

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

You nod, dizzy.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “God—yes.”

His mouth grazes your jaw.

“Good.”

He doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re shaking.

Not until you’re arching into him, hand clutching the sheets, panting his name through clenched teeth like that photo wasn’t the start—it was the warning.

And this?

This is what happens when he finally opens it.

[lieslab]

When there's monsters on your ceiling, I'll keep you safe

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 x gn reader

Summary: Your first live stream without the guys and management turns into a disaster.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide, dieting culture, skipping meals, and bullying.

Depression and eating disorder resources

A/N: I'm really on a roll with requests. Remember to be nice to idols (unless they're twats) Requestee, you really hit the mark with this one

_ _ _

“You think so?” You laughed at one of the comments someone sent through the Instagram live stream you hosted. “I was thinking the same exact thing, it’d be hilarious.”

You were used to doing live streams when needed. Every so often, your schedule announced you were up to bat. Today, management was lenient with you. Your first official solo stream took place in one of the empty JYP meeting rooms. 

You slipped the company phone in the camera holder before pressing the button to start the live. Today, you didn’t have a specific plan. You had beads, a roll of leather lace, and a dream. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. 

For the past half hour, you’d been making friendship bracelets for the guys. With the help of fans, you were determining what colors to make each person’s bracelet. Not only did it feel like a chance to relax, but you enjoyed speaking to the fans one-on-one without your manager silently trying to get you to avoid a topic in the background. 

“So what do you think of Minho’s bracelet?” You held it up to the camera and placed your palm behind it. Pushing it closer to the camera, you held it steady so fans could see. “What do we think?” 

You pulled back after a few seconds, reading a few live stream comments off your phone. You clicked on your own stream and muted the phone to read responses. A smile appeared as you responded to a few comments. 

“Okay, so now I have to make Han’s, obviously. What do we think?” You glanced back up at the camera. “I was thinking about maybe orange, or red? What about both? It reminds me of his song, Volcano.” 

You went back to the comments. “You should make it red and green for Volcano and Alien.” You pulled back and laughed. “I mean, it’s a good idea, but those two colors together remind me of Christmas. I can do red and orange!” 

Seeing that most comments agreed, you reached out for the string to start to measure how much you needed. You were about to cut it when the comment came through. The moment you read it, your heart fell to your chest. 

‘Hey, here’s an idea. How about you leave all the guys alone and leave the group? You’re the weakest member and ruin everything.’ 

You knew you should have sat there and ignored it, but you couldn’t. Anger swelled up and you blinked rapidly, trying to force it down. “Leave the group, huh? Maybe I should. It’s people like you that make idols give up on all their dreams and kill themselves due to all the pressure.” 

You shouldn’t have said the words, but they came out like a free-flowing spout. What does it mean to be an idol? Really. What does it mean? 

It means giving up bodily autonomy to a company. Skipping meals is expected when the scale’s numbers start to go up. When an interview catches you at an unflattering angle, expect a lecture and a new diet spreadsheet. 

Going through dances over and over and over again. Sweating until you’re breathless and assume you’re going to topple over at any moment. Shaking knees and unsteady steps as you try to push yourself up to find the strength to do it all over again. 

Spend hours learning formations and completing sound checks, trying not to give in and read the hate online. When you’re an idol, everything is placed beneath a microscope. Your flaws, your short-comings, your inability to act the right way, or say the correct thing. It’s all televised for the masses to see. 

And god, are they hungry. The razor-sharp teeth of fan-folk on twitter. The faceless comments and nameless profiles that equip themselves with emojis. They beg for new content, but it’s never enough. Treat their favorites with respect, but if they can get away with bashing another group to bring their favorites up, they’ll do it. 

The dark side of the k-pop industry has always been there. They never try to hide it. The collapsing at concerts. The hidden injuries. Companies bowing down to fan requests, even when the idol’s livelihood is at stake and they’ll do it, too. Because in the heart of the idol world, money is the only god being worshipped and there is no bigger god than greed. 

Comments shot your way, trying to understand what happened. Not everyone caught the comment you did, but they heard the words. They caught your empty-eyed gaze into the screen. A brief glimpse into the actual reality. Maybe you really weren’t okay. 

Maybe you were tired of putting on the mask and playing pretend. Some say to get over it. It’s what you signed up for. You deserve it. Get over it. Toughen up and ignore the haters. Not everyone has a shield of armor protecting them. Not everyone is equipped to handle the hate trains and the protest trucks. The black oceans, the scorns and scoffs, the hashtags praying on your downfall. The flop era. 

Maybe you were tired and said the wrong thing or maybe you were tired of living it all. A pretty and perfect illusion that crumbled before the eyes of the fans. Everyone knew it, but nobody had the guts to say it. 

The companies surely didn’t. Trying to stay neutral, they’d ignore it all. Ignore the fans surrounding the hotels and screaming the names of the favorites at the top of their lungs, wrecking the idols’ sleep schedules, and souring the taste of regular guest’s hotel stays. 

Ignore the purple bags and exhaustion sticking to idols that follow them like ghosts. Give them chicken and rice diets. Drink more water. Cut more calories. Restrict more. Look at yourself and be ashamed.

Ignore the hate trucks. Blame the idols and don’t hold the fans accountable. Sacrifice them to the wolves and know that your company’s reputation will bounce back, but not always the ongoing mental struggle of the idol. 

How many times did you cry because you missed your family? The sibling you couldn’t watch grow up. The stretching crow’s feet in the corner of your mother’s eyes. The deepening wrinkles on your father’s face. A kitchen chair sat waiting for you in your childhood home, longing for your warmth, but you rarely showed up anymore. 

The industry breaks you and reshapes you. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. You’re dragged through the mud all the time. Dreams are supposed to be hard, but why are some of them so self-destructive? How do you really go about becoming a k-pop idol the right way?

You still remember the shock as you combed your hair one time and found your hair falling out in an alarming amount of strands. Too much stress. Not enough food. Not enough sleep. 

Sometimes your members, they weren’t just your members, but souls tortured just the same as yours. You saw it in the way Chan rambled on bubble, so desperately trying to fix internal fan wars that were never his fault. Always blaming himself, trying to do better. The weight of a fandom was never supposed to fall onto the weight of one man. 

You saw it when Felix drank water and began to heavily restrict before an upcoming photoshoot because he wanted to look perfect. You were forced to confront it after his stomach growled a third time. Hunger lingered in his eyes when he looked your way while you ate your dinner. 

Devastation seeped out of a few members at certain events. They never seemed to get the recognition they deserved. It wasn’t their fault. It was never their fault. It’d never be their fault. 

You blinked rapidly as the tears began to fall. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.” Fan comments rolled in, but you reached forward and hit the end live-stream button. 

Tomorrow, a lecture waited for you with management, but for now, you just wanted to mourn. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Oh…” Felix’s voice trailed off. He sat staring at the blank screen with a frown. Your live was going great until you shut down towards the end. You said nothing, but you also said everything all at once after that last comment. 

Beside him, Han, Minho, and Hyunjin sat just as stunned. They were enjoying your live stream, looking forward to the bracelets they’d be getting afterwards. As one of the younger members of the group, you were cherished a lot. 

“We need to go find them,” Minho pushed himself from the dance practice floor. “Does anyone know which conference room they’re in?” 

Heads shook and Han pushed himself up to follow him. “Let’s go look. Can someone grab the rest of the guys? I think they went out for lunch, but they should be back at any moment. I think we’re really needed right now.” 

“I’ve got it. If you find them first, call me and let me know.” Hyunjin reached the door first and disappeared. 

Felix rushed after Han and Minho. “This is really bad. I didn’t know they felt this way. Should we be worried?” 

“I think we all feel this way sometimes, but we’ve never said it out loud,” Minho mumbled. 

“Hey, I found them!” 

Across the way, the remaining four members looked just as worried. A unit of eight, Changbin led the charge towards the end of the hall. Hyunjin picked up the end and placed a hand on a staggering Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“We should have noticed this sooner,” he uttered softly. 

“How were we supposed to know, Innie? They always keep to themselves. They’re very good at trying to ignore the things bothering them.” 

“I feel like an awful person for not noticing.” 

“It’s okay, we’re going to fix it together.” 

~ ~ ~ 

In the conference room, your head sat in your hands. The colorful beads and leather string sitting around didn’t bring you the joy that it once had. Instead, you silently cried into your hands. 

All you wanted was one nice live without a troll. Instead, you gave them exactly what they wanted. They wanted your tears and your anger. It fueled them for whatever reason.

You didn’t look up when the door burst open. You tensed up, waiting for a member of management to yell at you, but it never came. Instead, multiple footsteps headed your way. A gentle hand fell upon your shoulder and Changbin softly called your name. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled. 

“Well, that’s just too damn bad,” Seungmin said. His arms crossed over his chest. “I left my biscottis behind and we all gathered here.” 

Minho shot him a glare, but it didn’t bother him. Chan gave him a follow-up warning look and sighed. “Listen, we just wanna make sure you’re alright. The way you ended that live, it was-” 

“Horrible? Unprofessional and irresponsible?” 

“I was going to say bold, but incredibly true. You spoke about the things some idols stay far away from.” 

“I’m tired!” You pulled your hands away from your face. Tears lined your bloodshot eyes. “It’s always something and I’m trying my fucking best! I’m trying to be a good person and a perfect idol and it’s not happening! I can’t do it! I-I-” You sucked in a shaky breath and a whimper fell out. 

You tried so hard to keep it together, but when Felix appeared and squirmed closer to wrap his arms around you, you cracked. Your head buried into his chest as sobs fell from you. 

How much of your life had you given up being judged in the name of your dreams? There would always be people who hated your guts for one reason or another. You’d always have people that disliked you, but in the k-pop world? People would do anything to bring down the idols they hated. 

Spreading rumors, sending hate trucks, and stirring the pot. Taunting, teasing, and straight up bullying. Stalking, harassment, and belittling. It was always something. 

You couldn’t breathe without doing it wrong. Every time you touch a member for too long, you’re being childish and clingy. When you don't say much during a video, you’re dubbed a stuck-up snob. Too close to the opposite gender of another group? You’re probably dating them.

There is never and will never be any winning in the industry until people change. Companies have to stop dragging their feet. It only stops when the industry calls out bullshit as they see fit. Taking the steps for legal action. Knowing an idol is a privilege, not a right. 

Han wiggled his way to the other side of you, squeezing between Changbin and Felix, letting a hand fall to your head. Another hand and then another. As you cried, they all grieved. Tears sprouted from all of them because they all knew. When one of them hurts, they all hurt, and your reasoning? It all sat within them during their down time.

The industry had been built off of breaking people and trying to build them back better. People are not that durable. When you break someone’s soul, there is no going back. Idols learn to hate their imperfections. Change them. Shape them. 

Slave away in the mirror to develop a perfect routine, so no pores are visible. Some trade away their real personalities, not because they want to, but because companies want to market them a certain way. 

Everything is pre-planned to the extreme. Compete against your favorite friends in the charts because they belong to different companies. Slaughter the competition. Sell more albums. Do the embarrassing requests on fan calls. Have no boundaries because the company said so and unless you want to be blacklisted, do it, or fall victim to the endless abyss of wannabe idols that didn’t make the cut.  

“Ah, this is embarrassing,” Jeongin mumbled after a while. “I’m not supposed to be crying in front of everyone. All these hyungs and I’m- 

“Suck it up,” you mumbled, trying to pull back from Felix’s shirt. “Now you know how I feel.” 

“You have pretty cute tears,” Changbin observed. 

“Hey! Don’t cheat on me! You can’t call them pret-” 

“Shut up, wifey.”

Seungmin’s face scrunched in disgust and Han rolled his eyes. Chan glanced down at you and gently squeezed your shoulder. “Are you feeling a little better?” 

You nodded, reached up, and wiped your eyes. “Thank you for letting me cry. I’m sorry that I-” 

Minho’s hand went over your mouth. “Do not ever apologize for struggling with real emotions.” 

Your nose wrinkled and you pulled away. “Ew. How am I supposed to know where your hand has been? That’s so-” 

“Probably around Jisu-” 

“AH!” Jeongin’s hands went over his face and he shook his head. “Stop! Stop! I don’t want to hear it! Enough!” 

“You’re so cute, Innie. Come here! I wanna pinch your cheeks.” Hyunjin walked around you and hurried to Jeongin. Felix cheered for him as Jeongin began to hurry around the other side of the table. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“I wanna touch my wife!” Changbin hurried after Hyunjin. 

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Felix grinned and rushed afterwards. “Changbinnie, I wanna touch your muscles!” 

“That’s my cat.” 

“Hey, wait!” Han rushed after Minho. 

“That’s my first-born.” 

“Yeah and I wanna kick the elder’s ass,” Seungmin grumbled, following Chan. He spun around to glance at you. “Are you coming? Don’t you want to throat punch me like usual or something?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“You say it’s always a good day to throat punch me.”

“Sometimes it is.” 

“It’s every day.” 

“Well, stop being a pain in my ass and it won't happen anymore.” 

“You cunt.” 

“Jackass.” 

He huffed and hurried after Chan. You grabbed your phone and hurried up to follow him. In the k-pop world, it was riddled with a lot of issues, but when moments like this naturally happened… 

It was hard to stay upset for long, knowing that the industry brought the eight of these idiots right into your heart; you had a feeling they’d stay there for a long, long time. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

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Ko-fi

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 12 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 8k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!! PHEW. It's been a while. I know I'm posting it at a random hour but I needed to get this chapter off my chest. I explained on tumblr why it took me so long to update. To be honest my cat is still in a bad shape and I'm still absurdly worried about her… but oh well, I needed to post this chapter to think of something else for a while, at least. So it'd be very kind of you to leave a comment to help me not freak out about my cat :)

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

You’re tired of fighting.

Your limbs are heavy, your throat burns, bruises cover your skin. Still, you try to run.

It’s useless. The two women dragging you inside the tomb are way stronger – unnaturally stronger than a human being should be. You growl like an animal, you kick and try to punch and claw anything on your reach. It’s still useless. The piece of cloth tightly wrapped around your mouth prevents you from speaking anything coherent.

The corridor opens to a big hall. The place is ancient, it is brightly illuminated by many torches. Strange paintings cover the walls and tall columns. There is a platform and something that looks like an altar ahead of you. On their sides, there are tall ceramic vases, five on each side. Sitting at the right side of the altar, there is a statue: the body of a female, the head of a lion, wielding a spear.

There is a woman standing on top of the platform.

A violent shiver runs down your spine. You know that woman… she was the first thing you saw when you woke up. If she didn’t exude cruelty and malice, maybe you would’ve thought she is beautiful: her tall stature, her long curly dark brown hair, her full lips and pink irises… but you know better. There is nothing good about that woman except her appearance.

She wears a similar white tunic as the other women in the hall, but is the only one wearing a golden headpiece, a thick necklace and many bracelets. Her expression isn’t cruel and mocking at the moment like you’ve seen her before. She just looks serious.

And there’s that other thing on the altar, too.

It… it resembles a woman, but you’re not sure: as pale as a cadaver, contrasting with the warmer skin tones of all the other women inside the tomb; its hair is long, straight and red, resembling a lion’s mane. The creature is… strangely tall, its arms and legs are disproportional to the rest of the body. It’s completely naked – you see the rags of what probably was its clothes scattered around the altar.

And it looks sick.

It’s way too skinny. Its ribs are very clearly outlined on the skin. Its cheeks are profound; its red eyes have heavy dark circles around them. Its whole body is trembling, its breathing is irregular. It drools like a sick dog.

And they are pulling you towards it.

After the initial shock, you begin to kick and scream again, but it’s still useless. You don’t want to be anywhere near that thing. It smells awful, it’s uncanny and scary and violently unnatural…

The other woman – who appears to be some sort of leader – grips you by the arm and drags you closer to that creature. She is even stronger than the other two who held you previously. She says something in a language you don’t understand.

You scream again. You try to pull your arm back, you try to claw her–

She squeezes your arm.

An agonizing yell erupts from your throat. Tears well up your eyes. Your legs fail.

You could hear the sound of your bones cracking under her grip.

That creature holds you this time. It pants like an animal. Even through the pain, you try to push it away – but it is useless.

Its long fingers entangle around the hair at the back of your head; it pushes it, forcing your head back and exposing your neck. It open its mouth wide, its horrible fangs approaching…

When it bites your neck, you can’t scream anymore; its jaws completely block your trachea. You gag, your eyes pop wide. There’s a suction noise… it is sucking your blood, you realize with horror. Your good hand still tries to pull its hair, but once again, it is useless… extreme weakness roams your body. The world twirls as every bit of strength disappears. Your head hurts as if someone had just hammered it.

Finally, it lets you go. You fall flat on the floor.

Your vision is blurred and darkening. You can’t move anymore. Your arm and your neck hurt so, so bad. And yet, you have time to see something before completely blacking out.

The creature doesn’t look like a creature anymore… its cheeks are not hollow, its limbs are no longer disproportional, body fat and muscles are visible again.

It is indeed a woman, not a thing.

She sighs contently and stretches her arms.

The world fades away.

Notre Dame’s high vaulted ceiling was indeed impressive.

How long did it take to build such a magnificent structure? How many workers were necessary? Who must’ve planned the building? How did they know that something so big wouldn’t crumble? Who must’ve crafted the beautiful stained glasses that colored the walls as sunshine touched them?

You had no idea.

You didn’t know why you were staring at it, either.

Your senses came back rather slowly. Voices… steps… everything echoed within the cathedral. The place you were laid at was uncomfortable… a wooden bench. One of the many you’d seen previously. Now that the place was properly lit by sunlight, it didn’t look as eerie as before.

Finally, you decided to sit up.

The great hall was full. The benches weren’t perfectly lined as before, which made you remember that Jules and the monks had used them to barricade the doors. You quickly realized that the injured in battle were brought inside the cathedral, where women priestesses wearing black tunics that covered their heads helped them (you heard two distinctive words: sister and nun. Was that the name of their position?). You saw them running from side to side, holding bloody pieces of cloth and water basins. Other civilian women were helping with medical aid as well.

No known face in sight.

Immediate nervousness set in your guts. Where was everybody? Why were you laying there?

This nervousness vanished in two seconds, however, when a familiar voice called.

You turned your head to see Charles, Jules and Henri rushing to where you were. You almost sighed in relief; Jules didn’t look seriously injured and Henri’s right shoulder was properly bandaged, though he still looked way too pale and tired. All of them looked worn out, in fact, with their uniforms ragged in some spots and blood stains here and there.

“Mademoiselle! You’re–“

“You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“I’ll call for help! Sister! Please–“

You immediately raised your palm in Charle’s direction. “No, please. I am fine. I don’t need medical aid, thank you.”

The three boys sat down. They silently battled to see who would take their place by your side – Henri ended up winning. The other two sat on the bench in front of you, frowning at the ginger boy.

“What happened? Where is Alucard?” You asked.

“You passed out, Miss Ruby.” Charles explained. Jules elbowed him and angry whispered don’t call her by her name, you’re not her close friend!. “Mr. Alucard brought you down. After he checked that you weren’t hurt, he let you rest and left to care for the troops… he told us to take care of you–“

“He told me to take care of you.” Jules hissed again.

“He didn’t address you, we were all present at that moment…”

But their incessant arguing didn’t catch your attention, because you remembered someone and it immediately made your heart race.

“Mizrak!” You looked around, searching for his familiar face between the injured. “Where is Mizrak?!”

They eyed each other hesitantly.

“The monk, isn’t it?” Jules asked. You nodded. “He… he disappeared, Mademoiselle. He just weren’t there when we opened the doors again.”

“He might’ve crawled somewhere else,” Charles tried to calm you down. “There are other points in the city were the injured are being taken care of.”

“He’s a strong man, isn’t he? I-I’m sure he’s alright, somewhere…” Henri didn’t sound confident at all, however.

You instinctively gripped the fabric of your skirt. How could he just have disappeared? No one simply disappears. His wound was beyond serious, it needed immediate medical assistance. What if a vampire had dragged him away, fed from his corpse? What if he died because of you?

Which made you remember something else, for some reason. Your eyes popped wide once again.

“My scepter? Where is it?” Once again, you looked at your sides.

“My” scepter. Why did you claim it as yours so instinctively?

It just… felt right to do so.

“It’s under the bench, mademoiselle,” Henri pointed. You rushed to grab it, almost sighing in relief. Something so shiny would definitely attract thieves if you weren’t careful.

The three boys were engaged in some conversation. They were asking you questions, in fact, about what happened exactly at the top of the bell tower, where did that light come from, but you weren’t paying attention, focusing your eyes on the golden artifact instead.

You had already noticed it before – but the staff had a very subtle cone format. It got a bit thinner on the other end.

You brushed your fingers around it. The scepter… it didn’t look that unfamiliar anymore.

There was a small spot on the base of it, near the sun symbol. You pressed your thumb over it.

And then – the staff retracted.

It emitted a soft metallic sound as the entire length of the staff fit into itself. Now, you just held a disk – the sun symbol – that was a little larger than your hand, with ninety percent of the staff reduced to a small handle.

The four of you went immediately silent in shock.

“Wow.” Jules exclaimed. “How did you do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“It retracted perfectly,” Henri said in awe. “It’s an engineering masterpiece!”

They began to discuss between themselves again, and as much as you didn’t really mind their company, they were starting to bring you headaches. They reminded you a bit of a pack of turkeys – if one made a noise, all the others repeated.

“Gentlemen,” your voice immediately stopped their incessant talking. They looked at your with attention. You held the sun disk with both hands and rested them over your lap. “I didn’t have the opportunity to properly thank you all yet. Without your efforts, I would’ve never arrived here… and I don’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t. All of you saved uncountable lives today.” You managed to open a small smile while passing your eyes by each of the three. “Thank you so much.”

They got speechless for once.

You watched as their lips curved up into grins. Jules massaged the back of his neck sheepishly, Charles stuffed his chest like a bird, Henri got redder than a tomato. It was funny how these three were only big in size; in your eyes, they weren’t much far from the other three little boys you met in Paris.

You were also a bit surprised at your own speech. A week ago, you would’ve never even imagined yourself speaking with quiet confidence like that… you didn’t stutter once, which honestly felt great.

Finally, you stood up, being followed by them.

“Do you know where Alucard and the others are?”

Of course they knew. Of course they wouldn’t let you make your way there on your own.

The three guided you outside of the cathedral once again talking incessantly. You resigned yourself to replying with short sentences anytime a question was asked, way too focused on analyzing the destruction of the city. There was blood everywhere. The area around Notre Dame specifically was full of night creature carcasses; volunteers worked on grabbing them to throw them in a bonfire nearby. The streets were crowded as citizens helped clean the city, bring down the rubble barricades, measure the damage, or simply went back to their homes and establishments.

It was strange to see everything under the sunshine… and to think that just one or two hours ago, you were running around these streets, trying to survive vampire attacks, feeling the deepest fear you’ve ever felt – and trying to brush it aside. You had managed to, somehow… something unthinkable for the person you were a week ago.

...Had you really changed this much in a few days, or you were simply allowed to be yourself for the first time in your life?

“...What I’m trying to say, Mademoiselle,” Henri’s nervous voice caught your attention for the first time. He sent an angry glance towards the other two before looking at you with expectation. “D-Do you have a house in Paris?”

“No.”

“Great! I-I mean–“ he cleaned his throat and put his hand over his chest. “If you need a place to stay – to spend the night, perhaps – you are more than welcome in my house. It’s not far from here. We have enough rooms and food for you. A-And Mr. Alucard, of course,” he giggled nervously.

You half expected the other two to offer their homes as well, but they didn’t, to your surprise. They just looked at him with what looked like jealousy.

Before you could answer, you arrived at a great square – and you forgot about the three.

“Excuse me,” you said before rushing towards Annette.

The square had many people walking from here to there, dragging rubble or just watching – but you didn’t care. Annette is alive! More than that, she looked fine. The dark haired girl spotted you as well and rushed, meeting you halfway.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Where is Richter?” You blurted out, immediately searching for injuries with your eyes. Annette chuckled and held your arms delicately.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine. What about you?” She quirked one eyebrow up. “I heard you unleashed some terrifying magic.”

She lowered her eyes to the sun disk you held. You immediately avoided her gaze, feeling sheepish. “Well, I… I don’t really know how to explain what happened.”

Annette shrugged. “Neither do I.”

“Where’s Richter?” You repeated and started to turn around. Annette, for some reason, widened her eyes and was about to hold you back again…

“Wait–“

She tried, but it was already too late.

The first thing you saw was Alucard, standing at a good distance.

He was eyeing you intently. Juste Belmont was by his side – how and when did he arrive in Paris? – wearing an elegant long red coat.

When your eyes crossed his, your entire body froze.

What happened at the bell tower…

It felt as if your entire face was on fire. Heavens, you hugged him – you actually hugged him, you entangled your arms around his neck and cried like a child. You certainly were not in your right mind to do something so… so… so…!

But then, you looked at something else – the thing Annette was worried that you’d see – and all the other thoughts ceased.

Your stomach dropped.

A big bonfire was being formed by civilians bringing rubble; it was more than two meters tall, perhaps. In between the pieces of wood, there were corpses – the vampires that didn’t turn to ashes during the flash of sunlight.

And the biggest corpse of them all…

You instinctively stepped back.

Erzsebet Bathory.

She didn’t look like herself anymore. She was even taller than what you remembered, her red hair longer, her face distorted in animalistic traits… one arm had been chopped off. She had many bruises and injuries. Her cheeks were hollow, her mouth wide open in a perpetual expression of shock and pain.

Erzsebet Bathory was dead.

No mistakes this time, Alucard had said.

The sight of her destroyed, lifeless corpse made your stomach twirl. And once again, you hated the effect this woman had upon you even in death, even with you looking at her in that state. It felt like she would suddenly screech and launch herself at you like so many times before. You could almost feel her claws gnawing your skin, her fangs sinking in your neck…

She is dead. She is dead. She can’t hurt me anymore. She is dead.

Annette’s soft touch on your shoulder brought you back to reality. She looked at you with worry.

“Do you remember what I told you?” She asked quietly.

And when we defeat Erzsebet, justice will be done.

You closed your eyes for a moment and sighed.

“Yes. I’ll… I’ll be fine.” You reassured her. You weren’t fine at that moment, but you would be.

Finally, you spotted Richter walking towards you both. He looked very injured – he had multiple burns on both arms, the sleeves of his blue jacket had been ripped. He was limping and looked very tired, yet still managed to open a small smile to you.

He carried a long piece of wood. The tip had been draped with pieces of cloth.

His small smile vanished. He looked down at you with solemnity.

“You arrived at the right time, Ruby.” Richter looked down at the wood he held. “We believe… you deserve to be the one to do it.”

You finally understood.

That was a torch.

You gulped, your body got tense. Even so, you nodded accordingly. You wouldn’t be able to speak even if you tried.

Richter summoned a ball of blue fire in his hand and ignited the torch. You shoved the sun disk inside your vest and held the torch with both hands.

You took a deep breath before approaching the pyre.

The square stopped to watch the scene.

Erzsebet’s corpse was horrendous, disgusting. You decided to not avoid your gaze from it. You bent slightly, making the tip of the torch touch the wood at the base of the pyre. The fire spread rapidly.

You stepped away and watched.

The people at the square cheered at the sight of the so-called Vampire Messiah burning. Your world, however, was quiet. All you could hear were the sounds of the wood cackling, the flames increasing and consuming everything in the pyre. You watched with attention as the fire consumed Erzsebet’s corpse; it burned her skin, her hair, muscles and bones. And a part of you was grateful to be left alone – Alucard, Annette, Richter and the three boys decided to stand away.

Erzsebet was dead. Definitely.

She used to be your world merely a week ago. Everything revolved around her: your fear, your hopelessness, your hatred, your self-loathing, your confusion. You were just a shadow of a person, an empty fragile shell on the verge of breaking apart. She was your world – and your world was dark, cold, bloody and lonely.

Things were slowly changing now.

You learned that the real world also had place for colors. For kindness, friendship, perseverance and freedom. The real world was not a perfect place, but it was vast; and its vastness for sure should have a place for you somewhere – a place were you wouldn’t be hurt anymore.

At that moment, you decided that you would never cry for her again.

You had already cried enough. She had forced you to dedicate your entire existence for her. You knew that your wounds were way too deep to be forgotten, you knew that the scars that would come from them would be ugly and impossible to ignore. You knew that it wouldn’t be fast and easy to overcome your fears and all the disgusting memories she dug into your soul.

But even so, you decided not to cry.

She had taken enough from you.

When her skeleton was visible, you turned your back to the pyre.

Richter was leaning on Annette for support, his arm resting over her shoulders while she hugged him from the side. You approached them hesitantly.

Annette still looked worried.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

You looked down at your bloody sleeve.

“Disgusting. I need a bath.” Finally, you lifted your gaze again. “A friend of mine can help us out.”

You quickly found out why the other two boys didn’t offer their houses as well.

Henri was the son of a judge, who was apparently intimately tied to the leaderships of the Revolutionaries. His house was far from being as luxurious as the chateau in Machecoul (you figured that if Henri’s father had a house like that, he’d be next in the guillotine line), but it was still bigger and more comfortable than the average home anyway, located at the heart of Paris.

Henri had offered you (and Alucard as an afterthought) a shelter… but you figured he wouldn’t mind if you brought other visitors as well.

Right?

Well, his father certainly didn’t mind. The middle-aged man thanked Alucard over a hundred times, his eyes gleaming as if he stood in front of a golden statue, babbling how he was thankful for his help. Alucard listened patiently, but you were around him for long enough to start noticing his very subtle expression changes.

You remembered his opinion about the leaders of the Revolutionaries…

Well.

The rest of the group was more than happy to have a place to stay for a while, so there wasn’t really what to argue here.

“Stay for as long as you like!” Henri’s father repeated for the hundredth time while guiding everyone inside. “We have enough bedrooms, enough food… well, perhaps not enough clothes, but I’ll figure it out in no time! Tell me whatever you need and I’ll have it ready. All I have to offer is little compared to what you did to save our nation today!”

Alucard resigned himself to offer him a nod.

Before the white-haired vampire could focus on you, you immediately accepted a maid’s offer to get upstairs and have a bath.

...You didn’t know why you were avoiding him. Not exactly. Perhaps embarrassment? You’d never been deliberately touchy with anyone like that before. Well, you weren’t in your right mind at that moment for whatever reason. Maybe you crossed a boundary? Maybe you went too far? Alucard didn’t push you away, however – but he wasn’t one to be rude anyway… at the same time, it’s not like Alucard wasn’t someone that didn’t know how to establish boundaries. The fact that he didn’t push you away had to mean something, right?

He hugged you back, in fact.

He rested his face on your shoulder and didn’t move.

You felt his hot breath on your neck and his large hand softly caressing your back.

For the second time, he held you until you fell asleep.

Your face was burning hot.

Suddenly, for unknown reasons, you felt as if you were exposed again, as if there was a crowd watching you with scrutiny even though there was no one else besides the maid in the room. You felt burning embarrassment crawl over your skin and it burnt almost as much as the strange magic of the scepter. For the first time in your life, you dismissed a maid’s offer to help you bathe and decided to do it yourself.

And then you were alone in the bedroom, but you still felt strange and exposed and oh heavens you were disgusting. Sweaty, dried blood covered your skin. You got rid of those layers of clothes and sat inside the wooden bathtub – it was smaller than what you were used to, the water wasn’t as warm, there weren’t bath salts, only a bar of soap.

Erzsebet chose the bath salts you’d bathe in. She liked flowery fragrances.

And then you remembered that you still smelled of her, that her disgustingly sweet smell was mixed with the smell of blood and sweat, and then you were scrubbing yourself with the sponge and soap vehemently.

You scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, watching the foam spread over your skin. You scrubbed your arms and chest and legs and stomach and feet. But the smell wouldn’t go away, so you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. You scrubbed until your skin started to hurt. That pain made you remember the sight of Erzsebet burning in the pyre, the sight of her skin boiling and melting from her bones – which, for some reason, made you scrub harder. You weren’t planning to, but you ended up untying your hair and washing it too, scratching your scalp with soap in frenetic movements because that bad smell was probably in your hair, too.

You scrubbed your own body until you were tired, until the water became actually cold, until your arms hurt from the repetitive movements. You stood inside the tub with water on your knees, the naked upper part of your body shaking in cold, and watched as blood dripped from the scratches you had inflicted on your own thighs. Perhaps… perhaps too much scrubbing. How did that even happen?

You sniffed your hair. Your skin. It didn’t smell of flowers anymore.

Just soap.

So you finally got out of the tub and wrapped yourself in a towel.

When the maid entered the bedroom with a fresh change of clothes, you avoided eye contact with her. She explained that the dress was Henri’s sister’s and perhaps it wouldn’t fit, but she already had a box of threads and needles to make adjustments. It wasn’t an intricate ball gown, but it wasn’t a simple dress either. It had cream and light green tones with pink flowers peppered around the corset and skirt. The dress was light and comfortable. It didn’t require many adjustments.

The maid offered herself to brush and style your hair, to which you politely declined. She probably wouldn’t be aggressive the way you were used to, but… no. Not right now.

When the maid left, you sat in front of the dressing table… and stayed there for a while. Disheveled damp hair fell over your shoulders. It was probably wetting the back of the dress. You didn’t care.

You stared at your own reflection for the first time in days.

The morning Alucard appeared in your life, you were doing just that – watching your reflection. Scrutinizing yourself. You didn’t look different. But, at the same time, there was something different about you – and you couldn’t tell exactly what.

You still had no past or family or name… but you weren’t just a bird in a cage anymore either, nor a lamb obediently walking to its slaughter night after night.

You were free.

It was scary.

What were you going to do from now on? You were actually alone. You owned nothing, and it was pretty clear that in order to survive in this world, you’d need some gold or coins or… whatever the currency was. You couldn’t assume Henri would let you live under his shelter forever and you weren’t innocent enough to not understand what it meant to stay.

You were nobody.

The others? They accepted you because you were a link to Erzsebet’s powers, an upper hand. Now their enemies were dead. They had no responsibility over you… you shouldn’t assume that they would take care of you like you were a child.

As humiliating as it might be, you felt like a child.

What would be your place in this world? Was something expected of you? Would they expect you to get married and have children? Should you find some sort of work? Should you perform some sort of role?

The reflection in the mirror frowned back at you slowly.

A… role?

...

You learned that your blood was valuable to her.

...

“But I am no vampire.”

“No. However, you heal like one. And Erzsebet drank from your blood for a long time, apparently.”

Annette looked at Alucard. “Do you think this was also somehow empowering her?”

The vampire took some moments to answer. “Maybe. We can’t be sure.”

…

That creature doesn’t look like a creature anymore… its cheeks are not hollow, its limbs are no longer disproportional, body fat and muscles are visible again.

It is indeed a woman, not a thing.

…

It took you a long time to realize that there was someone knocking on the door. You got up in a jump and rushed towards it with your thoughts rushing faster than the currents of a river.

It was Henri. He had also taken a proper bath, changed his clothes, and blushed furiously when his eyes fell on your figure. Maybe because your hair was damp and not presentable? Not very lady-like. Perhaps inappropriate. But you didn’t care, the same way you didn’t really pay attention to anything he was saying; his words seemed muffled and distant within the cacophony of your own thoughts.

The bandages on his left shoulder were peeking from under his blouse.

“Henri, would you do something for me?” you interrupted whatever he was babbling before. “But you have to trust me.”

His eyes widened. “O-Of course! Anything for you, Mademoiselle.”

You opened the door wide and stepped aside, pointing towards the bed. “Please, have a seat.”

His face got even redder, if that was possible.

“B-B-But Mademoiselle– it would be inappropriate to enter your room like that, when we’re alone–“

“Please.”

“Of course!”

He rushed in awkwardly as if that wasn’t his own house. You didn’t bother to close the door again – if the idea of being alone with you made him so uncomfortable, it was best to leave it open. Henri sat on the edge of the bed while blinking rapidly for some reason. His breathing also looked irregular. Was he feeling unwell?

“Can you show me your wound?” You asked. Henri widened his eyes again.

“Mademoiselle… hm…”

“Trust me.” You were running impatient.

Henri hesitated, but ended up taking off his coat and pushing his blouse to expose the bandages. You turned around to take something from the dressing table. When you turned around holding a pair of scissors, Henri got pale.

He was a bit of a chameleon.

Henri was about to protest again, but the look you sent him made him gulp and go quiet. You stood in front of him to carefully cut the bandages away and expose the gashes on his shoulder. They were properly cleaned and stitched up, but even so you could still see how horribly that vampire hurt him. If Henri’s head was centimeters closer to the vampire’s claws… he wouldn’t be here right now to change colors anymore.

Henri gasped when you brought the blade of the scissors and cut your own palm.

“Mademoiselle–!”

“Shh.”

He swallowed his words.

You hoped to be right. That had to work.

Carefully, you pressed your bleeding palm over his wounds.

Henri hissed. Your hand moved slowly to spread the blood over the entire surface of the gashes. The sight was unpleasant, to say the least… but it was less disgusting than making him drink your blood.

Please, work. Please, work.

Nothing changed at first.

But then, Henri gasped – and you gasped, too.

Your palm pressed over his wounds – your blood started to glow faintly. It took a strange golden color, as if it became melted gold.

Both of you watched in awe as Henri’s wounds started to heal right in front of your eyes.

He seemed out of breath. He frowned and hissed and you knew he was probably hurting because you knew that feeling. You stood upright and stepped away from him in slight shock.

The threads that were used to stitch the gashes fell over his lap.

Henri touched his own shoulder hesitantly. He pressed his fingers over it, massaged it. There was no sign that it was previously hurt… not even a scar.

You learned that your blood was valuable to her.

Why keep you around? Why keep you locked with guards holding you at all times? Why drag you along anywhere she went?

That was the answer to one of the questions that plagued your existence.

Henri was healed.

Finally, he rose his amazed eyes towards you.

“Miss Ruby… h-how did…?”

Then, he looked at something behind you and got pale again.

You turned around.

Alucard stood by the door, watching the scene with an astonished expression.

You locked eyes. With that simple gaze, you saw that he understood the situation completely.

One piece of the puzzle that hid your mysterious past was solved.

“...Why is he talking funny?” You whispered in Annette’s ear.

She quirked one eyebrow up and looked towards Juste, who stood not far from where you were sitting.

A smirk crept up her lips. “He’s drunk.”

Juste Belmont, Richter’s grandfather who you only saw briefly at his destroyed cottage, swayed slightly as if he stood on water, though the ground at the sides of the Seinne were clearly cobblestones. His eyes were half lidded, his speech slower and a bit difficult to understand. He held a wooden cup full of beer and talked to some unknown men who seemed to be in a similar state as him.

At your obvious confusion, Annette frowned. “Have you never been drunk?”

“I don’t know what that is, I’m afraid.”

Annette looked more confused than you. She eyed the bottle of the (not very good) wine you’d been sharing for the past hour or so. “Well, I’m surprised… given how much you’ve been drinking. You don’t feel anything strange at all? A certain dizziness? A sudden happiness?”

You put your hand over your own stomach and frowned. “No. Was I supposed to?”

She rested her face on her palm. “A normal person would be supposed to… but I guess your healing ability doesn’t even let you get drunk.” A small chuckle went past her lips. “It’s what happens when someone drinks too much of an alcoholic beverage. They lose their senses, get dizzy, sometimes end up saying or doing things they wouldn’t do when they’re sane…”

“Oh.” Funnily enough, you knew how that felt – but it didn’t have anything to do with alcohol… just extreme levels of “sun magic”, apparently. “I didn’t know wine has alcohol. It doesn’t feel much different than juice to me.” You quirked one eyebrow up. “Does juice have alcohol?”

“No. Hopefully no.” She shook her head. It seemed that Annette thought your confusion over some things amused her, much like Alucard. She looked ahead again. “Getting drunk is not always bad, you know. Sometimes it helps you lift your spirits.”

You looked ahead too, back to where Juste and his new friends laughed at the top of their lungs at something you didn’t hear, and silently wished you could get drunk if it’d make you laugh like that.

It was… strange, to say the least, how the night in Paris was so lively. Streets were crowded and well lit, laughter and music filled the air as citizens celebrated. Men, women, young or old – the entire city decided to go outside and have a huge party. It didn’t even seem that a literal war broke out only a few hours ago. Most of the rubble hadn’t even been collected.

It was like no one cared. Which, in your opinion, was a bit heartless, given how many lives were lost. But it seems they were just happy that the person who threatened their freedom was dead.

Well. You should be happy too. More than anyone.

Why weren’t you celebrating with them?

You craved freedom for as long as you could remember. More than that… you craved relief. But turns out, deep down, you never thought that day would actually come, and now that it did, you just didn’t know how to react. So your body and feelings just decided to freeze in this strange state.

The others seemed happy – well, maybe except for Maria, the blonde girl in pink. She talked a bit with Annette and Juste, but resigned herself to be quiet most of the time with perpetual melancholy over her features. From what you knew, Maria had lost her mother the day you met Alucard, so her actions were understandable.

Richter bounced back between talking to Juste and Annette. The black haired girl still seemed a bit apprehensive about something, but other than that, she was much more relaxed than what you’d known of her. And Alucard… he was somewhere. He left the house with everyone, but quickly got caught up in conversation with some generals you’d seen before.

So there you were. Sitting on a bench with Annette by your side, watching Paris celebrate the death of the Vampire Messiah, while you felt that you couldn’t even move.

It was overwhelming. And a bit uncomfortable.

Turns out you hadn’t really gotten used to crowds… it seems it’s not something that would change over just a few days. Many men you met the day before came to greet you with wide smiles in their faces (now that Annette had explained, you figured most of them were probably drunk too). Of course, you were happy anytime you recognized a face – one more soldier that hadn’t fallen. But at at some point… you didn’t want to talk anymore, or force smiles, or try to pay attention to whatever they were trying to say.

So you decided to sit with Annette for a while in this somehow hidden spot. It seemed she didn’t want to mix with the people as well. You wondered if it had anything to do with what Alucard explained about her past and her homeland…

Which made you remember something else – something you’d been hesitating to ask.

You straightened your back and cleaned your throat. “Hm, Annette… can I ask you something?” She looked at you and nodded. “Do you remember what you said or did while… well… while Sekhmet possessed you?”

She narrowed her eyes and looked down, touching her temples with her fingertips. “Not exactly. I remember what happened while I was in the spirit world… but even these memories are a bit vague in some parts. Like the memories of a dream.” She rested her hand back over her lap. “It’s always like that when I wander there.”

“So you weren’t really here while Sekhmet had your body?” Annette shook her head. Your shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Oh. I understand.”

She tilted her head. “Why you ask?”

“Sekhmet said something strange about me.” You avoided her eyes. Although they shared the same face, Annette had nothing to do with Sekhmet and the feral glare she sent you at that moment. “She said I should not be close to her.”

“What? Why?”

“She didn’t explain. That’s why I hoped maybe you’d have a hint… since you shared a body.”

Annette held her chin in a pensive expression. “...I have no idea, I’m sorry. But if I remember something relevant from when I was in the spirit world, I’ll tell you right away.”

You thanked her quietly and looked ahead again. You couldn’t blame her. Annette had asked how that flash of sunlight happened, how the scepter worked – and similarly to her, you had no answers.

Richter was, once again, approaching with a smile on his face. Perhaps that was the little push you needed to move. Whenever he came around, you felt that you were… interrupting. It wasn’t the first time you felt like that around them, but the situation became a little bit more intense. Maybe you really were interrupting, maybe they wanted some time for themselves but didn’t want to be rude.

So you finally decided to get up.

“I’m tired... I’ll head back now.”

Annette seemed a bit worried. “Do you want me to walk back with you?”

Again, you couldn’t blame her for being worried, not after all she had seen of you – acting like a frightened little mouse all the time. You shook your head and managed to open a small (fake) smile. “No, thank you. The house is just two streets away… I promise to not get lost.”

Annette hesitated… but it seems she understood you wanted to be left alone.

“Okay. Take care.”

You nodded and turned around, not waiting to greet Richter. It also made you feel a bit like that frightened little mouse again, but there was another reason why you felt confident enough to walk these two streets alone. The red string around your right wrist. You decided to keep it there, the same way you decided to take the red disk – scepter – with you wherever you went. The idea of it being taken from you was enough to keep you on your toes at all times.

You walked past couples, families, friends, children – talking, drinking, dancing, running around. You wished you wouldn’t feel this disconnected from their reality. No… it was a bit more complicated than that. You wished you had a family, a real past, more good memories than bad ones. Perhaps if you had these things… you wouldn’t feel so distant or lost or empty.

As much as you’d been avoiding to sleep, you assumed that sleeping right now would ease your feelings a bit.

That was when something very subtle tingled on your wrist.

You looked down in time to see the red string untying itself and falling.

Frowning, you crouched and took it from the floor again. Had you accidentally brushed on someone–?

If anything happens, anything at all, untie this string. Mine will untie, too, and I will rush to you.

Your eyes widened.

You looked around frantically.

Finally – you found him.

Alucard stood alone on one of the many bridges over the Seinne not very far from where you were. He was difficult to find at first, but as soon as your eyes locked on him, everyone else became blurred. He leaned both forearms over the stone railing in a relaxed position; his face held the serenity you were already used to. It’s like he was deep in thought. The soft night breeze played with his white hair. He looked down at the river.

His red string swayed with the wind, too. Untied. He held it between his fingers.

Your heart stopped beating for a second.

You stood there, unable to move, as if your body finally remembered how to feel something, how to not be distant. You gulped, gripped the sun disk a little tighter.

Mine will untie, too, and I will rush to you.

Alucard noticed you were avoiding him. Well, it was quite impossible not to notice. He didn’t make any attempts to approach you (you quite literally ran away from him earlier after the new discovery about your blood). But that… that was a very clear message.

A quiet invitation.

So you took a deep breath, trying to calm your stupid racing heart. Why were you scared? That was Alucard. You knew Alucard. He was never mean to you, never made you feel bad intentionally. You had faced a city full of vampires earlier that day… talking to him was nothing compared to that.

To be truly freed is to not be afraid.

You walked towards him.

You didn’t rush. You held the disk tightly, keeping it close to your stomach, the red string tangled around your palm. It seemed that your heart thundered louder on your ears with every step. It was like the world got blurrier and blurrier except for him.

After what seemed like an eternity, you stood by his side.

Two steps away. You looked down at the river, too.

Silence.

You weren’t brave enough to look at him. Alucard didn’t move, didn’t say anything. But… just like before, his quiet serenity enveloped you, made the celebration noises a bit distant.

It didn’t calm your raging heart this time.

It took you a while to understand that Alucard was waiting for you to speak up first. But he called me here. Doesn’t he have anything to say? Why should I be the one to speak first?!

To be truly freed is to not be afraid.

You gulped.

“I…” Your voice cracked a bit. You felt the urge to jump in the river and drown. “I don’t know how they have the energy to celebrate. It… doesn’t feel appropriate.”

Alucard sighed.

“The grieving families for sure aren’t out here.” Goosebumps roamed your skin when his calm husky voice reached your ears. “France is far from reaching real peace in the next few years… let them celebrate for now.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the river down there. It reflected the golden lights of the lanterns on the margins beautifully.

Come on, don’t be scared. Don’t be embarrassed. Come on. Come on. Come on.

You took what you had kept inside the sleeve of your dress hesitantly.

“A-Actually, I… I wanted to give you this.”

You turned to Alucard for the first time. He was already looking at you.

He looked down at the carefully folded handkerchief you offered him with both hands.

His expressions changed subtly. At first, confusion; then, surprise.

Then… a small smile.

You cleared your throat. “G-Give it back, actually. Since I ruined yours… I don’t know if it’s the same fabric, but it looks similar to the one you had.”

Alucard chuckled and took the handkerchief with care. When his fingers brushed yours, you felt more goosebumps.

“There was no need… but thank you. It is very thoughtful.”

You managed to smile, but turned to the river again before your face started burning.

With the corner of your eyes, you saw him put the handkerchief inside his coat and lean over the railing again. He was not wearing his cape. There was something different about him… perhaps because immediate danger wasn’t lurking anymore, Alucard felt comfortable enough to actually relax, and it reflected on his body and face.

You taped your pointer finger over the sun disk nervously. “How’s your wound?” You blurted out, desperate to not fall in an awkward silence.

Alucard instinctively touched his left shoulder. “Healed.” He looked at you again. “What about you?”

Oh fuck. He was addressing the elephant in the room – your strange state that made you weirder and braver than usual. Please do not mention the hug. Please please please please.

Once more, you avoided his gaze. “...Back to normal, I believe.” I hope is what you wanted to say, but perhaps it would’ve been a little rude.

“Do you have any idea of why that happened to you?”

You tightened your lips and frowned a bit.

You will burn from inside out.

It’s what the unknown female voice told you.

“I believe… I was doing something wrong at first.” You started hesitantly. “The magic. I was conjuring it in an incorrect way. I think my mistake harmed me. Burning me from inside out.”

Alucard hummed and held his chin.

“So it backfires. Magic so powerful should have its side effects.” Alucard seemed hesitant. “If it harms you… you should consider not doing it unless absolutely necessary.”

“No! It was just at first. I… figured it out later.” The thought made you tighten your grip around the sun disk by instinct. “Though, to be honest, I feel that that specific ritual shouldn’t be used in excess.”

Alucard’s eyes followed your grip. He quirked one eyebrow up slightly.

“I was meaning to ask you about this, too.” You handed him the sun disk right away, to which he took and raised to his eye level. “So the staff retracts. How did you figure it out?”

You shrugged. “It just felt right.”

Alucard grinned while handing it back to you. “It seems you’re remembering a lot of things.”

“...I’m not sure. It’s like I told you before… knowledge. Not memories.”

The white-haired vampire leaned on the railing again and looked into the distance. His expression got a bit more serious.

“I was thinking of what you told me. It reminded me of something.” Alucard seemed to hesitate. “...My parents were doctors. Both of them. My father, specifically, had a bit of a fascination for the mysteries of the human brain. He dedicated many studies and experiments to it. Wrote entire books.” Whenever Alucard mentioned anything about his father, it was like nothing else in the world mattered. You were completely focused. “From his many theses… he got to the conclusion that memories and abilities are stored in different areas of the brain. That could be why when someone suffers from memory loss, they still know how to speak, read, write… they know how to function.”

Your eyes widened at each word that left his mouth. “...Just like me.” Alucard nodded. You instinctively touched your own head. “So maybe this part of my brain is damaged?”

“Could be.”

“But why isn’t it healing back?”

Alucard hesitated.

“I believe we’ll figure it out soon.” You wanted to ask what the hell he meant by that, but Alucard decided to change topics drastically. “Talking about healing… did you tell anyone about what happened?”

Oh.

The absolute shocking news you discovered earlier that day, but that seemed pale at that moment in comparison with your nervousness to speak with him.

“No.” You shook your head. “But I was thinking… Richter’s burns are pretty bad. Maybe I could help him… or maybe if I knew where Mizrak is, I could save him...”

“Ruby.”

He put his hand over your shoulder – which made you swallow your words.

Quiet worry coated his features.

“I understand you want to help. But you should also understand that the properties of your blood are extremely rare and extremely valuable. It will put a target on your head again. So… the less people know about it, the better.” He dropped his hand from your shoulder. “Also… if in order to heal someone you end up getting hurt, I don’t see why you should do it.”

“But I always–“

“I know.” He interrupted you softly. “I know you do. That doesn’t mean you should hurt yourself willingly.” Alucard pressed his lips. “...Blood is life, Ruby. Don’t give your life away so easily.”

You sighed heavily and crossed your arms. “I guess you’re right. Henri knows about it, though.”

“He won’t tell anyone.” Alucard sounded way too certain about that.

It was your turn to lean on the stone railing, You looked down at the river. The pacific sound of the non-stopping flowing waters muffled the other noises – uncountable voices and music. You wondered if Alucard attracted you here on purpose… a place where you could focus on a single calming sound.

And perhaps that calmness gave you courage to ask the question you wanted to ask the most.

“What are you going to do now, Alucard?” Your voice was hesitant. Fragile, even… “Erzsebet and Drolta are dead. Your five year mission is over…”

Of course, you knew he and the others had no responsibility over you. You were well aware. And yet, the simple thought of being left alone frightened you. The idea that Alucard would wake up tomorrow and simply go away, and the others would go back to Machecoul, and Annette would cross the ocean back to Saint-Domingue… all of that was frightening.

You wanted to be free, not alone.

And the thought that you might never see Alucard again was even more frightening.

Should you have been attached to him so easily after just a few days? Was that correct or normal? You had no idea. What you knew was that Alucard was the first person to offer kindness and protection and understanding, and you didn’t want him out of your life so soon.

But that was not up to you.

So all you could do was ask.

Alucard leaned on the railing too. He was closer this time. Just one step away, not two.

“I think I should be making this question.” He said softly. “What are you going to do now that you’re free?”

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped past your lips. That wasn’t funny, however.

“I don’t have a family. Or a past, or a name. I don’t know where I came from or where should I go next. I don’t know why my blood heals, why I can read this language, where did this scepter come from… I don’t know anything.” You hated how fragile and bitter your voice sounded, but that couldn’t be helped. “...Is this even freedom at all?”

Alucard kept silent for long, respectful moments.

Then, he sighed deeply.

“There is only one place in the world where we could decode this language.” He pointed towards the sun disk.

You looked at him with a frown.

“There is only one place in the world where we might find out why you heal… and where does your strange magic comes from.”

Expectation bubbled within your chest.

“What place is it?”

Alucard closed his eyes for a moment. It was just a glimpse, but you had the impression that he didn’t really like what he was about to say.

But then, he opened his eyes to look at you – and his golden irises had nothing but kindness and quiet care, and the lanterns cast a soft glow over his features and white hair, and truly – he was so beautiful that it was almost painful to look at.

“My home.” He tilted his head to the sides. “...What used to be my home, at least.” Alucard straightened his back. “I’m making you an invitation, Ruby.”

Your heart raced. Your mouth got dry. Your eyes widened slowly.

“Do you want to… help me?” You, for some reason, sounded amazed. Why is it? Has anyone been more willing to help you than Alucard?

Alucard smiled and nodded – and, at that moment, with that simple motion, he seemed to ease all the worries of your soul.

“I do. I will. Let’s find out who you really are, Ruby.” Alucard rested his hand over yours… and once again, it didn’t burn.

It warmed.

“Let’s go to Dracula’s castle.”

[shy9-29]

I actually need a two faced jake where at school hes a sore loser versus when he’s alone with yn—complete menace. Biggest cocky flirt out there. At first, yn didn’t know much about jake until he bent her over and fucked the living shit outta her. I’m just down bad for Jake ok.

Two Faced, One Heart: Who is Sim Jake?

심재윤 x reader

୨ৎ Two versions of Jake Sim—one the shy, clumsy boy who spills his coffee at school, the other the filthy-mouthed menace who had you shaking in his lap just hours before class—and somehow, you’re hopelessly addicted to both. ✉️ wc. 13.1k ⋆˙⟡ ⚠️ warnings : oral (both received), begging, teasing, cream pie, minor slut shamming, bullying, pet names, making out, swearing, harsh language, haur pulling, unprotected sex

📝: thats so fucking hot omg? I need jake so bad rn it’s not even funny

mndi · req open

———

The words come out before you can stop them.

“Do you think I could get Jake to fall for me?”

Your friends stare at you like you just confessed to having a crush on the cafeteria salad bar.

“Jake Sim?” Min gapes. “The guy who thanked the printer for working?” Jisoo raises a brow. “His Instagram only has twelve followers. Twelve. One of them is his dog’s account.” You try not to laugh. “Okay, but he’s kind of… sweet?” Min scoffs. “He wears socks with sandals.” You shrug. “Maybe I like that.” You don’t tell them that two nights ago, Jake had you bent over your tiny dorm desk, fingers tangled in your hair, voice low and smug in your ear while you struggled to stay quiet. Because no one would believe you.

Not when the Jake they know fumbles over his words in group projects and blushes when people look at him too long.

But you’ve seen the other side. The one who locks his door with a click and flips like a switch. You see him again the next day in class, right on time as always. Same oversized hoodie, same messy hair. He sits two rows behind you and doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look at him. Not really. But you��feel him watching you. The weight of his stare pressed between your shoulder blades. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about. Then, when you stand to leave, he brushes past you. Just a little too close. His fingers graze the small of your back—light, subtle, hidden. But it sends heat shooting down your spine. You catch up to him by the vending machines, just outside the library. He’s pretending to debate between orange juice and sparkling water.

You stop beside him. “Healthy choices.” Jake doesn’t look at you. “You wore that lip gloss again.” Your lips curve. “Maybe I like the flavor.” He reaches forward, selects a drink without thinking, and pays. His voice drops, just loud enough for you to hear. “I like it better off my tongue.” Your breath hitches. A pair of students walk past, one of them waving vaguely in Jake’s direction. He nods back with that usual shy smile, all harmless and mild-mannered.

The second they’re gone, his hand brushes against yours, fingers curling briefly around yours before letting go. You’re not sure your heart knows how to keep a steady rhythm around him anymore.

You didn’t know when it started—maybe it was the way Jake always sat in the back of class, quiet and unassuming. Or the fact that, every time you glanced at him, he never seemed to notice. He’d scribble in his notebook, the only sound in the room his pencil moving across the paper. You thought he was weird at first. Too quiet. Too in the background. The kind of person everyone else ignored. But there was something about him you couldn’t shake. The way his glasses would slide down his nose when he concentrated, or how he always wore the same hoodie, despite the weather.

The first time you spoke to him was after class. Your notes were mixed up, and you needed help with something—so you took a deep breath, made your way to him, and asked.

He looked up, startled. His cheeks went pink, and he mumbled something about being “kind of bad at explaining things,” but he agreed to help. That’s how it started. He was awkward. Shy. And he was perfect. You thought about him more than you should have, even as your friends teased you about how he was “just a soft loser” or “too quiet to ever be interesting.” But something about the way he treated you—how he never rushed you, never pushed, always listened—had you intrigued.

Then, the texts started coming. Small things at first—like a picture of a puppy he saw that reminded him of you. Or a random meme about books you both liked. They came at odd times, too. Late at night. In the middle of the day. And you found yourself looking forward to them, even though you knew he wasn’t exactly the “popular” guy at school.

One night, after a study session that stretched long into the evening, you both found yourselves alone in the library. It was just the two of you, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above, the scent of paper and coffee between you. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, he helped you pack up your things, careful not to touch you too much, but his fingers brushed yours when he handed you your coat. You thought you imagined it, the little spark that shot through your hand, but the way his eyes flicked to yours said otherwise.

“Uh, good night,” he mumbled, voice hushed. You smiled, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “Good night, Jake.” You didn’t know it then, but that would be the night it all started to shift.

The next few weeks were a blur of fleeting glances, stolen moments. You’d catch him looking at you in class, only for him to quickly look away. Sometimes, he’d find reasons to walk the same path as you, his steps light, as if testing the water between you. And each time, the air between you would grow heavier, electric, like something unsaid was hanging in the space between your words. It wasn’t until one rainy afternoon that things finally tipped over the edge. You were on your way to the library when you spotted him standing under the awning of a building, looking at his phone. His hoodie was pulled up over his head, and he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the rain was starting to soak through the sleeves.

“Jake!” you called out, jogging over to him. “You’re gonna get soaked.” He looked up in surprise. “Oh, uh… I was just trying to figure out when the rain’s supposed to stop.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should’ve checked the forecast before heading out.” You shook your head, already pulling your umbrella out. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re not standing out here getting drenched. You’re walking me to the library.”

He hesitated, then smiled, a soft, shy grin. “Okay.”

You shared the umbrella, walking side by side. The world outside was blurred by the rain, everything muted except for the sound of your shoes on the pavement and the occasional brush of his elbow against yours. It felt casual, but something about it—something about him—made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

When you reached the library, you both stood under the awning for a second, the warmth of the building just inside. You were both still close, the air between you thick with unspoken things.

And that was when it happened.

Without saying a word, Jake leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I walked you to class every day, would you still act like I’m invisible?” he whispered.

Your heart skipped, and you didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what to say, or what he was really offering. But you knew, in that moment, everything between you had shifted.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

But you wanted to be.

You’d never seen Jake without his glasses.

The guy everyone knew—shy, reserved, a little awkward—was always framed by those round lenses. It was part of his quiet charm, the way they softened his features, how he hid behind them like a shield. No one really saw the guy underneath, the guy who barely made waves, who faded into the background of every class.

Until today.

You hadn’t expected this when you got the text. “Roommate’s out. You wanna come over?”

It wasn’t anything crazy. It could be a quiet hangout, maybe some late-night studying. But there was a strange feeling building in your stomach, something telling you that tonight might be different.

When you knocked on Jake’s door, you barely had time to brace yourself before it swung open.

And there he was.

Jake, standing there, no glasses. He was wearing contacts, and the difference hit you immediately. His eyes, normally hidden behind lenses, were now wide open, sharp, clear. They looked darker somehow, and for the first time, you saw something in them that wasn’t there before. Confidence. A kind of intensity that threw you off guard.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice smooth, low—nothing like the awkward, stuttering Jake you were used to.

“Hi,” you replied, unsure of what to say, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

Jake stepped aside, letting you into the room. You took a quick look around—same dorm, but the vibe was different. The room was tidier than you expected, clean, almost meticulous. No clutter, no random piles of clothes or books. It felt… like a space where Jake had control, where things were on his terms.

“You can sit wherever,” Jake said, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to it now, something about the way he stood that was different from the usual quiet guy you saw on campus.

You sat on the edge of his bed, but you didn’t know where to look. His eyes were still on you, and the way he watched you made the air between you feel thick, charged.

He took his time, like he wasn’t in any rush. “You didn’t expect this, did you?” Jake’s voice was quieter now, almost like he was daring you to admit it.

You shifted slightly, trying to act casual, but it was hard. “No. I didn’t think you’d be like this.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of shy, soft smile you were used to. It was different. “Like what?”

You hesitated, but then shrugged. “I don’t know. More… sure of yourself. Less… nervous.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, and there was a flash of something dark in his eyes. “You think I’m nervous?”

You nodded slowly, testing him. “Yeah. I mean, you’ve always been… kind of quiet.”

Jake took a step closer, his expression unreadable now, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not shy. Just don’t feel the need to put on a show for anyone. And I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe I’m some clueless guy.”

You stayed silent, suddenly aware of how close he was now, how his presence filled up the space between you.

He was different tonight. No hesitation. No awkward stutter. Just… Jake. But the version of him that you never saw—sharp, self-assured, and unbothered by anything or anyone around him.

“Want to see how different I am?” he asked, his voice lowering, the question hanging in the air.

You barely had time to process before his fingers brushed your arm, the simple touch making your heart race. And just like that, you realized you weren’t ready for the change that was happening between you—but you were already in too deep to turn back.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to come over, but it wasn’t this.

Jake leaned against the wall in front of you, and for the first time, you felt a shift in the way he held himself, like there was something between you that wasn’t there before. His gaze didn’t flicker away from yours, and his posture was different. He was comfortable—too comfortable, and it made the room feel smaller, hotter.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake beat you to it, his voice low and steady. “You don’t look at me the same way you used to.”

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re looking at me like you’re seeing me for the first time. Like I’m not just the quiet guy in the back of class.”

You tried to ignore the way his words made your pulse pick up speed. He was right, and it unsettled you more than you wanted to admit. The Jake you knew was always reserved, always hiding behind his quiet act. But the Jake in front of you now? He was different. More sure of himself. More… commanding.

Before you could find the right words, Jake pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you. He didn’t touch you at first, but you could feel the heat coming off him. You took a shallow breath, the air between you thick with tension.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You shook your head, but you could feel the unease building in your stomach, creeping up your chest. It wasn’t nerves—it was something else. Something new. Something dangerous.

He seemed to sense it, that tiny shift in your energy, and it made him lean in closer. “You can admit it,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.”

Your lips parted slightly at the sound of his voice, thick and low. There was nothing innocent about him now. You could see it clearly. This wasn’t the guy who stumbled over his words or blushed at the slightest attention. This was a version of Jake you hadn’t been prepared for.

And now that you were seeing him—really seeing him—you weren’t sure you wanted to turn away.

Jake’s hand came up to touch your chin, his thumb brushing over your skin with purpose. He tilted your head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he was dying to solve. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

“Do you like this?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing along your jawline. “Do you like seeing me like this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, watching how his eyes flickered with something darker, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk only grew, and before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, the kind you were used to. It wasn’t gentle or cautious. No, this was different. This was hungry. It was messy. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he couldn’t wait any longer. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips parting against yours as if he was trying to steal every breath from your lungs.

You let him. You let him pull you in, let him show you what he was capable of when there was no one around to see it.

When he pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his eyes never left yours. There was something predatory in his gaze now, something that made your pulse race.

“You’ve been looking at me for a while,” Jake murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You never thought I could be like this, did you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for something to say, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Jake smiled, that same smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll show you just how different I can be.”

And that was when you realized—there was no going back now.

Jake’s lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath mixing with yours, the tension in the air making every nerve in your body feel alive. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you could see the way he was waiting for you—waiting for you to decide how far you wanted to go, how far you were willing to let things shift.

You had never seen him like this. The quiet guy you knew had been replaced by someone far more confident, far more intense. His hand was still resting at the back of your neck, and the way his thumb traced small circles against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t kiss you again right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you weren’t ready. His thumb grazed your jaw again, this time a little firmer, almost as if he was marking his territory, making sure you knew he was in control now.

And then, without warning, he pressed his lips against yours again—but this time, the kiss was slower. It was deeper, more deliberate, as if he was savoring it. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

You tried to breathe, but it was hard. It felt like the world was closing in around you, leaving only the two of you in that small, charged space. You couldn’t focus on anything except the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands shifted, each touch sparking a new wave of heat in your body.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his voice low, gravelly. “I told you… I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

You nodded, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You could barely process what was happening. Everything about this felt different, so different from anything you’d imagined. The shy, awkward Jake had been replaced by someone who wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and the soft press of his mouth against your skin made your breath catch in your throat. He moved slowly, deliberately, his hands never straying far from you. The warmth of his touch spread through you, and you felt your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as his lips traced along your collarbone.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something primal. “Tell me what you want baby?” His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the fog in your mind.

You didn’t know how to answer, not with words. You had never been this close to him, not like this, not with the air crackling between you like it was about to catch fire. The way the pet name slipped so easily from his mouth made your pussy clench around nothing. But the look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, made something stir inside you.

Without thinking, you leaned in again, your lips pressing against his. This time, there was no hesitation. You kissed him back, a little harder this time, both groaning into the kiss as if you were trying to prove something—prove that you were ready for whatever came next.

Jake didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid lower, around your waist, pulling you even closer. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were firm, confident as they explored the curve of your back, the tension in your muscles, the way your body responded to him. 

Every inch of space between you seemed to vanish, and soon there was nothing but the heat, the closeness, and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control anymore—or if you ever had been.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked at you with that same intense gaze. There was something in his eyes—an unspoken challenge, a promise of something you couldn’t quite yet name. You could feel the tension building, heavy in the air between you, thickening with each second that passed.

He reached up slowly, his fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat as he pulled it over his head, revealing the smooth skin of his chest. The movement was casual, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His muscles shifted under his skin, the soft light of the room catching the contours of his body, and it was like everything about him felt real now—far more than you ever thought.

You couldn’t help but stare, your gaze tracing over the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. There was no trace of the shy, reserved guy from before. Instead, he stood there—bare, exposed—looking at you with a calm confidence that made your pulse race.

Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes spoke volumes as they flickered to yours, waiting for you to respond, to make the next move.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight of him, suddenly feeling a shift, a hunger building within you that mirrored his own. It was a quiet power, a tension you could feel in your very bones.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as you stood there, frozen for a moment. The air felt thick, charged, as if time had slowed down, and the weight of his gaze made everything around you fade into the background.

He stepped toward you, his chest still bare, his body moving with a kind of fluid confidence that made your pulse spike. Each step he took seemed to make the space between you shrink, until you were once again within inches of him. He didn’t rush. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, steady. The question hung in the air, but there was no hesitation in his tone—only the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, though words seemed impossible to find. The only sound in the room was the quickening rhythm of your breath, mingling with his.

Jake’s hand reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin as he lifted it, gently pulling it over your head. You let him, your heart pounding in your chest, your skin heating under his touch. He didn’t rush, his hands tracing the curves of your body with careful attention, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

When your shirt finally joined his on the floor, he stepped back slightly to take you in, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin. His eyes darkened further, a look of quiet admiration in them, but there was something else there too—something predatory, possessive.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, the words low but full of meaning.

You could barely process what was happening, but the way he said it—like he was claiming you, and yet somehow honoring you at the same time—made your chest tighten. His hands were at your waist now, pulling you closer again, and his lips found the curve of your neck. He kissed you there softly, his mouth warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he kissed you, his hands moved lower, slowly, deliberately, until he was holding you, guiding you gently toward his bed. There was no rush, no urgency—just the feel of his strong hands, the weight of his body against yours, and the soft pressure of his lips as they trailed down to your collarbone.

Jake was taking his time, savoring the moments. He wanted you—he was showing you that much, but he was also letting you see a side of him that no one else got to experience.

And as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips never leaving your skin, you felt a kind of surrender that you couldn’t explain. He was confident, sure of every move he made. But so were you.

This was new. You were new.

Jake’s lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and you inhaled sharply as a wave of warmth flooded your body. His kisses were slow, teasing, each one leaving a faint, tingling trail on your skin. You could feel his breath against you, warm and steady, as he placed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

His hands, still resting on your waist, tightened their grip slightly, pulling you closer to him. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if he was in no rush to get anywhere, wanting to savor every moment.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jake murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. The words sent a shiver down your spine, stirring something deep inside you. His praise, soft yet commanding, made your heart race even faster, the air between you growing thick with desire.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body reacting to the way his voice made you feel—like you were exactly where you needed to be, like you were his.

Jake smiled against your neck, the words lingering in the air. “So good for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing the spot again. You could feel the confidence in his words, the way he was claiming the moment, claiming you. The heat that had been building between you both was undeniable now, and you knew, without a doubt, that this was no longer the shy, quiet guy from school.

This was Jake. The Jake who knew exactly what he wanted—and wasn’t afraid to take it.

The room felt smaller now, even with the space around you. The air was thick with a quiet tension, a sense of something inevitable hanging between you two. Jake was no longer standing across from you, maintaining that careful distance. He was close—too close—and it was clear that neither of you wanted to back away.

You could feel the pull of him, an invisible force that seemed to draw you in, making it impossible to ignore the heat that had been simmering between you both. You’d known this feeling, this desire, had been building for weeks. But now it was no longer just something you could push aside, something you could pretend wasn’t there.

“Do you trust me?” Jake’s voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, a seriousness that sent a ripple of excitement through you. He was close now, his chest nearly brushing yours, and the way he spoke made it clear he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment, the words lost in the heat of the moment. Jake smiled—genuine, a little wicked—and his hand reached out to guide you toward the desk.

The desk that had become a symbol of something you didn’t even fully understand yet. He placed his hands on your hips, his touch firm but not rough, leading you with careful, deliberate steps. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the edge of the desk against the back of your knees.

He stopped, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he whispered, “Stay still for me baby.”

There was an undeniable force in the way he held you, a promise in his words. Your pulse raced as your hands rested against the cool surface of the desk. The room was suddenly quieter, the sounds of your breaths louder than anything else.

Jake stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he was completely in control, that he was in charge.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding from your hips up your sides, lingering over the curve of your waist, tracing slow circles over your ribs. You wanted to press back against him, to feel the weight of him against you, but something kept you still, some tiny shred of self-control.

Jake's hands moved higher, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips. His touch was firm, possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You wanted to arch into him, to feel the weight of his body against yours, but you kept your hips planted against the desk, fighting the urge.

Jake's lips traced a path down your neck, and you could feel the smile on his face as he spoke, his voice low and rough. "You're doing so well for me," he murmured.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice shaky and desperate, "I need to feel you-need your cock."

You could feel him smirk against your skin, his hands tracing slow, teasing circles over your hips. "You that desperate, you slut?" he scoffed, his words like a taunt, a challenge.

Jake's words sent heat coursing through your veins, the sound of your own whimpering catching you off guard. It was a sound of desperation, of need, and it betrayed a vulnerability you hadn't meant to show.

But he heard it. Of course he did. He was so close to you, his body pressed against yours, and there were no more secrets between you.

You could feel the anticipation building, the air around you thick with tension. Jake's hands moved with purpose, tugging at your skirt, and it came down in a swift motion, pooling around your ankles. He took a step back, giving you space, and for a moment, you were left standing in just your underwear.

Jake's eyes darkened as he watched you, the desire in his gaze unmistakable. He moved closer again, crowding you against the desk, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin, the way it made your skin prickle with anticipation.

You looked back to see Jake stroking his already leaking cock, letting out a low groan in the process. You could feel a smirk form on his lips as he shoves your panties aside. “Jesus yn, you’re dripping.” His words brought a throbbing sensation to your pussy, a desperate whimper leaving your mouth. “Jake…please,” you begged. “I need to feel you.” The heat in your body was almost unbearable now, your words little more than a ragged breath as you plead with him, "Fuck, Jake." It was like all the thoughts had slipped away from you, replaced by a pulsing need.

Jake didn't hesitate. He was still gripping your hip with one hand, his other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against him. There was no more waiting, no more teasing. He was hard and ready, and you could feel it pressed against you, and you were slick and wanting, and you couldn't take it any longer.

With a low, guttural groan, Jake slammed his cock inside your soaked cunt in one motion, causing you both to let out the filthiest sound. 

“fuck, look at you,” jake groaned quietly, fingers spreading your ass apart. “such a filthy little thing, huh? letting me use that pussy mouth like it’s all you’re good for.”

his hand is tangled in your hair now, not tugging—just resting there, warm and heavy, like a crown you’ve earned. you try to stay quiet, knowing that the building has thin walls, spit pooling and dripping down your chin as your rhythm falters under the weight of his words. “Jake, it feels go good—“

“quiet,” he snaps softly, and your lashes flutter as you obey.

good. obedient. ruined.

“that’s it, baby. show me how good you are at taking my cock,” he says, voice almost tender if not for the filth of it. “can’t even breathe right, but you don’t care, do you? you love it too much. love being my perfect little toy.”

you whimper around him, and it makes his hips stutter. his thighs tense.

his control cracks just a little.

“god, you’re so good for me. fuck, baby—so fucking perfect.”

he grits his teeth, hand tightening just slightly in your hair. “no one else gets to see you like this. no one else can. only me.”

your jaw aches. your throat burns. but still, you don’t stop. “this pussy is made for me,” he continued, throwing his head back. “Fucking made for me yn.”

Jake was losing control, his words coming out in sharp breaths. He'd never spoken to you like this before, never so openly, so shamelessly filthy. Your mind was reeling, the sensations overwhelming as he took what he wanted from you, his words only fueling your own desire.

“J-Jake- too much.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “And you love it.” he grabs onto your waist gently. 

You help fuck yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. y/n..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed taking on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out any further moan yet. 

His hips move faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every thrust. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— gonna… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle. 

You don’t get to say anything—your body gives out before your voice can even catch up. Your thighs tremble around him, and you’re a mess in his lap, clinging to him like he’s the only thing grounding you. The sound you let out is raw, louder than before, and Jake just leans back in his chair, watching you fall apart with that smug, wrecked grin of his.

His hands tighten around your waist, keeping you moving even as your body begs for mercy. He’s not letting go—not yet.

“You’re not done,” he mutters low against your throat, lips brushing your skin. “Not until I say so.”

You try to respond, but it’s all heat and haze now. Your chest presses against his as your head drops to his shoulder, and he doesn’t stop—he guides you through every slow grind, every twitch of your body that draws another gasp from your lips. His voice is rough, breathless, right in your ear.

Then his body jerks beneath you, and the way he holds you after—tight, possessive—tells you everything you need to know. His hand slides up your back as you both sit there, the room thick with the aftermath, your bodies still tangled.

You think it’s over. You think maybe now he’ll let you breathe.

But then his grip shifts, and he pulls you right back down onto him, your body jolting at the sudden contact.

A gasp leaves you, and his laugh—low and dangerous—rumbles against your collarbone. “Still so sensitive,” he teases, brushing your hair back as he presses a kiss just below your ear. “Thought you could handle me.”

Your arms drape around his neck again, head buried against his skin, and all you can do is hold on. You kiss the sweat-slicked curve of his jaw, trying to catch your breath while he stays buried deep, unmoving, content to just keep you there—full, overwhelmed, and completely his.

And with one hand still steady on your hip, Jake casually slides his chair back toward his desk, like it’s just another night—like you’re not still trembling on top of him.

Just before he grabs his headset, he whispers, “You should hear yourself.”

By the time you got back to class Monday morning, it was like nothing had ever happened. Or at least, that’s how Jake made it seem.

There he was, slouched in his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, hoodie half-zipped, glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was typing away at his laptop like he hadn’t just had you moaning his name into the crook of his neck two nights ago, skin flushed, bodies tangled.

He glanced up as you walked in. His eyes found yours for a second too long—and then he looked away, pretending to be distracted by something on his screen. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting a smile.

You took your seat a few rows ahead of him, and a minute later, you felt the faintest buzzin your pocket.

“I had fun.”

You turned around. He was staring at his laptop like he hadn’t just texted you that. Like he hadn’t just ruined you on that same voice he used to answer class questions with a stutter.

Jake was still quiet in public, still awkward. He still pushed up his glasses too often and knocked over his water bottle when reaching for his pen. But now, there was a glint in his eyes every time he looked at you. A silent smugness. A private joke only the two of you knew the punchline to.

And when your professor called on him to answer a question, and he stumbled over the words “data structure,” turning slightly pink, you thought—no one else in this room had a clue. No one knew that he’d whispered “stay still for me” against your skin like a command. That the same clumsy guy blushing in front of the class had told you with a dark smirk, “such a good girl, you took me so well.”

You looked over your shoulder again. Jake met your eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. Just popped a piece of gum into his mouth, chewing slow, gaze steady. And then he winked.

You almost dropped your pen.

You tried to keep it to yourself—you really did. But your friends had spent the last ten minutes at your table giggling over Jake like he was some weird cryptid.

“I checked his Instagram again,” Yuna said, sipping her iced coffee. “He lost a follower. And he posted a blurry picture of a squirrel once.”

“Do you think he even knows how to use Instagram?” Soojin added, snorting. “He gives off ‘my mom made this account for me’ energy.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard.

“What?” Yuna asked, eyes narrowing at you. “Why are you smiling like that? Don’t tell me you actually think he’s hot.”

“I don’t think he’s hot,” you said slowly, stirring your drink.

They leaned in.

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, glancing over your shoulder out of habit.

“Okay,” you whispered. “This doesn’t leave this table.”

Yuna and Soojin practically vibrated with anticipation.

“I went to his dorm,” you started, voice low. “A few nights ago. His roommate was gone. And he wasn’t wearing glasses. He had contacts in. And he—” you hesitated, heartbeat picking up. “He was acting completely differnt. And we kinda.. you know.”

Yuna let out a dramatic gasp. “No way.”

Soojin cackled. “Shut up. Jake? Jake Sim and y/n fucked?”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching.

“And?” Yuna prompted. “And? What, did he trip over his desk accidentally slip his dick into you?”

You hesitated. “We, uh… no…”

Both of their jaws dropped—and then they burst into laughter.

“No, no, you’re joking,” Soojin said, leaning into Yuna for support. “Jake? Jake had you—what, bent over his gaming chair while his twelve Instagram followers cheered him on?”

“I’m serious,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “He’s not—he’s not how you think he is. Not when we’re alone.”

“Okay, now you’re just making it sound like he’s Batman,” Yuna snorted. “By day, he’s a bio major with a screen protector on his calculator. By night—”

“Hey.” A voice cut in behind you.

You froze.

Yuna’s eyes widened.

Soojin slapped a hand over her mouth.

You turned your head slowly—Jake was standing there, tray in hand, his expression unreadable. His glasses were on, hoodie loose, hair a little messy like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hi,” he said, voice calm, like he hadn’t just caught you mid-confession.

You blinked up at him. “Jake.”

He looked at your friends, then back at you. “You forgot your charger last night.”

He placed it next to your drink, eyes flicking down to your hand for half a second.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Jake gave you a lazy smile—barely there, but you knew it. You knew that look now. He turned, walked away like nothing happened, headphones already around his neck.

You turned back to your friends.

Their mouths were hanging open.

“…You’re not joking,” Yuna said flatly.

“I told you,” you whispered, trying—and failing—to hide the grin pulling at your lips.

Your friends were still frozen, processing, as Jake walked off toward the other end of the café like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb and left you to deal with the aftermath. He didn’t look back, but the slow, smug drag of his steps made it very clear—he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I…” Yuna blinked. “Was that your charger?”

You nodded, sipping your drink to hide your smirk.

Soojin finally found her voice. “Did he say last night?”

You nodded again, this time a little slower.

Both of them let out the most synchronized gasps you’d ever heard in your life.

“Girl,” Yuna whispered, leaning across the table like she was afraid someone would overhear, “what the hell is going on? That’s not even—Jake? Like, Jake Sim? He’s—he’s a meme. We literally made a Bingo card of the number of times he trips in the hallway!”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the warmth in your cheeks. “And apparently, he’s also capable of blowing my back out while explaining the difference between RAM and ROM.”

Soojin shrieked. “Stop!”

You were laughing now, the kind that bubbles up and won’t stop. It was ridiculous. All of it. And yet, every time you thought about the way he kissed you—like he knew what he was doing, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to show you—you felt your knees threaten to give out.

“Okay,” Yuna said, gripping your arm. “So, wait. Is he, like… your boyfriend now? Or is this just an elite phase?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again.

You hadn’t even thought that far.

Jake hadn’t said anything official. No labels. No talks. Just quiet texts. A stolen charger. A wink in lecture. And the memory of him whispering in your ear, voice low and breathless, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “But I don’t think this is just a one-time thing.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed again.

“also, I meant every word I said to you”

Your head snapped up. Across the room, Jake was seated with his laptop open, headset slung around his neck, biting into a sandwich like the most innocent man alive.

Your stomach flipped.

This menace. This liar. This actor.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, a mix of embarrassment and fondness curling in your chest.

“you’re actually evil”

“i hate you”

“i hate that i don’t hate you”

A beat passed.

“you’re cute when you fluster. wanna come over after chem?”

Your friends didn’t even need to ask who you were texting. They saw your face and groaned in unison.

And for once, you didn’t even deny it.

Jake was a master of the double life. You didn’t know how he did it, but it was like he could flip a switch whenever he stepped foot in the hallways of the university.

In class? A complete disaster.

The shy, bumbling guy you’d always seen—his glasses slipping down his nose, tripping over his own feet as he made his way to his desk. He’d stammer when he spoke to the professor, barely making eye contact with anyone, and was always the first to look down at his phone when group discussions came up. The Jake everyone saw was awkward, quiet, and somehow endearing in his nerdy way. The one who sat by himself in the cafeteria, fiddling with his notebook, hoping no one would notice him.

And yet, you knew. You knew there was something more beneath that awkward exterior. Something darker, something confident. You’d seen it for yourself, just two nights ago. The quiet guy who barely spoke a word in class had turned into a completely different person behind closed doors.

But here, in the hallway, between classes, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that same Jake was the one who had you shivering under his touch, whispering praises into your ear like he owned you.

You were walking past his usual spot in the library when you caught him fumbling with a stack of books, his face scrunched up in concentration. He didn’t notice you at first, too focused on his task. But when he looked up, the usual blush crept up his neck, and his mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Hi,” you said casually, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You need help with those?”

He gave a nervous laugh, adjusting his glasses and dropping the books onto the table like his hands suddenly didn’t know how to hold them anymore. “Uh, yeah, no, I—um, I got it. Thanks, though.”

You could barely contain your laughter. Here he was, this guy who had literally whispered praises in your ear only days ago, looking like a total mess in front of you. He couldn’t even manage eye contact without turning an embarrassing shade of pink.

“So,” you said, leaning against the bookshelf beside him, your arms casually crossed. “You been doing any more squirrel photography lately?”

Jake froze, his face flushing deeper. “Uh, n-no,” he stammered, grabbing his books a little too quickly. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was like watching a completely different person. Gone was the guy who had held you close, kissed you with authority. Gone was the guy who made you forget everything when his lips were on your neck. Now, he was just a bumbling mess, avoiding your eyes, looking everywhere but at you.

“You’re so weird,” you teased lightly. “You know, I’ve been wondering… is it really the glasses, or is it the awkwardness? Which one is the real you?”

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and—was that a hint of guilt? Like he had a secret he didn’t want anyone to know.

“Never mind,” you said with a smirk, walking away from him. “Keep up the good work, loser.”

You could feel him watching you, probably frozen in place, but you didn’t care. It was almost unbelievable how different he could act when it was just the two of you alone in a room. The guy who couldn’t make it through a simple conversation in public had turned into the man who made you forget your own name when he had his hands on you.

But for now, all you could do was shake your head and laugh, marveling at how Jake was pulling off his double life—completely clueless and completely in control, all at once.

The cafeteria went silent the moment you walked past your usual table and headed straight for his.

Jake was sitting alone, as usual—tray of barely-touched food in front of him, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was trying to disappear into himself. He was hunched over his phone, earbuds in, completely unaware of the social earthquake that was about to hit.

You plopped down across from him without warning.

His head snapped up. He blinked, startled. “Wh—uh… hey?”

Conversations around you dipped, and you could feel the whispers starting. Not subtle ones either. Real, full-body turns. Eyes darting. Forks pausing mid-air. People whispering you’re joking, is that Y/N? and she’s sitting with him?

You just smiled, opening your drink like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Relax,” you said, lowering your voice and leaning forward just a little. “You’re acting like I just declared war on the entire social order.”

He pushed his glasses up and blinked a few times. “You… you don’t usually—uh, sit here.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “But today I felt like sitting with my favorite academic weapon slash secret menace.”

Jake choked on his water.

You grinned. “Also, I think I’ve figured you out.”

He swallowed hard. “F-Figured me out?”

“Yup.” You tilted your head at him, keeping your voice low and teasing. “I think your glasses are what activate your awkward personality. Like a switch. You wear them? Jake the human embodiment of a shy turtle. You take them off? Boom. Total menace.”

His ears turned pink. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual but failing completely. “They’re prescription…”

“And yet they’re also your disguise,” you smirked.

Around you, the buzz of conversation slowly picked back up. Everyone was still sneaking glances, but they were getting bored now that you weren’t making out on the table or confessing your love with a boombox overhead. One by one, people returned to their own lunches.

And that’s when he looked up at you—and really looked.

The second your audience was gone, the timid act melted off his face like it had never existed. His back straightened. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening just a little, mouth tugging into that familiar slow smirk that made your stomach flip.

“You like the glasses?” he asked, voice lower now, smooth and lazy.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden switch.

He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze steady and annoyingly smug. “You think that’s what keeps me from bending you over this table right now?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“There’s the menace,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your pulse spiked.

Jake smiled like he’d just won something. “You came to my table, remember?”

“And now I’m questioning everything.”

He laughed under his breath, picking up a fry from his tray and tossing it into his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

“Too late,” he said, chewing. “You already made your choice. Better hope no one figures out what I look like without the glasses.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you threatening me?”

He grinned. “I’m warning you.”

And just like that, he went back to sipping his water, glasses slipping again, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Back to harmless, quiet Jake.

But you knew better now.

So did he.

You were two seconds away from dragging Jake by the collar.

He sat stiffly next to you on the couch, surrounded by your friends, looking like someone who’d just been dropped into a completely foreign dimension. His hoodie was zipped all the way up to his neck, hands tucked into his sleeves, legs pressed together like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

Your friends were trying. God bless them, they were.

“So, Jake,” Yuna said, passing him a slice of pizza. “What are you majoring in again?”

Jake blinked. “Um. Bio.”

Silence.

Soojin tried to jump in. “Cool! Are you doing like, pre-med or something?”

Jake stared at the pizza in his lap like it personally offended him. “No.”

You gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. He flinched. “I, uh… I just like cells.”

More silence.

You shot him a look.

Jake gave a weak smile. “Cells are nice.”

You excused yourself to the kitchen before your soul could physically leave your body from secondhand embarrassment. Jake followed, like a lost puppy—but once the two of you were out of earshot, you whirled on him.

“Are you serious right now?”

Jake blinked innocently. “What?”

“You’re acting like a scared freshman at their first club meeting. Can you just…” You groaned, tugging him by the sleeve. “Be normal. Be you. The you that had me on my knees last weekend.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You want me to flirt with your friends?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I want you to act like you’re not a socially-anxious squirrel.”

He leaned against the counter with a little too much confidence now. “Babe, I already got what I wanted. I don’t need to charm your friends.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “If you keep acting like a brick wall, I swear to god I’m not giving you head again.”

Jake blinked.

Then he straightened.

“You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

There was a moment of silence. He stared at you like you’d just ripped the moon from the sky and thrown it in his face.

And then—he sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

You watched him walk back into the living room, a defeated slump in his shoulders. But right before he sat down again, he glanced back at you and mouthed, rude.

You just smiled sweetly.

You watched him march right back into the living room like a man on a mission. No hoodie shielding his face, no sleeves hiding his hands—Jake dropped onto the couch next to Yuna like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just been threatening to pretend he didn’t know the English language five minutes ago.

“So,” he said casually, draping one arm along the back of the couch. “Y/N tells me you guys stalked my Instagram.”

Your head snapped up.

Yuna blinked, caught. “W-What?”

Jake smirked. “Twelve followers and still managed to bag your friend. Pretty impressive, right?”

Your jaw dropped.

Soojin choked on her drink.

Yuna looked like she’d just short-circuited.

“I mean, I don’t post thirst traps or anything,” Jake continued, tone light but clearly enjoying himself. “Y/n says I should.”

You were frozen. You hadn’t even known he could talk in complete sentences around your friends, let alone roast them.

He glanced at you mid-sentence, lips twitching. “What? You said be normal.”

“This is not what I meant by normal,” you hissed under your breath.

Jake only smiled wider.

“I mean,” he said louder now, eyes gleaming, “Y/N didn’t really stand a chance. She was obsessed with me from the moment she saw me trip over a recycling bin.”

You stared at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. The duality of this man was actually insane.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, but your voice was shaking with barely contained laughter.

He leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other like he’d been doing this all his life. “I prefer ‘underrated.’”

Soojin blinked at you, stunned. “Is this the same Jake?”

“Sadly,” you deadpanned.

Jake stretched his arms overhead, smirking like he’d just won something. “Told you. Glasses on—loser. Glasses off?” He looked at you over the rim of his drink. “Problem.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Because he was right.

The conversation shifted, but Jake didn’t shrink back like he normally would. In fact, he leaned in. Tossed out a few sarcastic remarks, made a joke about the weird guy in your chem lecture, and even stole a fry off Yuna’s plate like he’d known her for years.

You sat there stunned, barely able to process the whiplash of it all.

At one point, Soojin gave you a look—eyebrows raised, lips parted like girl…—and you just blinked back, equally bewildered.

Jake caught the exchange, of course. He always did. He leaned over toward you, his voice dropping low, just for you to hear.

“Still mad at me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You didn’t look at him. “You’re skating on very thin ice.”

He chuckled softly. “You threatening me again?”

You smirked, finally glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t threaten, Jake. I warn.”

That seemed to only encourage him. “You know I love when you talk like that.”

You elbowed him under the table, but he didn’t even flinch—just grinned like the menace he was.

Eventually, your friends began packing up their things, saying goodbye, and heading out one by one. Jake stayed close beside you, still riding the high of finally breaking his “awkward loner” act in public.

As the room cleared, he bumped your shoulder lightly. “So… did I do good?”

You stared at him. “You did too good.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Jealous?”

“No,” you scoffed, gathering your stuff. “More like terrified of the monster I just unleashed.”

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, his grin never fading. “Told you. You’re the one who wanted me to be social. You made this happen.”

You paused at the doorway, giving him a long look. “You’re still not getting head tonight.”

He laughed, following close behind you. “Liar.”

God help you—he was right again.

Jake walked you back to your dorm with a bounce in his step, like he hadn’t just caused a minor social earthquake in your friend group. You kept glancing over at him, trying to find even a trace of the shy, fumbling version of him your friends had always known—but nope. Gone. Completely replaced by this smug, way-too-proud-of-himself creature strutting beside you like he’d just won an Oscar.

“You seriously said ‘bagged your friend,’” you muttered, shaking your head.

Jake shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I was being honest.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked, leaning closer so his shoulder bumped yours. “But you love me anyway.”

Your heart did a weird little skip, but you masked it with a scoff. “Mm, debatable.”

He laughed, but you could tell he noticed the way your ears flushed. Jake always noticed. Which made it all the more dangerous when he decided to push.

“You sure?” he said lowly, glancing at you sideways. “Because if I remember correctly, few nights ago you were practically begging—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Don’t you dare say that sentence out loud.”

Jake’s laughter vibrated against your palm, and he licked it just to be annoying.

“Jake!”

“What?” he said, completely unbothered, mouth curling into that damn smile again. “I’m just saying, you seemed pretty in love with me when you were—”

“I swear to god, I won’t let you cum tonight.”

He grinned. “Still wouldn’t change what happened on my desk.”

You groaned, unlocking your door and stepping inside, not even bothering to push him out. He followed like he lived there, already dropping his bag on your floor and toeing off his shoes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you muttered, tossing your jacket on the chair, “but I kinda miss socially awkward Jake.”

Jake leaned against your desk—the very one he had completely ruined you on—crossing his arms with a smug tilt of his head.

“I’ll bring him back next time we’re around your friends,” he said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

He took a slow step toward you. “And yet…”

You backed up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. Jake caged you in without touching you, just that cocky little smirk inches from your mouth.

“…you keep letting me in.”

Your breath hitched.

You hated how right he was.

He didn’t even have to touch you—just standing there, close enough to fog up your brain, was enough to make your breath catch. That same smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips like he knew. (And he did. He always did.)

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “We’re not doing anything tonight.”

Jake tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Didn’t say we were.”

“You were thinking it.”

He grinned. “Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without being accused of crimes?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Jake froze for half a second—just enough to catch it—then played it off with a shrug, looking entirely too casual. “You. My girlfriend.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, “we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, and?”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, deadpan. “We’ve had sex on your desk.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. He just kept going.

“I’ve had my tongue in you. Multiple times. You think a coffee date is gonna make it moreofficial?”

You smacked his shoulder, cheeks burning. “You’re insane.”

Jake smiled, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “You’re stuck with me now. Might as well give me the title.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands found the hem of his hoodie anyway, fingers curling there.

“This better not mean I have to start posting you on my story.”

“Oh no,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. But you’re planning it.”

Jake smirked, already way too pleased with himself. “Good. I was gonna make you fall in love with me anyway.”

It became… a problem.

First it was your friends catching you two making out in the library stacks. Then it was the quad. Then the empty art building stairwell. At one point, Yuna dramatically threatened to carry a spray bottle in her bag just to spritz you both like misbehaving cats.

You tried to tone it down. Really. But Jake had this stupid, unfair ability to get under your skin with just one look. One whisper. One brush of his hand against your lower back when no one was watching.

And then there was the incident. The one no one dared to speak about—but everyone knew.

You’d followed Jake into the men’s washroom between lectures, heart pounding, brain nowhere near your upcoming lab. One minute you were teasing him red, leaking tip with minor kitty licks, the next—A very unfortunate and traumatized TA walked in at the exact wrong time.

To this day, you’re not sure who was more horrified: you, Jake, or the TA who immediately did a full 180 and walked straight back out without a word.

Jake couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t show your face in that building for a week.

Now every time you pass that hallway, he leans in with a whisper and a smug, “Wanna relive the glory days?”

You elbow him. Hard. But your ears still burn.

Because the worst part? You absolutely do.

You hadn’t even had a chance to settle into the cozy atmosphere of a movie night with Jake, Sunghoon, and Sunoo before everything went to hell.

It was supposed to be a simple night. You, Jake, and his friends, chilling on the couch, watching some random movie Sunghoon picked out after a few too many awkward silences. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, maybe even looking forward to getting to know his friends better. You’d heard so much about them, and Sunoo had been sending you memes for weeks now, always so sweet and teasing.

But instead of a normal movie night, you ended up on Jake’s lap with your lips pressed to his, unable to hold back as he slipped his hands beneath your hoodie. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you completely forgot about the stupid film Sunghoon had started. All that mattered was the heat building between you and Jake, the sound of his breath against your mouth, the way he was slowly getting bolder, moving his lips to your neck—

And then, the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing from across the room.

You froze, eyes widening, and pulled back from Jake just as Sunghoon and Sunoo exchanged awkward glances.

“Well,” Sunghoon said, adjusting his glasses with a little too much casualness, “This is… an interesting way to start a movie night.”

You sat up quickly, heart racing. “We—uh, we weren’t—”

Sunoo cut you off with a laugh that had a slightly knowing edge to it. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. But wow, didn’t think I’d be walking in on this so soon.”

You could feel your face heating up, but Jake, the menace, only smirked, his arm still casually draped around you. “I was just showing her how comfortable the couch is. Isn’t it nice, babe?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at that, glancing between you two. “Comfortable, huh? Good to know.”

Sunoo chuckled. “I guess I’m glad we finally got a front-row seat to Jake’s ‘split personality.’” His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper, adding, “Who knew the shy, awkward guy could get so… intense.”

You looked at Jake, whose eyes were practically glowing with mischief. You knew exactly what that meant.

“I told you guys,” Jake said, sliding his fingers through your hair, his voice low and smooth. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger. Not just with the whole ‘studious boyfriend’ act.”

Sunghoon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just here for the popcorn, but whatever you guys are doing, you’re definitely ruining the vibe of the movie.”

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from your face, but Jake was entirely too smug, his hand never leaving your waist. “Movie’s overrated anyway,” he said with a wink. “Better company right here.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but somehow, you knew this was just the beginning. Jake wasn’t about to stop teasing you in front of his friends, and now they definitely knew what he was like when he wasn’t playing the quiet, shy guy.

It had been exactly one month since you and Jake made things official, and somewhere along the way, he had somehow charmed all your friends.

Yuna, especially.

What started off as teasing glances and snarky comments turned into him greeting her with “What’s up, my other girl?” in front of literally everyone—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You’d laughed the first time. Sort of.

The second time, your smile was tight.

By the third, you didn’t even look at him. Just turned around, grabbed your bag, and left without a word. The silence that followed was deafening.

He texted. Called. Showed up at your dorm with snacks, guilty puppy-dog eyes, and one of your hoodies you’d accidentally left at his place.

You didn’t budge.

Not when he spammed you with voice memos or when he got Sunoo to send you dramatic apologies on his behalf. Not even when Yuna told you that Jake had asked herhow to fix it, which was ironic in the most painful way possible.

A week passed. You were starting to miss him—his touch, his stupid jokes, the way he looked at you like you hung stars in his sky—but you were petty, and prideful, and notabout to forgive him over something as dumb as a nickname that made your stomach twist.

But Jake knew you. And Jake never lost.

The night you finally gave in, he showed up to your dorm without a word, eyes dark, hands careful. He didn’t ask if he could stay. Just got down on his knees, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and showed you how sorry he was.

You didn’t even realize your fingers were tangled in his hair, hips shaking as he flicked your clit around with his tongue, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

By the time he looked up, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, your legs were trembling and you couldn’t remember what planet you were on.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice hoarse, a little smug, but mostly sincere.

You tried to speak, failed. All you could do was blink down at him.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good. Because you’re my only girl.”

And yeah—he won. Again.

The next morning, Jake acted like nothing happened.

He was sprawled across your tiny dorm bed, hair a mess, hoodie half-off his shoulder, munching on the cereal you kept strictly for late-night study stress. Like he hadn’t just given you an out-of-body experience twelve hours ago.

You stood at the mirror brushing your hair, shooting him a look through the reflection. “You’re really just gonna sit there like you didn’t have me literally sobbing last night?”

Jake grinned around a spoonful of cereal. “I figured you forgave me when you couldn’t feel your legs after.”

You tossed a hair tie at him. He dodged, laughing.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call you a cab,” you said, turning back around.

“I am lucky,” he said, voice lower now, more serious, “but not just for that.”

You paused. Met his eyes.

Jake set the bowl aside and stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, voice soft. “I’m sorry for the Yuna thing. I thought I was being funny. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”

You didn’t respond right away. He held you tighter.

“You know I only want you, right?”

You nodded, finally. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’m your idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him anyway, the tension finally melting.

Later that day, Yuna raised an eyebrow as you walked into the café together, hand-in-hand with Jake.

“Back from the dead?” she teased.

Jake smirked. “Had to perform a little resurrection.”

You buried your face in your drink. Yuna just laughed.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me it was head.”

Jake shot her a look. “Mind-blowing head.”

You choked.

“Please stop speaking,” you begged.

Jake just kissed your cheek and pulled you closer.

You really were doomed.

You’d completely forgotten your parents were in town until you got the text while Jake was still whispering absolute filth into your ear in the café line.

[Mom]: Just landed. So excited to see you, sweetie! Brunch tomorrow? Bring your boyfriend!

You choked on your iced americano so violently Jake had to pat your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, smirking like he already knew it wasn’t.

You turned your phone around to show him the message.

He blinked. “Wait. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Like—your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jake. My parents. Brunch. You. Me. And them.”

He stared at you for a full three seconds, then grinned. “I’ve already got the button-up shirt in mind.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“I’m amazing with parents.”

“You’re amazing at pretending to be someone’s quiet, innocent boyfriend. That’s not the same.”

Jake leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll love me.”

“You’re gonna wear your glasses, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Act like you’ve never touched me.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll act like I don’t even know what a woman is.”

You snorted, already stressed. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Nah. I’m gonna charm them. Just like I charmed you.”

You turned to give him a look. “You charmed me by blowing my back out in a library storage room, Jake.”

“Exactly,” he said, way too proud.

You groaned.

Tomorrow could not come fast—or end—soon enough.

The next morning, Jake showed up ten minutes early to your dorm, looking like he’d walked straight out of a K-drama.

Crisp white button-up, hair brushed neatly off his forehead, his glasses perfectly in place—he even brought your mom’s favorite pastries, like he’d been studying your family’s group chat for weeks.

“You look…” You blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down his outfit. “So well-behaved.”

Jake smirked, tucking the pastry box under one arm and reaching for your hand. “Don’t worry. I left the demon version of me in your sheets.”

You nearly tripped on the way out the door.

Your parents were already waiting at the little brunch spot downtown, and as soon as your mom saw you, she lit up—then caught sight of Jake behind you and blinked like she was seeing a puppy dressed in a tuxedo.

“This is Jake?” she asked, already halfway through hugging him. “You’re even cuter than she said!”

Jake laughed, soft and shy, adjusting his glasses. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s really nice to meet you.”

You sat stiffly across from them, fully prepared for the absolute chaos that was surely coming, but Jake? He played the role like he’d been training for it all his life.

He complimented your mom’s earrings. Asked your dad smart, boring questions about work. Even waited until you were done speaking before cutting into his food.

It was unsettling.

“Jake’s in my organic chem lecture,” you said at one point, trying to keep the conversation neutral.

“Oh, is he any good?” your dad asked.

Jake smiled bashfully. “She usually tutors me, actually. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to chemistry.”

You almost choked on your orange juice.

Your mom beamed. “I love that. I always told her she’d be such a good teacher.”

Jake nodded sincerely, resting his hand on your knee under the table, subtle and grounding. “She’s been teaching me a lot.”

Your stomach flipped for a very different reason.

By the end of brunch, your mom was begging him to come over for dinner “next time we visit,” and your dad gave him a shoulder pat like he’d just been accepted into the family.

As soon as you were out of earshot, walking back toward campus, you smacked his arm. “You manipulative little bitch!”

Jake grinned, holding up the box of leftover pastries like a trophy. “They love me.”

“You were lying through your teeth!”

Jake shrugged. “It’s not lying if I really do think you’re amazing at teaching me things. Like patience. Self-control.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping in close, voice low in your ear, “your mom just called me boyfriend material.”

You shoved him. “You are never seeing my parents again.”

“Sure, baby. You tell yourself that.”

And yeah, fine—he was boyfriend material. Just not the kind your parents had any idea about.

That night, you laid in bed scrolling through your messages while Jake sat cross-legged at the foot, shamelessly eating the last of the leftover pastries your mom had insisted he take.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Mom]: He’s adorable. Polite, smart, and that accent?? Keeper.

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body.

Jake leaned over your shoulder. “What’d she say now?”

You turned the screen toward him. He read it, then bit into a croissant like he’d just won a championship.

“I am polite. And smart. And my voice is sexy, apparently.”

You deadpanned. “You’re a literal demon. With glasses.”

Jake leaned down and nuzzled against your neck with the fakest innocence he could muster. “You weren’t saying that when I was—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “No. My mom said ‘keeper.’ Don’t make me reevaluate.”

He laughed into your palm, biting it lightly before you yanked it back. He flopped onto the bed beside you, stretching out with a satisfied sigh like he’d just wrapped up a performance of a lifetime.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Winning over your friends, seducing your parents…”

“Manipulating the entire population,” you muttered.

Jake turned his head, smirking. “But only for you.”

You tried not to melt. You really did. But then he pulled you down beside him, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warm curve of his body.

“You know,” he whispered, voice dropping back into that cocky, devastating register, “your parents think I’m this sweet, respectful, glasses-wearing boyfriend who can’t even pass chem without your help.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “And they’ll never know what their daughter sounds like when she’s underneath me, begging.”

You slapped his chest with a muffled laugh, face buried in his shirt. “You’re the worst.”

Jake just grinned against your temple.

“I’m yours.”

The next morning, Jake was already pulling on his hoodie, his bags—stuffed with random clothes, books, and a few things that had slowly found their way into your dorm—strewn across your floor.

You sat up in bed, the lingering warmth of his body beside you still making your heart flutter. It had become a regular thing now—Jake staying over, bringing more of his things each time, settling into a routine that felt strangely comfortable. It was a mixture of affection and chaos, and you loved every minute of it.

“You should’ve just left your stuff here last night,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Could’ve saved us the trouble.”

Jake smirked, looking up from rummaging through his backpack. “Don’t want to seem too comfortable too soon, babe. You know, I’ve still got that mysterious ‘bad boy’ act to keep up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what you’re going for.”

He shot you a wink, tossing a hoodie at you. “Anyway, can’t let the world see the ‘good boy’ too much, can I?”

He was back to his cocky self, the guy who showed up to school acting like the confident, teasing Jake you had come to know, and honestly, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he flipped between his personas.

You both left the dorm and started the walk to campus, his hand in yours, the usual mix of comfortable silence and random teasing that filled your daily routines.

Just as you were about to walk up the steps to your building, Jake, always the graceful disaster, tripped on the stairs and sent his coffee flying across the sidewalk.

“Are you serious?” you asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jake stood there for a second, coffee splattered all over his hoodie and the ground beneath him, looking utterly stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Every time. I swear to god, you’re like a walking disaster.”

Jake turned to you, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “I meant to do that. Just making sure everyone’s paying attention.”

“Yeah, you definitely got their attention, Jake,” you teased. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone saw your epic performance.”

He shot you a grin, wiping at his clothes like it would make a difference. “I’m not a loser. I’m just… trying to get a reaction.”

“And you definitely got one,” you snorted, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Even though he tried to play it off as cool, the truth was, you were starting to see a side of Jake that was a little more… normal than you first expected.

And as ridiculous as the whole thing was, there was something about it—the balance of confident teasing and hilarious clumsiness—that felt right.

At least, for you and him, it did.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You gonna be okay, or do I need to get you another one before you wither away in front of me?”

Jake groaned dramatically. “I needed that caffeine. My whole personality relies on it.”

You laughed as you pushed open the lecture hall doors. “Your personality is currently soaked into your hoodie.”

Unfortunately for Jake, your shared class had already started to fill up. A few people looked up as you both walked in—him with wet coffee splatter down his front, you trying not to laugh loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Is that Jake Sim?” someone whispered behind you.

You heard a snort. “Why does he look like someone’s intern who just got fired?”

Jake sat down beside you with a huff, dropping his bag and whispering, “This is the most humbling morning of my life.”

You rached over, wiped a little splatter off his sleeve, and leaned close. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “Wait. You think I’m cute even like this?”

You grinned. “I think you’re cute especially like this.”

Jake slumped in his chair, defeated but amused. “I’m literally a walking split personality. Demon boyfriend at night, clumsy nerd by morning. This isn’t sustainable.”

“You say that like I’m not completely obsessed with both versions.”

He paused, looking at you with that soft, wide-eyed gaze he got when you caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” he said, quieter this time.

You nodded, bumping your knee against his. “Yeah.”

Jake smiled down at his ruined coffee cup.

“Still not over the fact I tripped in front of like thirty people though,” he muttered, and you snorted so loud the row in front of you turned around.

At least now, everyone knew—Jake Sim might’ve been a quiet loser to the rest of the campus, but to you?

He was everything.

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize

[eden031]

First meetings

Pairing: Jack Abbot x female! intern! reader

Warnings: cursing, sexual content is described (not explicit), one night stand, medical inaccuracies, Jack Abbot being soft (I guess), mentions of vomiting (I promise no one is pregnant)

!MDNI 18+ content!

Summary: Meeting Jack Abbot twice for the first time was not on her bucket list, especially not after how their unoffical first meeting ended.

A/N: Heyy so, this was something else I wanted to write for Abbot. I am currently thinking about writing a second part for this, but I am not sure yet. I think it would be interesting, depending on how this is recieved I might write a second part :) Also the first part of this fic is more like looking back at the events that took place, again Jack might be a bit ooc, so please forgive me

She had met Jack Abbot in a bar for the very first time. It was one of those dimly lit, smelling like beer and wood, kind of bar, the kind of bar that served cheap drinks and was frequented by people that wanted to get drunk and have a good time. Just having finished med school, still waiting until her residency program would start. Her friends had wanted to celebrate, she had wanted to as well, there was a reason to after all. It had taken some convincing, especially since her friends had been rather insistent on an outfit she would never have chosen for herself.

Spotting the older man from across the bar had almost been like a moment of total clearness, like someone had flipped a switch in her mind. The wavy, salt and pepper hair, the beautiful features, the man had caught her attention without even trying. He had been staring into his glass, like he was miles away in a completely different plane of reality, maybe that was what had drawn her to him, or maybe it was that this man looked like he had stepped straight out of a painting.

Putting on her best smile she had sauntered over to him, trying to appear as confident as possible. As she did that she internally thanked her friends for the beautiful outfit she was now in. She bought him a drink before she even introduced herself, that had earned her a raised brow at first, then a slight smile. He had told her his name, his first name only back then. The first thing he had asked her then was how old she was. She had told him the truth, twenty six, he had been uncertain, but the moment she started chattering about the beauty of devotion to one‘s beliefs he seemed to have leaned back and given her a chance. Talking for hours with him she felt like something clicked between them, something was extremely right when they talked. At some point his hand had found her thigh, they began facing each other and their conversation flowed on. She felt guilty about having abandoned her friends, but the moment she glanced back towards where they were sitting one of them gave her a thumbs up. All of them looked in her direction and the thumbs up and happy smiles only grew more and more in the group.

The talking for almost four hours had landed her at his place, a hot mouth on hers before the door was even closed properly. None of the surfaces of his apartment had been left unused, except for the kitchen counter, though she had gotten that more than she probably should. At the end of the night her legs were shaking violently and the warm blanket wrapped around her, the warmth of him more comforting than it probably should be. For a man his age, she had joked while they laid in bed together after many rounds of very good sex, he had an impressive stamina. After that comment he had snorted and eaten her out like a man starved. Laying there with him she had looked at him, his face looked more relaxed then, his eyes on her face as she gently brushed his cheek with her knuckles.

“I wish I could freeze this moment in time,” she had whispered and he had smiled at that, simply kissing her, though he had never returned the sentiment verbally, but she had felt it through the kiss.

The next morning they had eaten breakfast together, it was nothing fancy, just some toast and cheese, but it had felt just right as they drank from his old beaten up coffee mugs, while chatting about this and that. She had given him her number and left around noon that day, the tension between them still crackling like it had the night before. Not sure if she should expect a call or not and if she should just move on with her life as she arrived at her own apartment.

——————————-

The dark blue scrubs hung loosely on her body, the elastic in the pants keeping them from falling, the only things that were keeping her from going insane over the fabric were the compression socks and the thermo undershift she was wearing. A stethoscope wrapped around her neck she stepped into the ED of the PTMC. It was busy, people running around, the voices of patients filling the room with a mixture of low groans and moans, but also light giggles from medication, staff was standing together, chattering away as she moved across the room.

This was her first day of residency, well her official first day of residency would have been last week, but she had been throwing up the entire weekend, as well as in the entirety of the day of her official first day, so she had called the admin staff and called in sick. The worst thing about that being that that day had been the day of the Pitt Fest shooting, she had felt guilty, but then decided that feeling guilty would not get her anywhere and her having to vomit constantly wouldn‘t have been helpful in any case.

As she walked towards the nurses‘ desk she saw an older man standing in front of a computer, hunched over slightly, black framed glasses resting on his nose, a dark hoodie thrown over his scrubs, he looked weirdly familiar, but she couldn‘t place his face. His dark hair was styled upwards and the beard had some white hairs in it, though the wrinkles around his eyes were deep, he looked about six or so years older than Jack, she shook her head, she had to stop thinking about him, it had almost been a month since she had seen him.

„Excuse me?“ she asked carefully, stepping towards him, not wanting to startle the man. He looked up from the desktop, his dark eyes glimmering in the white light of the ED. “Dr. Robinavitch?” she tilted her head to the side.

“Yes, that is me,” he laughed slightly as he smiled at her. Quickly she gave him her name and his face lit up.

“Ah, yes! It is good to see you back on your feet.” he looked over at the nurse in the nurses’ station, blonde hair and she could see she had a black eye.

“Thank you,” she laughed nervously.

“So this is our charge nurse, Dana, the most important person you are going to meet today,” he looked around, seeing a group of three women and one man coming their way, he waved them towards them. Quickly she introduced herself to them. She learned that the young woman with the dark hair and clear eyes was Trinity Santos, an intern. Melissa or rather Mel King, an R2, with the most adorable smile and charming optimism. Victoria Javadi, who seemed to suffer from imposter syndrome more than anything else and such an inviting personality that it almost made her want to cry, she was an MS3. Dennis Whitaker, who looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and seemed to be a bit awkward, though it was rather endearing, an MS4.

Dr. Robinavitch or rather Dr. Robby, how he was also called, sent you along with Dr. Heather Collins for most of the day. She was a nice woman with whom she got along rather well. Since she was an R1 she still needed guidance in certain areas and was mostly supervised by someone, not all the time thought.

The day turned out to be rather eventful and gruelling in its own way, she had been spit on, shouted at, a patient had smeared poop in her hair, a worried parent had accidentally elbowed her in the stomach, the hit and run victim she had helped treat had died, a toddler that had somehow gotten the child safety cover off the outlet had put a fork in it and shocked himself was in a coma, a patient had slapped her ass as she was trying to treat his head injury, she had nearly peed her pants because she did not get the chance to go to the bathroom, Santos was incredibly annoying, another patient had asked her if she would suck him off if he paid her the right amount and the list only went on the later it was, another patient died from internal bleeding from multiple stab wounds, no chance for lunch or a drink in between cases. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was already past eight, meaning that theoretically her shift was over, but apparently things kept coming her way and all hands were needed.

From what Santos had told her, the senior attending from night shift was already there, but she had yet to see the man. Trinity had told her that he was an incredible teacher, someone that was worth working with. Since the night shift was already there she also met Dr. Ellis and Dr. Shen and their charge nurse Brigit.

As she made her way towards the nurses’ station she felt herself beginning to sway, the fact that she had not had a single sip of water since she had eaten breakfast that morning or the fact that she had not eaten anything in over twelve hours explained the dizziness. She also hadn’t sat down in the same amount of time. Stumbling slightly she felt herself loose her footing on the floor of the ED she reached out for something to hold onto while she prepared to hit the ground. She felt two strong hands on her arm and hip pulling her upright before she was able to fall, the feeling of hitting a strong chest made her breath in sharply.

Turning her head to face her saviour she practically let out a screech as she saw Jack holding her tightly.

“Holy shit!” she practically shouted. It was not because of his great reflexes nor was it because she was glad she hadn’t fallen, no that was because she was face to face with Jack again. Some faces turned their way as he supported her to get her to sit down somewhere and she did, taking a seat on one of the chairs she stared at him, with her mouth slightly agape as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She heard Princess and Perlah mutter something between them in Tagalog, knowing that it was probably the gossip mill already beginning to move. Before Jack could ask her anything Mel was already hurrying to the nurses’ station.

“Are you alright? I saw you almost falling!” Mel came over to her, looking extremely worried.

“Yeah, everything alright,” she continued staring at Jack, her mind going through all kinds of emotions going through her mind at this moment. “Just a bit dizzy,” she snapped her gaze away from Jack who let out a huff.

“Dr. King, get her something to eat and drink, if you don’t mind, then go home, your shift ended over an hour ago,” Jack spoke softly to Mel, who nodded and headed off. He looked at her for a long moment and shook his head. She could hear the discussion between Princess and Perlah intensifying, though she did not understand what they were saying.

“Dr. Jack Abbot,” he held out his hand to her, just like he had done in the bar a month ago, a shiver ran down her spine as she took it, shaking it carefully introducing herself with her full name this time as well. Suddenly it was like whiplash hit her and she knew where she had seen Dr. Robby before, she had seen him in one of the photos in Jack’s apartment.

Mel reappeared with two granola bars and a cup of water in her hand, setting it down.

“Thanks, Mel,” she smiled at the woman. “See you tomorrow,” Mel told her goodbye as well and disappeared, she knew that she still needed to pick up her sister.

“Eat, drink, go home, you need to be here at seven tomorrow,” his voice was firm, but not unkind. She snorted, defiant and angry at him, hell he could have at least told her that the one night stand was supposed to stay exactly that. She wanted to tell him to go fuck off.

“Thanks, but I will be fine,” as she got up from the chair her dizziness came back knocking the wind out of her and she swayed again, sitting back down she grumbled while opening the granola bar, practically inhaling the two bars and drinking the cup of water in one gulp.

“There happy,” she sounded more snappy than she intended and she heard one of the night shift nurses gasp slightly, that would definitely be thrown into the gossip mill.

“Yes,” Jack gave her a pointed look, the kind of look that said ‘if you do that one more time you are going to be in big trouble’. “Now, go home,”

Not letting him tell her that twice she shot out of the chair and made her way towards the lockers, the dizziness wasn’t gone completely, but the bars and the water had helped. She saw Perlah and Princess in the hallway, both of them giving her suspicious looks. This was going to be interesting.

[minh907]

Accidentally.

Sung Jinwoo x Fem!Reader.

Here is your request @sambi96

I apologize if it's not to your liking ;-; This topic is quite difficult for me….Hope you can enjoy this.

___________________________

It started out like any other normal day, or at least it should have.

You were used to being the reliable person behind the scenes, the calm and collected one when chaos ensued. After all, you were used to hunting monsters, dealing with the occasional portal malfunction, and cleaning up after Jinwoo's shadow army, so a little weirdness here and there didn't faze you.

But then, this.

Your unmistakable feeling of cool, fresh sheets wrapped around you had woken you up. But when you opened your eyes and looked down, you saw something that caused you to sit up, pounding heart.

Somewhere your chest was now gone and it was replaced with something more muscular and toned.

"Wait. What?" you muttered, your eyes glancing quickly towards the mirror. There was no mistaking it.

It was Jinwoo's face.

"NO WAY."

Your hands fly straight to your thick, dark, perfectly styled hair. You tug at it in disbelief before glancing down at your abs? Your midsection is completely different. Firm, strong muscles where you were used to softness.

Then the final bombshell hits when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You grab it, staring at the screen with wide eyes. A single text from a very familiar contact.

🖤: Arent you? In my body.

You: WHAT TF DID YOU DO JINWOO?!?!?!?

🖤: It's not me. I woke up and screamed because I have boobs now. So, thanks for that trauma.

You run your hands through your hair in frustration. "How did this-?"

The text continues.

🖤: I don't know what kind of weird dungeon magic this is, but somehow it's your fault. And I refuse to deal with it alone.

You: What did I do? I didn't sign up for this! You've somehow cursed me!

🖤: Maybe you should have thought twice before teasing me about my coffee addiction.

You roll your eyes. "That was months ago."

The next few hours passed in a frantic rush to find a solution. But no matter how much you thought, it was useless. All you knew was that Jinwoo was now in your body, and you were stuck in his.

And, of course, your first instinct was to get revenge on him. After all, Jinwoo had a pretty high tolerance for nonsense, so you could only imagine what it would be like for him in your body.

You decided to have a little fun first.

____________________________________

Jinwoo's first day in your body was bad.

He stumbled along, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar weight of your figure. The lack of his usual bulk was difficult, and he had to find a way to wear your shoes - literally - since you weren't really into bulky combat boots. He had to endure and wear heels, the kind you insisted were 'fancy' when you went out. But as soon as he took a few steps, he was cursing loudly.

"How the hell am I-ugh!" He muttered to himself, "I'm going to trip and break my neck." He moved clumsily around the house, and you could tell his discomfort. It was quite amusing, to be honest.

But you weren't done yet.

_______________________

Payback Time.

You had a plan. The first step was to invade Jinwoo's perfect life. You needed to leave your mark.

First: Glitter Bomb.

You took a small packet of glitter and carefully sprinkled it into his hair.A little here, and a little there too. By then, it would be too late, and he wouldn't notice until a while later.

"Perfect," you grinned. He was going to go crazy when he saw this.

Second: Selfie Incident.

The next step was a little more devious. You snapped a quick selfie-one strategically taken at your most playful, 'flirty' angle. You even pouted a little for the camera.

#FeelingMyself #TooHotToHandle, you posted online.

You laughed as the notifications flooded in. You don't care about the comments, it's all about Jinwoo's reaction.

___________________________

When you see him later in the day, he's texting someone about an 'urgent mission'. But then, his eyes turn to you. His face goes from calm to completely confused. He stares at his phone and then back at you.

"Why you…" He stammers "Why do you look like that?"

You look at him with intense eye contact. "What, you don't like it? This is your new look. You should try it out."

He blinks a few times, clearly at a loss for words. "This is…"

And then he understands.

Immediately, he runs his hand through your (his) hair, fingers suddenly running through each strand in a sudden panic.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!" His voice is shrill with genuine concern.

You shrug, feigning innocence. "What's wrong? I just added some glitter. Just to, you know, brighten your mood."

He groaned, running his hand through your (his) hair in frustration. "This isn't funny. I can't go out like this!"

You could barely contain your laughter as you watched him try to brush off the glitter, knowing full well that it would be stuck to you (him) for the next few days. His mild panic was more than enough to fuel your laughter.

_______________________

But then karma comes.

_________________________

You wake up the next morning, thinking everything is fine. Your body feels fine. You're back to your usual self. But then, as you're about to get out of bed, the pain in your legs hits you.

It's a nagging pain from the high heels you made him wear. You thought it was just your legs, but then the pain from your stomach and lower back kicks in. The pain gets deeper and deeper. You groan and get dressed, but the discomfort only increases.

You rush to the bathroom and stare at your reflection.

"Wait. Oh. Oh, no," you mumble under your breath.

That's when you really feel it: cramps.

"Jinwoo!" you scream internally, clutching your stomach.

Your period is here, and it's not just any regular cramps. Oh, no. The body swap seems to produce serious negative effects.

Your uterus experiences intense damage like a vehicle crashing into it.

"This isn't fair!!!!" you moan in despair. "I was just having fun yesterday. Now I'm being punished? This is no fair!"

_______________________

The instant Jinwoo showed up with his medicine pack and hot water bottles plus your favorite treats you began to understand that karma deals harsh punishments. His generous act showed that our choices always create results.

"How are you feeling?" Jinwoo's voice was filled with concern as he set the things down next to you.

You glared at him. "Don't say anything. My pain makes it impossible to use sarcasm."

He smiled sheepishly at you. "Sorry. I should have warned you. Karma is a monster, you know?"

You sighed dramatically. "Yeah. I get it now. The universe hates me."

He chuckled and took a seat next to you and started braiding your hair while producing comforting sounds as if he had done this many times before.

"Do you need anything else?" His gentle tone matched his words as he spoke to you.

You melted a bit. "You need to keep this private and don't tell anyone about it. This feels so embarrassing."

He smiled gently. "I won't tell anyone. But you know… I have a feeling this won't be the last time we swap."

You blinked at him. "Oh, no. You better not think about it."

He smiled slyly at you. "Never dreamed of it."

But you know - karma has its eye on you. And it's just waiting for the next time you upset the balance of the universe.

____________________

I was having mental breakdown and tired af

Hope everything will get better

Sorry if I take too long to do your requests

[kiwriteswords]

Something's Blooming [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN:  Requests are very much open for florist!reader <3 Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, pre-relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, flirting, Jack Hotchner, Shy!Hotch (kinda), pining!hotch, yearning!Hotch, Hotch's POV, 5+1 Summary: 5 times Aaron Hotchner visits your flower shop and the 1 time you visit Quantico.

I.

It was almost 11 p.m. when Hotch found himself driving down that side street.

He told himself it was on the way home.

It wasn’t.

But still--

After thirty-six hours straight of blood, concrete, and case files, he needed something...different. 

Something quiet. 

Something warm. 

And as he turned the corner, eyes scanning out of habit more than purpose, he saw it.

The flower shop.

Your flower shop.

Lights still on.

Even now.

He slowed at the curb. Blinked.

No one else was on the street. The windows glowed golden from the inside, soft and warm and alive in a way the rest of the world didn’t feel right now. He could make out movement--

Just a flicker. 

You, probably. 

Maybe closing up. 

Maybe still working.

Maybe completely unaware that you were the only thing in a four-block radius keeping him from drowning in the aftermath of the case he just closed.

And then he was parking.

Just a wellness check, he told himself.

He stepped out of the car, loosened his tie slightly, and approached the door, knocking lightly against the glass.

It opened before he even pulled his hand back.

You stood there barefoot, in black leggings and a paint-stained tank top with a cardigan slipping off one shoulder, surrounded by chaos: buckets of blooms, a half-finished arrangement on the counter, shears tucked behind your ear, and glitter--glitter--on your cheekbone.

And still, somehow, you looked like a daydream.

Your eyes lit up the second you saw him.

“Well, well,” you said, arms folding playfully as you leaned against the doorframe. “Didn’t expect the FBI at my door tonight. Should I be worried?”

Hotch almost smiled. “Just a…friendly check-in.”

You looked up at the clock on the wall, “At eleven o’clock?”

“I was in the area.”

You raised a brow. “Doing what, profiling the after-hours produce aisle at Trader Joe’s?”

His lips twitched.

You stepped aside. “Come on in, Agent. If you’re going to pretend this is a normal social visit, you might as well stay long enough to commit to the bit.”

He followed you in, taking in the scent of fresh lavender and eucalyptus, the low hum of music playing from somewhere in the back.

“You always work this late?” he asked, glancing at the scattered flowers, the open order book, a cup of tea gone cold on the counter.

You twirled one of the stems between your fingers. “Weddings. Receptions. One very demanding bridezilla with opinions about peony symmetry.” You looked up at him. “But it’s good work. Soulful. Messy. Honest.”

Hotch watched the way you moved--

Fluid, easy, magnetic in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been craving until he stood in front of you again. Like you were the kind of person who knew exactly who you were, and didn’t apologize for it.

“Long case?” you asked, noticing the lines around his eyes, the fatigue in his posture.

He nodded. “Long everything.”

“Yikes,” you said softly. “Want to touch a flower? It might heal your soul.”

He raised a brow.

You grinned and held out a single bloom--

White scabiosa, delicate and strange and stunning. 

“No pressure. But I highly recommend it.”

He took it without hesitation.

You looked at him for a beat--

Really looked, like you were reading something behind his eyes.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” you said, quieter now. “Even if you’re pretending you didn’t mean to.”

Hotch met your gaze, feeling that flutter of something unfamiliar and unshakable lodge itself under his ribs.

“Yeah,” he said, fingers grazing the edge of the flower. “Me too.”

You turned away then, humming as you returned to your arrangement.

And as he stood there, still holding the soft white bloom, surrounded by half-lit petals and the faint scent of jasmine in the air…

Aaron Hotchner realized he was in very real danger of falling for a free-spirited florist who wore glitter after dark and made the whole world feel softer just by existing in it.

II.

Hotch hadn’t stopped thinking about you.

Not since that late-night “wellness check.”

 Not since the scabiosa in his cup holder.

Not since you smiled at him like he was more than a man in a suit with blood on his hands.

He thought about your shop--

Warm light spilling onto the sidewalk, jazz humming faintly from the back room, your bare feet dodging rose stems like it was just another Tuesday. He thought about your laugh. Your voice. The way you said, "pretend you're not pretending."

So when Jack looked up from his math worksheet two nights later and said, “Teacher Appreciation Day is coming up--we’re supposed to bring something nice,” Hotch paused mid-sip of his coffee and said, very casually:

“What about flowers?”

Jack perked up. “Like, real ones? Not drawings?”

“Real ones,” Hotch said, already pulling out his phone. “I know a place.”

So that’s where they went the following morning before school drop off. 

Your shop looked different in morning’s daylight.

Still charming. Still cluttered with artfully organized chaos. But now it felt more alive--

Sunlight dancing through the front windows, making the dust in the air shimmer like magic. 

The door jingled as Hotch pushed it open, his hand gently resting on Jack’s shoulder as they stepped inside.

You appeared from the back, clipboard in hand, hair piled on your head in that same effortless twist, a pencil behind your ear and--of course--a tiny smear of dirt across your cheekbone.

“Back so soon?” you asked with a grin, catching sight of him. “And this time, you brought reinforcements.”

Jack looked up at you, a little wide-eyed. “Hi.”

You crouched slightly, lowering the clipboard. “Hey there. I’m guessing you’re the brains of this operation?”

Jack blinked. Then grinned. “Probably.”

You laughed--warm and bright--and extended your hand. “I’m the flower boss. But don’t worry, I’m a fun boss.”

Jack shook your hand, completely charmed.

Hotch watched the exchange with something heavy and light all at once sitting in his chest.

“So,” you said, straightening again and turning your attention back to the pair of them, “what’s the occasion? Hot FBI dad and his small, charming accomplice?”

“Teacher Appreciation Day,” Jack said. “I want to get something for Ms. Wyatt. She likes purple.”

You nodded solemnly, tapping your chin. “Purple’s a bold move. I like it. Let me show you what we’ve got.”

You beckoned them to follow you through the shop, your voice trailing behind like music.

Hotch didn’t say much at first. He watched.

Watched as you crouched beside Jack in front of a bucket of lisianthus, letting him smell them. Watched as you explained the difference between lavender and lilac with actual enthusiasm. Watched as Jack started to talk to you--really talk--and you listened like every word he said mattered.

And then Jack asked, “Do you like working with flowers?”

You tilted your head. “I do. They’re soft, but they’re not weak. Some of them grow wild and stubborn and beautiful--just how I like ‘em.”

You looked up--just for a second--and met Hotch’s eyes.

Your smile deepened.

Jack chose a small, vibrant bouquet of lavender lisianthus, white veronica, and soft mint-scented geranium leaves. You wrapped it in craft paper with a piece of twine and a tiny card, and handed it over like it was a treasure.

Jack beamed. “Ms. Wyatt’s gonna cry.”

“She better,” you said. “Or I want it back.”

As you walked them to the door, you reached out and brushed a tiny leaf from Jack’s sleeve.

“Thanks again,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “For being so kind to him.”

You shrugged one shoulder, a little mischievous. “Well, you keep showing up at my shop like some tall, broody plot twist…figured I should be nice to the supporting cast.”

You winked at Jack. “No offense.”

Jack whispered, “What’s a plot twist?”

“Ask your dad in the car,” you grinned. “It’s probably a very long answer.”

Hotch opened the door, hand resting on the small of Jack’s back, and turned back just once to look at you.

You were already heading back to the workbench, one hand reaching for a bloom, your hair bouncing slightly as you moved--

Completely yourself.

And it hit him again:

You were a wildflower.

Unruly. Gorgeous. Rooted in chaos and beauty.

And he could not, for the life of him, get you out of his head.

III.

The meeting was already dragging.

A mid-morning bureaucratic roundtable with Erin Strauss and two other higher-ups, including the Director himself, all droning on about funding optics, interdepartmental appearances, and the upcoming annual FBI charity fundraiser.

Hotch sat with his hands folded on the table, posture perfect, expression unreadable. On the inside, he was timing how long it would take to break out a window and escape.

“…It would reflect well to have full attendance from the Behavioral Analysis Unit this year,” Strauss was saying, flipping through her folder with a sigh. “High-profile. Press-worthy. Symbolic.” She couldn’t even hide the distaste for Hotch’s team, “After the year you’ve had…”

“And tasteful,” the Director added. “No nonsense. We're still recovering from that guest speaker mishap in ‘09.”

Strauss didn’t even look up from her agenda. “And someone needs to arrange centerpieces. Something understated. Professional. Neutral. Nothing weird.” She waved her hands in the air, practically rolling her eyes as if finding a florist was below her. 

She said the word with disdain, as though a rogue sunflower arrangement had personally insulted her.

One of the admin staff in the back reached for a notepad. “We can place an order with one of the vendors we used last year--”

Hotch cleared his throat.

Everyone looked at him.

Strauss blinked, looking at him over her glasses. “Yes, Agent Hotchner?”

“I’d recommend not using the vendor from last year,” he said, calm and precise. “Half the table arrangements were wilted by dinner service.”

The room blinked again.

He looked toward the Director. “If I may--I know a florist. Small business, local. She’s talented. Professional. Excellent attention to detail.”

There was a brief silence. Strauss lifted one eyebrow in that way she did when trying to find the hidden trap.

“A florist?” she repeated.

Hotch nodded. “She owns her own shop. I’ve worked with her before.”

Technically true. 

So did stopping in three times in two weeks under vague excuses.

“She’s efficient,” he added. “Creative without overcomplicating things. And reliable.”

The Director nodded thoughtfully. “Send her business info to the event planning team.”

Strauss sighed and made a note, clearly having run out of energy for caring. “Fine. As long as no one puts glitter on the tablecloths.”

Later, when Hotch was back in his office, wading through a backlog of paperwork with the lights low and his tie already loosened his desk phone rang.

Unfamiliar number.

He answered anyway. “Hotchner.”

Silence for half a beat.

Then:

“Aaron. Hotchner.”

His brow lifted. 

Your voice. 

Dramatic. Breathless. Accusatory. Entertaining.

He leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips before he could stop it. “Speaking.”

“You ambushed me.”

He blinked. “Ambushed?”

“Do you know what it’s like to have two men in suits--full-on Men in Black suits--walk into your flower shop at 10:12 a.m. on a Thursday morning and ask to speak with the proprietor?”

His smirk widened. “I might have an idea.”

“They had folders,” you went on, faux-horrified. “Clipboards. Credentials. They used the words ‘logistics’ and ‘event security’ in the same sentence. Do you know what my barista neighbor across the street thinks is happening right now? He thinks I’m laundering money. Through roses.”

Hotch chuckled, low and soft. “I’d say that’s your own fault for making illegal arrangements look so good.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

He didn’t deny it.

You exhaled loudly on the other end of the line. “Tell me the truth. Did you set me up?”

“I made a professional recommendation,” he said smoothly, eyes flicking back to the invoice he’d been signing. “What happens after that is out of my hands.”

“They said the order could be significant,” you said, your voice shifting into something almost uncertain now. “Like…dozens of centerpieces. Greenery. Floral structures. Possibly multi-room staging.”

Hotch leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the desk. “Will it be a big purchase?”

“…Yes,” you admitted. “Very. Like…I’m going to have to move things around in the walk-in cooler just to hold it all. Which, I mean, fine. I’ve been saying I’d reorganize that thing since Valentine's Day. But still.”

He could hear it--

That hint of hesitation behind your normally easy, free-spirited tone. That flicker of is this too much?

“You’ll be perfect,” he said, firm but soft.

You paused.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, voice low. Certain. “I’ve seen what you do. And I know how seriously you take it. This is a good thing. You deserve it.”

You were quiet on the other end for a second. Then:

“Damn it.”

Hotch raised a brow. “What?”

“I wanted to find a reason to be annoyed with you. You know, hold it over your head a little. But you’re being supportive and kind and--ugh--encouraging, so now I’m just grateful. And weirdly flustered.”

Hotch leaned back again, smile hidden in the way he exhaled through his nose.

“You’ll live,” he said.

“Barely.”

He picked up his pen again, still smiling. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I need a budget allowance to hide flowers with symbolic meanings that subtly insult all your supervisors.”

“You’ll have to call up the phone number they left for that one.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’m absolutely putting glitter in at least one arrangement.”

He let out a quiet, real laugh at that. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you said, your voice warm now--flirty and fond, like a grin against the receiver--“you keep coming back.”

Hotch paused.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

IV. 

The fundraiser had come and gone without him.

He’d been pulled into a case two states over--

Something fast-moving and grisly, the kind of thing that swallowed days and nights whole. Strauss hadn’t been pleased when he told her he couldn’t make the event, but he hadn’t had time to care.

The case wrapped late the night before, and by the time he made it back to D.C., there was a buzz in his inbox--

Emails floating around the Bureau, some from higher-ups, some from administrative staff, and one very surprised message from the Director himself.

“These arrangements--where did you find this florist?”

“Elegant but understated.”

Even Rossi patting him on the back, as he always heard everything through the grapevine, “Nice recommendation. Even Erin approved.” 

​​Which was a feat. A miracle, really.

Hotch hadn’t even seen them in person. But he didn’t need to. He could picture it clearly: your touch in every detail. Your precision. Your charm. Your little flourishes that somehow made even the most rigid Bureau decor look alive.

So on the drive home, exhausted and a little frayed, he found himself turning off his usual route.

And pulling up to your shop.

The bell over the door jingled softly.

It was late--not closed-late, but near it. 

Golden-hour light stretched long across the floor, casting a honeyed glow across scattered petals and buckets of green. A soft indie song played somewhere in the back, low and melodic, wrapped in the scent of eucalyptus and something faintly citrus.

You appeared from behind the workroom curtain, an empty vase in one hand and your hair pinned up messily, like you’d been too busy to care but somehow still managed to look painfully good.

The second you saw him, your lips curved up.

“Well, well. The missing man of the hour.”

Hotch stepped in, letting the door swing shut behind him. “I heard you made quite the impression.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? Did your boss weep openly at the sight of hydrangeas?”

“No reports of tears,” he said. “But there was definite approval. Which, for her, is practically euphoric praise.”

You chuckled and walked toward the counter, setting the vase down and dusting off your hands. “So you came to confirm the rumors in person?”

“I came,” he said, slow and measured, “to thank you.”

Your smile softened--

Just a little. 

“Well, that’s very gentlemanly of you.”

He stepped closer to the counter.

You leaned against it.

The space between you crackled with something unsaid--

Something that had been brewing for weeks now, layered in between teasing glances and “accidental” run-ins, masked by professionalism and distance and goddamn restraint.

“I missed seeing them,” he said, voice quiet now. “The flowers. What you created.”

You tilted your head. “You came all this way after a case…to see my leftovers?”

“I came,” he said again, eyes fixed on yours, “because I wanted to see you.”

That stopped you.

For a second, your cool, breezy exterior faltered. Not in a panicked way. Not in fear. Just…surprise.

Something warm slid behind your ribs.

“You could’ve just called,” you offered, voice teasing--

But not deflecting.

“I thought about it.”

“And?”

He gave a small, amused breath. “Didn’t feel like enough.”

You leaned forward slightly on your elbows, your bracelets clinking softly against the wood. “You always this charming when you’re sleep-deprived?”

“Only when I’m talking to someone who makes Bureau directors write glowing reviews.”

You grinned. “So you’re here to woo me with flattery.”

“No,” he said simply. “I’m here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

There. 

A card on the table.

You blinked, lips parting.

Hotch didn’t move any closer. He didn’t have to.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, his tone lower now, more deliberate. “But there’s something about you.”

You exhaled, slow. “Dangerous words from a man who deals with unsub psychology.”

“And yet,” he said, mirroring your words from before, “I keep coming back.”

You laughed softly, but your voice dropped too. “Yeah. Me too.”

And there it ws.

A beat.

A stretch of quiet.

Neither of you moved to close the gap--

But you didn’t have to.

It pulsed between you, just enough to make your fingers twitch, and you heart race and your breath catch in a way that said: not tonight…but soon.

“I should close up,” you said, voice gentle.

Hotch nodded, eyes lingering. “I should let you.”

But neither of you moved right away.

He looked at you like he was memorizing something.

And when he turned to leave, you called out behind him, light but deliberate:

“Next time, don’t wait for a Bureau-level excuse.”

He paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

“I won’t.”

V.

It wasn’t anything official.

At first.

Hotch had just…stopped by once after work. 

No excuse, no case. 

Just that same warm shop light pulling him in off the street and the way your voice lifted ever so slightly when you saw him.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Sometimes at night--

When your hair was messier, your apron slung loose, music playing faintly in the background. He'd lean against the counter, coffee in hand, and listen to you talk about blooms like they were people, alive and moody and magical. Or your customers like they were long-lost friends in the story of your life. All of these colors that made up you.

Sometimes, it was early.

Just after opening.

He’d bring coffee--

Your coffee, specifically. 

Nonfat milk, one pump of mocha, a touch of cinnamon. He’d noticed it once, scribbled on the side of a cup near your register. Ordered it without asking.

He never stayed long in the morning. Just long enough for you to tease him about his tie or the furrow in his brow or how unnaturally good he looked in a suit before 8 a.m.

And every time he left, you’d call after him, voice flirty and sing-song:

“Thanks for the caffeine, Agent. Come back when you miss me.”

He always did.

Three weeks into this…whatever it was, he thought he was subtle.

Until the evening that Rossi caught him in the Quantico parking garage.

Hotch had just slid behind the wheel, engine rumbling when he saw Rossi standing at the edge of the exit lane, arms folded across his chest.

Hotch narrowed his eyes.

Rossi raised a brow. “You do know your house is to the right, yeah?”

Hotch blinked. “What?”

“At the light,” Rossi said, stepping closer. “You keep turning left.”

Hotch stared. “You’re tracking my turns?”

“I’m a profiler,” Rossi said with a shrug. “I notice patterns. You’ve been turning left out of the Bureau at the same time nearly every night for the past couple of weeks.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, just slightly. “Maybe I’m taking a different route.”

“You’re not,” Rossi said, far too casually. “You’re making a detour.”

Hotch didn’t respond.

Rossi’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a second. Left puts you on 608. Which goes right through Old Town. Which means--”

Hotch turned away, reaching for his sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” Rossi said, the realization hitting him like a freight train. “It’s the florist.”

Hotch said nothing.

“You’ve been visiting the florist.”

Hotch sipped his coffee. Slowly. “She makes good coffee.”

“She doesn’t make the coffee, Aaron.”

Silence.

Silence.

Rossi’s grin widened, wolfish and deeply entertained.

“This whole time, I thought you were being cryptic about a new case, but no. You’ve been...what? Casually haunting her flower shop like a silent romantic ghost?”

Hotch glanced at him flatly. “Are you done?”

“Not even close. What’s her name? No--don’t tell me. Let me guess. Something stunning. Unique. One of those names that belongs in a book.”

Hotch rolled his eyes and pulled out of the parking space.

Rossi watched the car ease toward the exit, windows down.

“She’s got you bad, Hotch!” he called after him. “Next thing I know, you’ll be showing up in a boutonnière!”

Hotch didn’t even flinch.

Just turned left.

Again.

+1

Hotch didn’t expect you to stroll into Quantico like you owned the place.

But you did.

He was halfway through reviewing a case file, pen tapping absently against the margin, when a knock sounded once against his office door--

And then it opened before he could answer.

And there you were.

Waltzing in like you’d done it a hundred times, clipboard in one hand, sunglasses perched on your head, a little smudge of pollen on your forearm, and that same damn smile that always made his thoughts scatter.

You looked at him like he was exactly the person you’d come to find.

His brow lifted, slow and deliberate. “You know most people wait for permission.”

You shrugged, leaning against the inside of the door with a grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He stood, a mix of amusement and surprise tugging at his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“Apparently,” you said, glancing around his office like you were appraising it, “I’m the Bureau’s favorite florist now.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes. I’m doing weekly arrangements for half your departments. Including your very charming, very…emotionally distant boss.”

Hotch huffed under his breath. “Strauss.”

“Mmhmm.” You wandered further in, crossing the room like you owned the air between you. “I walked past her office earlier. She nodded at me. It was almost a smile. I think that counts as federal-level affection.”

Hotch gave the faintest smile. “She is rather fond of a well-composed bouquet.”

You tilted your head. “Or maybe she’s just jealous of my access to her most brooding agent.”

That earned a pause.

Hotch stared at you for half a second too long.

And then, “You came all the way up here just to flirt?”

“Oh, Agent,” you purred, tapping your fingers on the edge of his desk. “If I made a stop every time I wanted to flirt with you, I’d need a badge.”

Hotch stepped around the desk slowly, leaning his hand on the edge near yours.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, voice low.

You smiled wider. “And yet…you’re not asking me to leave.”

He said nothing.

Didn’t move.

Just let the air thicken, let the pause stretch between you.

The tension pulsed like electricity.

“You planning on behaving today?” he asked quietly.

You leaned in just slightly. “What gave you the impression that I ever behave?”

He exhaled through his nose--

One of those barely held-in laughs.

You glanced down at the file on his desk. “Is this one of those murder-y cases, or are you free for coffee?”

“I have ten minutes,” he said, voice raspier now.

“Perfect,” you said, already spinning on your heel. “Meet me in the lobby. I’ll buy. FBI discount, you know. One wink at the front desk, and they practically roll out a red carpet.”

“Of course they do,” he murmured as you reached the door.

You paused before leaving, glancing over your shoulder.

“Oh--and Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

You let your eyes rake over him with unmistakable heat. “This whole authority figure, stern jaw, badge and brooding thing? Works waaayyy too well on me.”

You were gone before he could answer.

And when he looked down, he realized you’d left a single bloom on his desk--

A blush-pink carnation tucked beside the file.

Yearning, he remembered distantly from one of your flower lessons.

Of course.

Of course you did.

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 @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @thebestqueenoftheworld @superlegend216

[favefandomimagines]

Baby On Board (f.l)

Summary: Y/N is seven months pregnant and Frank is a nightmare

AN: I’m on a role with these Frank fics lol a request similar to this came through anonymously where there were multiple kiddos but I was thinking of maybe making each pregnancy its own story??? What do we think?

The ER didn’t stop—not for holidays, not for sleep, and definitely not for pregnancies.

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N knew that better than anyone.

At seven months pregnant, she still had her badge clipped to her scrub top, and stethoscope around her neck like she was still on month one.

The only real sign of slowing down came in the form of a tiny foot kicking her ribs every few hours, and the way her husband, Dr. Frank Langdon, treated her like she was wrapped in glass.

“Okay, tell me you’ve eaten something,” Frank said, appearing beside her at the nurse’s station. He had a sixth sense when it came to her whereabouts. He’d sniff her out like a bloodhound when he thought she’d gone too long without food or a break.

She gave him a tired smile, holding up half a granola bar like it was a gourmet meal. “I’m pacing myself.”

Frank squinted at it like it offended him. “That’s bird food. You need protein.”

“Frank, I’m fine.”

“You’re growing an entire person. ‘Fine’ is not good enough.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed her a container of sliced apples and peanut butter. “From the cafeteria. It’s not garbage, I checked.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you married me anyway,” he grinned.

Y/N took a bite despite herself. “Only because you told me I had the best laparoscopic technique you’d ever seen.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dipping. “It was a sexy suture job. Changed my life.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. Frank Langdon was a walking contradiction—brilliant and serious when it came to medicine, but a complete puddle around her.

Ever since they’d found out about the baby, he’d been obsessed. With ultrasounds. With vitamins. With keeping her off anything remotely resembling a stressful case.

“You promised you’d only take consults today,” he reminded her, brushing a hand over the swell of her stomach. “No trauma. No GSWs. No knifed bar brawlers. Baby Langdon doesn’t need to hear screams yet.”

“Frank,” she said with a warning look.

“Y/N,” he said back, smiling but not backing down. “Let me be annoying. It’s my love language.”

By midafternoon, the ER was humming like it always did—a steady, chaotic rhythm of stretchers rolling, pages beeping, and voices shouting. Y/N had been reviewing a consult for a gallbladder patient when the overhead pager crackled to life.

“GSW incoming, ETA four minutes.”

The attending was in surgery. Frank was in another trauma bay. The only other senior resident was handling an incoming stroke in CT.

Which meant Y/N was the only one left.

She stood up instinctively, even as a nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Dr. Y/L/N, should I page someone else?”

“There’s no one else,” she said, already reaching for a gown and gloves. “Page the OR. Let them know we might need a room fast.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I’ve got it.”

The trauma bay exploded into motion the second the paramedics wheeled him in.

“Thirty-five-year-old male, GSW to the left abdomen, hypotensive in the field, unresponsive to fluids. GCS 9.”

Y/N was already in position. “Let’s go. Two large-bore IVs, type and cross, hang O-neg now. Get the FAST scan ready.”

The team scrambled. She barked orders while the tech applied the ultrasound probe to the man’s abdomen. Blood everywhere. Vitals crashing.

“He’s bleeding out,” someone said.

“Get me a thoracotomy tray,” Y/N called, pushing harder on the man’s belly. “We’re opening him up here if we have to.”

Her belly pressed into the stretcher as she leaned closer, hands slick with blood, the baby inside her shifting as if aware of the chaos around them.

“Pressure’s bottoming out—”

“He’s tamponading,” Y/N said. “OR now. We need to move.”

They barely stabilized him with a rapid transfusion before wheeling him up. Her gown was soaked in blood. She stripped it off as they rolled the patient away, rubbing at a red streak on her gown as she stepped out of Trauma 3.

And ran straight into Frank.

“Y/N!”

His voice was like a whip crack. She looked up just in time to see him sprinting down the hallway, his eyes wide with panic.

“What the hell happened? Why are you covered in blood? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding up her hands, even as he reached out and started patting her down like he was checking for wounds. “Frank, I’m fine. It’s not mine.”

“You weren’t supposed to take any trauma calls!”

“There was no one else, Frank.”

He stared at her, face pale, then looked down at the stain on her trauma gown, the crimson gloves in her hand, and the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“You’re seven months pregnant. You can’t be in there opening chests—”

“I didn’t open his chest. I stabilized him. Got him to the OR. The patient’s alive, Frank.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. For a second, he just looked at her—at the way she was standing tall, composed, despite the blood and exhaustion.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

She softened as she took the gown and gloves off. “I know.”

“I thought—” he stopped, swallowing hard. “I thought something happened. That someone didn’t notice you were pregnant and shoved you into a wall or—”

She stepped forward and touched his arm. “I’m still capable. Pregnancy didn’t erase my training.”

Frank pulled her into his arms anyway, holding her like he needed to convince himself she was real.

“You’re not a porcelain doll,” he mumbled into her hair. “I know that. But I—God, I just want you both safe.”

“I am safe,” she murmured. “Because I’m trained. Because I trust my judgment. And because I have a husband who follows me around with apples and prenatal vitamins.”

He let out a weak laugh, still holding her.

Later that night, after the trauma bay was clean and the adrenaline had drained from both of them, Frank found her in the break room. She was sitting on the couch, one hand on her stomach, eyes closed.

“You’re not gonna get away with that again, you know,” he said gently.

Y/N opened one eye. “With what?”

“Being the only senior resident and taking a GSW while seven months pregnant. I’m putting it in your permanent record.”

She smiled, too tired to argue. “How’s the patient?”

“Out of surgery. Stable. You saved his life.”

She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face, rubbing at her lower back.

“Come on,” Frank said, kneeling in front of her. “Turn.”

She did, and he began to rub slow, practiced circles into her back. “I’ve been reading up on prenatal massage,” he said casually. “This spot here? Supposed to relieve pressure.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“A nerd who loves you,” he murmured. “And this baby.”

The room was quiet except for the hum of the vending machine. Then she said softly, “I know I scared you. But I need you to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” he said. “I really do. But believing in you and worrying about you don’t cancel each other out.”

She leaned back into his hands. “Deal.”

Frank reached up and kissed her cheek, lips lingering slightly.

Two weeks later, she officially went on leave. But every now and then, Frank would find her standing in the ER doorway, arms crossed over her stomach, watching.

And he’d walk over, press a kiss to her temple, and whisper, “Still capable.”

And she’d whisper back, “Still protective.”

And both were absolutely true.

[camzeecorner]

𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙾 the make up

chris sat in his room for ongoing hours, laying down with his head spinning. the thoughts swarmed his mind and it frustrated him. he can’t believe he thought for one second he’d made a real friend. it angered him how he let it bother him so much, he should’ve been used to the feeling by now.

but there was something different about you, something he couldn’t explain. no matter how hard he tried to erase you from his head you always seemed to come back, it was like you were he personal drug.

he was so deep into thought he had completely ignored the continuous knocking at his door, when he finally looked up he was met with an unbothered look from his brother, matt.

“someone is at the door, i think it’s your girlfriend.” chris frowned at his words. girlfriend. it was strange to ever think he’d get there. with a slight pout and mumble chris crawled out of his bed with a huff. as he stood on his feet he hissed at the cold contact with the wooden floor.

as chris slumped his body down the stairs taking longer than necessary he could see your body turned away. he watched as you paced back and forth making his heart warm. you must’ve been worried for him, that made him feel happy.

with a soft smile on your face you watched as he approached you. he looked terrible. his eyes were puffy and he had dark circles. “hi chris.” your voice echoed. the silence was thick and uncomfortable. he couldn’t help but make no sound.

he was lost for words. he wasn’t sure if he should invite you in or not. with a small tug at his mouth he waved. “hey.” he mumbled. his voice was deep and horse, maybe he was sleeping.

“can i come in? so we can talk.” you whispered. he wanted to say yes, but he knew he shouldn’t. he stood silent avoiding your eyes, he knew what was going to happen. you’d comfort him tell him it’s okay, but he couldn’t bear the fact that you lied.

with a silent nod chris stepped to the side allowing you to enter his home. he watched as you smiled softly at him before walking into the cold home. he watched as you walked up his stairs heading towards his room. he let out a deep sigh as he hesitantly followed you.

as you both reached his room he sat on his bed softly allowing himself to sink into the soft unmade bed. “chris.. i just want to say i’m so sorry..” he heard. he blinked up at you through his eyelashes trying to process the moment. with another silent nod he kept his vision away from you.

“Can you forgive me... please? I know I lied... and I’m sorry,” you finished, your voice trembling slightly as the weight of your words hung in the air between you. You could feel your heart racing, each beat echoing the fear of rejection that clawed at your insides. The room felt heavy with tension, the silence almost suffocating, as you searched his eyes for a glimmer of understanding, a sign that they might still care.

the memories of your mistake flashed through your mind, each one a painful reminder of the trust you had shattered. You could see the hurt in his expression, a mix of confusion and disappointment that pierced your heart like a dagger. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, as you recalled the moments that led to this confrontation—the choices you made, the lies you told, and the reasons behind them.

“I never meant to hurt you,” you continued, your voice softer now, laced with sincerity. “I was scared... scared of losing you, and I thought that hiding the truth would protect us. But now, I realize that it only drove us further apart.” You felt a tear escape, trailing down your cheek, a tangible representation of the remorse that filled you. “Please, I want to make things right. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust.”

Chris took in your words, considering a second chance. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken emotions and the weight of your past mistakes. With a soft sigh, he gently grabbed your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt both comforting and reassuring. His grip was firm, yet tender, as if he was anchoring himself to the moment, afraid that the slightest slip could send everything crashing down again.

“Promise to stay by my side,” he said, his voice shallow and soft, each word laced with vulnerability. You could see the flicker of hope in his eyes, mingling with the remnants of hurt and uncertainty. In that moment, you understood the magnitude of what he was asking—not just for your presence, but for your unwavering support and commitment to rebuild the trust that had been lost.

You felt a surge of emotion swell within you, a mixture of relief and determination. This was your chance to prove that you could be the person he needed, the person who would stand by him through the storms of life. You nodded, your heart racing, and squeezed his hand gently in return, a silent promise that you were ready to fight for him.

special au tags - @maliaforstvrns @whore4mattsturniolo @thecrawlys @mattslolita @eeyoresturnz @emely9274 @cass-sturn @sturnsfavxo @st4rsturns @delilahsturniolo @oopsiedaisydeer @ikyoudreamofme @exactlygloriouscycle

reply to this post to be added to this AU’s tag list! - regular tag list too!!

this is incredibly short i’m sorry, but i needed to post something

[bratzkoo]

WGM episode 1 | dk

episode 1: the first date

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: seokmin x reader Genre: fluff Rating: PG-13 Word count: 1.6k~ Warnings/note: fluff, fake marriage, and real feelings. cursing, seokmin curses a lot in his head.

summary: WE GOT MARRIED is back. Seokmin and Y/N pairs up to shoot 10 episodes for a special. Turns out, there are more things happenings off-camera than what meets the eye.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @ateez-atiny380 , @aeerio . @vernons-wifey12 , @odevote118

requests are close, but you can just say hi! | masterlist series masterlist | previous episode | next episode

Seokmin arrived at the baseball stadium thirty minutes early, because of course he did. What else was he supposed to do? Show up on time like a normal, non-desperate person? Ha!

He paced outside the main entrance, checking his reflection in his phone camera every forty-five seconds. Is this jersey too much? Not enough? Should I have worn the home team colors instead? Why didn't I consult Minghao about this?

His phone kept buzzing with texts from the members, who had apparently formed a task force dedicated solely to his dating life:

Hoshi: FIGHTING!!! Remember everything I told you about baseball metaphors!!  

Jeonghan: If you don't hold her hand at least once, you're sleeping in the practice room for a week  

Joshua: Just be yourself. But maybe 20% less loud.  

Mingyu: I bet Wonwoo 50,000 won that you'll spill something on yourself within the first hour  

Vernon: Just breathe, hyung  

Seungkwan: I PREPARED A SONG LIST FOR ROMANTIC MOMENTS PLEASE CHECK YOUR EMAIL

Seokmin was about to text back a series of increasingly panicked emojis when he spotted her walking toward the entrance.

Oh.  

Oh no.  

She looks PRETTY pretty.

Y/N was wearing a white sundress with a denim jacket and sneakers, her hair slightly tousled by the spring breeze. Seokmin's brain immediately emptied of all thoughts except one: If I mess this up, I will never forgive myself.

He shoved his phone in his pocket, completely forgetting his members' existence. The cameras were following at a discreet distance, but for once, he wasn't thinking about them.

"Hi," he managed, desperately trying to remember how normal humans greet each other. "You look nice."

Nice? NICE? That's the best you can do? She looks like a literal angel descended from heaven to grace this sweaty baseball stadium with her presence, and you said NICE?

Y/N tucked her hair behind her ear in that way that made his heart do a weird flippy thing. "Thanks. Is this okay for baseball? I wasn't sure what to wear."

"It's perfect," he said too quickly, then remembered the gift. "Oh! I got you something."

He pulled out the team cap he'd spent forty-five minutes selecting last night, trying to find one that would look cute on her without being too small or too big or too anything. "Every fan needs one."

"Does that make us officially a couple? Matching hats?" She took it with a smile that Seokmin felt in his soul.

"That's the first step," he confirmed, slipping into his performer persona because it was either that or spontaneously combust. "Next would be matching phone cases, then matching hoodies, and eventually matching gravestones."

She laughed, and the sound made Seokmin mentally high-five himself. YOU MADE HER LAUGH. POINT FOR TEAM SEOKMIN.

"Quite the commitment trajectory," she said.

"I don't make the rules of Korean couples culture," he shrugged, feeling a tiny bit more like himself. "I just follow them religiously."

She put the cap on, adjusting it slightly. "How do I look?"

Like everything I didn't know I wanted. Like the answer to a question I hadn't thought to ask. Like someone I'm going to embarrass myself over repeatedly for the next ten episodes.

"Very sporty," he said instead, the understatement of the century. "Ready to learn about America's favorite pastime?"

"I thought that was complaining on Twitter."

Seokmin burst out laughing, genuine and unfiltered. Is she always this witty? How am I supposed to survive this?

"Second favorite, then," he managed.

---

Inside the stadium, Seokmin's chaotic energy went into overdrive. The camera crew was setting up around them, but all he could focus on was how close they were sitting. Their elbows could touch. That's practically third base, right? WAIT, BAD BASEBALL METAPHOR. Erase that thought immediately.

"So, rule number one," he began, desperate to seem knowledgeable about something, anything, "you have to eat stadium food. It's mandatory."

"Is that an official baseball rule or a Seokmin rule?" Y/N asked, eyes twinkling in a way that made his stomach do gymnastics.

"Both," he declared, committing fully to the bit. "It's in the official rulebook: 'All spectators must consume their body weight in overpriced food to maintain the economic ecosystem of professional sports.'"

"Well, we can't break the rules on our first date," she agreed solemnly.

First date. She called it a date. IT'S JUST FOR THE SHOW, SEOKMIN. GET A GRIP.

He signaled to a vendor with perhaps too much enthusiasm. "Two of everything, please."

"I was joking!" Y/N protested, laughing.

"I wasn't," he insisted. "You need the full experience."

Soon their seats were surrounded by enough food to feed the entire team. The camera zoomed in on the spread, then on Y/N's wide eyes.

"This is ridiculous," she said, but she was smiling.

"Welcome to marriage," Seokmin replied, handing her a hotdog and trying not to think about how their fingers brushed. "Sharing calories is the foundation of any good relationship."

When she took a bite and a tiny bit of ketchup appeared at the corner of her mouth, Seokmin experienced what could only be described as a gay panic, except heterosexual. He fumbled for a napkin so violently he knocked over his soda, barely catching it before it spilled everywhere.

Great. Now Mingyu was 50,000 won richer.

---

As the game began, Seokmin tried to explain the rules while simultaneously:

1. Not staring at Y/N too much

2. Not sounding like a know-it-all

3. Not accidentally touching her

4. Not spilling anything else

5. Remembering how baseball works

It was a lot.

"So the pitcher throws the ball, and the batter tries to hit it," he explained, pointing to the field. "If they hit it, they run to the bases—first, second, third, and home."

"Like a relationship," Y/N observed. "You go through different stages before coming home."

Seokmin nearly choked on his pretzel. Is she flirting? Is this what flirting feels like? I'm dying.

"Exactly," he wheezed. "Baseball is just a metaphor for love. That's why they call it America's pastime."

"What's a strike then?" she asked, leaning slightly closer to hear over the crowd noise.

THE PROXIMITY. HANDLE THE PROXIMITY.

"When you say something stupid and your partner gives you that look," he replied automatically, pantomiming a withering glare.

Y/N laughed again, and Seokmin felt like he'd just hit a home run.

The first few innings passed with Seokmin gradually relaxing, falling into an easy rhythm of explanation and banter. He was just starting to feel confident when the stadium's giant screen suddenly displayed a heart-shaped frame with "KISS CAM" blaring across the top.

And there they were, in high-definition glory.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

Y/N looked equally startled, her eyes wide as the crowd began to cheer.

"We don't have to—" Seokmin started to say, but the noise was too loud. His brain short-circuited completely, all systems failing simultaneously.

In a moment of pure panic, he yanked off his own baseball cap and placed it over his face, then leaned toward her with his face completely covered.

The crowd roared with laughter. When he peeked out from behind the cap, Y/N was doubled over, shoulders shaking with mirth.

"That," she gasped between laughs, "was the smoothest avoidance maneuver I've ever seen."

"I panicked," he admitted, ears burning hot enough to power a small city.

"It was perfect," she assured him, placing a hand briefly on his arm.

PHYSICAL CONTACT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REMAIN CALM.

His phone buzzed. Thirty new messages, all variations of keyboard smashing from the members who were undoubtedly watching the live game broadcast.

---

By the seventh-inning stretch, Seokmin had:

1. Explained the entire history of Korean baseball

2. Told three embarrassing stories about himself unprompted

3. Memorized the exact sound of Y/N's laugh

4. Developed seven new heart palpitations

5. Caught himself staring no fewer than twelve times

6. Not spilled anything else (A MIRACLE)

During the crowd wave, their hands accidentally brushed, and Seokmin felt it like an electric shock. When Y/N didn't pull away immediately, he wondered if she felt it too.

Don't read into it. It's for the cameras. It's for the show. It doesn't mean anything.

But when the home team hit a home run and everyone jumped to their feet cheering, Y/N impulsively hugged him in celebration, and for just a moment, with her arms around him and the roar of the crowd surrounding them, Seokmin forgot about the cameras completely.

---

As they walked out of the stadium after the game, Y/N still wearing the cap he'd given her, Seokmin gathered his courage.

"Did you have fun? Even though we lost?"

"Are you kidding? It was the most fun I've had in ages," she said, and he desperately wanted to believe it wasn't just for the show.

"So, for our next... episode," he began carefully, "would you be up for something I plan? Since Hoshi picked this one."

"I'd like that," she said, smiling that smile again. "Surprise me."

The production director called a wrap for the day, and the cameras finally turned off. There was a moment of awkward silence as reality reasserted itself.

"Can I walk you to your car?" Seokmin offered.

"Sure," Y/N said, falling into step beside him.

As they walked, Seokmin quietly slipped the game ticket stub into his pocket. A souvenir of something that wasn't real, but felt like it could be.

Later that night, after enduring an hour of teasing from the members about his kiss cam panic, he received a text:

Y/N: Thanks for today. I actually had a great time. You're a good teacher. :)

Seokmin smiled at his phone like an idiot for a full minute before replying:

Seokmin: Anytime. Looking forward to our next "date." Sleep well, fake wife.

As he set his phone down, he tried not to think about how much he was looking forward to episode two. Or how the word "fake" was already starting to feel like a lie.

[luvvictoria]

Ooh can I request like an love confession in the rain with angst for ghost if you haven't already the rest is upto you!

# STAY WITH ME ˎˊ˗

pairings. simon 'ghost' riley x reader

+ tags. hurt, angst, rainy confession, miscommunication, blood and injury, emotional breakdown, slow burn (?)

+ a/n. This was so fun to write ( no, it wasn't, I cried ) . Let me know if you want more, because I can absolutely continue this mess, because baby I have ideas.

+ summary. A mission gone wrong leaves you critically injured on the battlefiedl, and Simon is forced to confront the feelings he spent years in hidding. In moments of desperation, chaos, under the pouding rain and war, he confesses his love - just as he fears losing you forever.

+ support me ✰ .ᐟ buy me a coffee I Instagram

Your blood pooled beneath you in the dirt, turning the rain-soaked earth a deep, ugly red.

The rain masked the warmth draining from your body. You couldn’t even feel the wound anymore— only the tremble of your fingers, and the way your vision swam, catching on the tall, blurry figure dropping to his knees beside you.

“[name]?”

Ghost.

You let out a small, broken sound. His voice wasn’t cold this time. Wasn’t distant. It was… terrified.

You gave him a crooked smile. “Hey, L.T…”

He stared at you. And you realized it was the first time he’d really looked at you in a long, long time.

⸻

You were new.

Still figuring out where to stand, how to breathe without stepping on rank or toes. You spoke too politely, smiled too often. The Task Force didn’t know what to do with you—didn’t need you to be kind. It needed you sharp, silent, unbreakable.

And him?

Ghost was already legend. Cold-eyed, steel-spined. You heard more about his mask than his name. He moved like a shadow, spoke like a gunshot—quick, clipped, unforgiving.

But you noticed him. Of course you did.

You noticed that he never finished his reports. Always left the last few lines undone, like closure was something he didn’t believe in. You started slipping in after hours, staying behind to complete them. You memorized his patterns, his shortcuts. You never signed your name.

You noticed the way he took his tea. Black. No sugar. So bitter it burned. After debriefings, you started bringing it to him. Quietly. Without comment. Just left it beside him like an offering. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d one day offer something back.

He never said thank you. Never acknowledged you beyond the bare minimum required to function in the field.

But you told yourself he wasn’t heartless. Just… bruised in places no one was allowed to touch.

You told yourself he saw you.

Even if all he ever did was look past you.

⸻

Flashback – Eighteen months ago.

You spotted him the moment you walked into the mess hall—back straight, eyes already scanning, like the war never ended just because the guns went quiet.

“I saved you a seat,” you said, voice low, careful, like a thread pulled too tight.

You nudged your tray aside, cleared space beside you. You didn’t smile—he didn’t like that—but your eyes were hopeful.

He looked at the spot. Just for a second.

Then he turned.

Crossed the room.

Sat with his back to you. As if the idea of sitting beside you was something that needed to be rejected loudly.

Soap was watching. You caught it out of the corner of your eye—his fork frozen halfway to his mouth, expression flickering with something painfully close to pity. You laughed. Too bright, too fast.

“It’s fine,” you said, shrugging like the words didn’t leave bruises. “That’s just how he is.”

You didn’t touch your food that night. But the next day?

You saved the seat again.

And again.

And again.

Even when no one filled it. Even when the space beside you became a joke without a punchline.

Even when you started wondering if the silence meant he hated you, or worse— That you never mattered at all.

⸻

Flashback — Fourteen months ago.

It was raining.

Not the cinematic kind. Not dramatic or beautiful. Just cold, relentless, grey—the kind that sank into your bones and made everything feel heavier.

You stood outside the transport, soaked through your gear, waiting. He was the last one off the helo, helmet under his arm, mask streaked with rain.

You didn’t say anything. Just held out a towel.

He didn’t take it.

Walked past you like you were fog.

Didn’t even pause.

You stood there with the towel in your hands until your fingers went numb. Pretending you hadn’t expected more. Pretending you weren’t stupid enough to hope that maybe, this time, he’d meet you halfway.

Soap found you half an hour later in the locker room, still wet, still holding the towel.

He didn’t say anything.

He just sat beside you while you stared at the floor and whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”

⸻

Flashback — Nine months ago.

Your birthday came and went. No one on the team made a big deal of it—just a quiet cupcake from Soap, a pat on the shoulder from Price.

You didn’t expect anything. Not really.

But some foolish part of you still glanced at your bunk that night, half-expecting something. A note. A nod. Anything.

You saw him in the hallway. You smiled. Just a little.

He walked right past.

Didn’t even look.

You stood there until your throat burned.

Later that night, you opened your locker and found the tea you’d brought him three days ago—untouched, sealed tight, left there like it had never mattered. Like you had never mattered.

You sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, and cried so quietly you didn’t even make a sound.

Because that was the only gift he ever gave you: silence.

⸻

Flashback — Seven months ago.

He got hurt.

Nothing critical, but you still sprinted halfway across the base when you heard. You found him in medical, blood on his sleeve, mask askew.

He looked up. You were breathless. Shaking. Eyes wide with panic.

He stared at you.

Then looked away.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Didn’t care that you had run through hell just to check on him.

You hovered. Tried to help. Tried to stay.

But after a few minutes, he said, “I’m fine.” Two words. Flat. Final. A dismissal wrapped in indifference.

You nodded, like your heart hadn’t just cracked open in front of him.

Then you turned. Walked out of the room.

Didn’t look back.

But if you had, you would’ve seen him watching the door long after you left.

Not with guilt. Not with regret.

Just the same blank stare that always broke you.

⸻

Flashback – Six months ago.

It was past midnight. The kind of quiet that only comes after too many missions, too many names added to the classified dead.

Soap’s voice drifted through the hallway outside the barracks, low and tired, like it was a truth he’d carried too long.

“You know she’d take a bullet for you, right?”

It wasn’t loud. He wasn’t trying to make a point. He was just… tired of watching you try so hard for someone who never tried back.

Ghost didn’t respond.

Didn’t flinch.

Just stared at the wall like it had something more important to say than the people still breathing beside him.

He knew you heard. You were just out of sight, tucked behind the corner with your hands clenched so tight your nails cut into your palms.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t sleep either.

The next morning, you brought him tea. You poured it with shaking hands, steeped it the way he liked it. You waited longer than usual, just in case today was the day he’d see you.

He walked past the cup. Didn’t touch it. Didn’t touch you.

It sat there on his desk until it went cold. Just like you.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That the gesture was enough. That love didn’t have to be returned to be real.

But that night, alone in your bunk, you whispered the truth into your pillow:

“I think he’s already gone.”

And the worst part?

You still would’ve taken that bullet.

Even if he never turned around.

⸻

Now.

“I told you to stay behind,” Simon said, voice tight as his hands pressed against your side.

You laughed weakly. “You’d do the same.”

He let out a guttural sound—something between a growl and a sob. “That’s not the point—fuck, that’s not the point.”

The rain poured harder.

“Why are you here?” you whispered. “You don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice cracked. “Don’t you dare fucking say that.”

You coughed, blood on your lips. “It’s true. You never saw me. Not really.”

His hands shook. “I did. I always saw you. That’s the problem.”

You blinked slowly. The cold was creeping in now. “What?”

“I saw every goddamn thing,” he said, almost spitting the words. “Every report you stayed late to fix. Every cup of tea. Every time you tried to sit beside me. Every look you gave me when you thought I didn’t notice.”

His voice broke.

“And I pushed you away because I did notice. Because if I let myself want you, if I let myself feel anything for you— I knew it would kill me if something ever happened to you.”

He cupped your face with both hands, dirt and blood smearing your cheeks.

“And now it’s happening. You’re dying in my arms and I never told you that I—”

You closed your eyes.

“No, no—look at me. Look at me!” He shook you gently. “Don’t you dare go quiet on me.”

You forced your eyes open, barely.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The wind howled around you, but all you could hear was him.

“I love you,” he said, breaking completely. “I never stopped loving you. I just never let myself start.”

Your lips curved into the ghost of a smile.

“Took you long enough.”

And then everything went black.

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 33

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- like and rb 🤍 I KNOW yall hate me with these cliffhangers, but you know I loveeee to see y’all suffer lol.

Billie’s POV

I let her get it all out. I held her for a while, soothing her cries, trying to come up with solutions.

I pulled away from our embrace, wiping her tears away. I fixed her hair, brushing it behind her ears, the way I always used to do.

I took her hands in mine, looking into her eyes. “I want you to come with me on tour.”

She furrowed her brows, shaking her head. I knew she would say no. “I can’t, Billie.”

I nodded, “You can. I’m not leaving without you.”

She shook her head again, pulling her hands away from mine.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, do you hear me?” I raised my brows at her, my voice firm. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time.

“I can’t, I need to find another job, Billie. I still need to pay my bills somehow.” She sighed, “I wish I could.”

“You’ll work for me! I can get you a job in two seconds, Remy.”

She thought about it. She spaced out, looking through the little window by her bed, as the tree branches scratched up against it. The rain pitter-pattered on the glass, the clouds blocking the sunset from glowing into the room.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She tilted her head at me, “I don’t know…”

“Please, I want you to! I need a new photographer anyway. I know you’d get the best photos.” I begged her.

“We’ll see. Maybe just until I find another job. I’ll start applying.” She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.

I pulled her back into my chest, swaying from side to side. I smiled big, knowing she’d be safe with me, at least for the next few months.

The next few hours went by without notice. I had finally calmed her down enough to get her to take a hot shower, while I ordered some food. I took it upon myself to tidy up around her apartment and do a load of laundry, making sure she had nothing to clean for the rest of the week.

Once the food arrived, I stood in the kitchen, placing food from the to-go containers onto two plates, purposely giving her the bigger portion.

“Remy we gotta do something about it. We have to report that to HR or something.

“HR doesn’t care, Billie, HR worships the ground they walk on. They won’t care. Besides, they’ll black list me and I’ll never get a job for a company that big again.”

I sigh, not wanting to push her to do anything she isn’t comfortable doing.

“Have some food, you haven’t eaten all day.” I sat next to her, handing her a plate.

After eating, we go to her room, cozying up under the covers, like we used to do, all the time.

We binge watch our show, letting the time go by in silence. Every once in a while, I glance over at her to make sure she’s okay. Her eyes followed the screen, occasionally licking her lips to keep them moist, or yawning and curling her toes.

After some time, I notice her starting to space out, looking past the tv, completely in thought. I watch her, seeing her fingers begin to pick at each other again, her restless mind keeping her occupied.

No one in the world has ever captivated me more than her. She’s breathtaking, especially when she doesn’t know anyone’s looking. The slope of her nose, so delicately sculpted, the faint freckles splattered over its bridge. Her lashes were long, clashing with her bottom ones as she blinked.

“What’s on your mind.” I turned slightly towards her.

I admired her eyes as she shifted her gaze towards me. She bit the inside of her lip, still in a daze. I gave her a soft smile as she looked in my eyes too.

She adjusted the pillow under her neck, snapping back into reality. She shook her head softly, “I just can’t believe my life right now. I feel like I can’t catch a break. I’m so fucked.”

“No, you’re not. Remy, it’s all gonna be okay. I promise.” My voice was slow and soft, anything to keep her calm.

She sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know how I’m going to pay for all these expenses. This place, my car, I have no insurance now… I should’ve thought this through.” I could see her brain turning at a million miles per hour.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Remy. There’s no point. What’s done is done. It was for the best.” I comforted her, “I’m so proud of you. You know that?”

She blinked, tears dripping down her face again, my progress unraveling before me.

“Rem… Hey, don’t torture yourself.” I brushed her hair behind her ears again, making sure her long curtain bangs stayed put too. I missed doing that so much.

“Everything is going to be fine. I promise you, you’ll be fine. We’ll do this together, you don’t have to deal with it alone, Rem.” I assured her, knowing she’d have a hard time accepting my help.

“I don’t even think I have enough saved up for it all.” She sniffled, frustrated to be crying again.

I had finally fought off her tears and given her ibuprofen for her raging headache. I hated to see her so upset. “Look at me. Try to take a breath. Listen…”

She tried to wipe her tears, mad that they weren’t stopping.

“I’m gonna take care of whatever you can’t handle yourself. I’d take care of all of it, if you let me, but something tells me you won’t.” I wiped away her tears for her.

“Even then, I’d pay you back even if I had to work the rest of my life.” She shook her head, “It’s too much. I can’t let you do that. Especially not now. I’ve been the worse friend, Billie. I know how much I’ve hurt you. If only you knew how awful I feel, knowing I almost lost you.”

“Stop that. C’mere.” I rolled her toward me, letting her melt into my arms. “I was a shitty friend too. We’re even.” I sighed as she cried into my arms again.

I stared at the ceiling, listening to the background chatter of the television.

“I’m here for you. That’s what best friends are for.” I nuzzled her face into my neck, brushing her hair out with my hands. She threw her leg over me, like she always used to do.

“I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you so much.” She sniffled, between sobs.

“I got you, Remy, I got you. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She laid in my arms as I took my fingertips and softly scratched up and down her back, tracing little shapes into her skin, until I felt goosebumps form. I ran my fingers all the way up her spine, and down to her back dimples.

Her breathing slowed and steadied, letting me know she was asleep. I didn’t want to move, not even an inch. My heart was satisfied, finally feeling her at peace. I just wanted her to rest.

I’ll let her fall into a deep sleep, then I’ll take off and drive home, I thought.

Just 20 more minutes and I’ll leave.

I have to get home soon….

I close my eyes, and suddenly, we’re back in time. Back to a time when sleepovers were a regular occurrence. When we’d spend hours inside her room just laughing, talking, singing, doing anything at all. I felt so safe, so comfortable, so warm...

[laursdomain]

could I please request a leo valdez x gn!reader where leo comes back from a quest after like a really long time (a year or smth) and is like 'oh my gods what if they've moved on' and its like this really romantic reunited moment? based on Would You Fall In Love With Me Again from Epic?

you waited?

pairing: leo valdez x gn!reader

genre: angst & fluff

synopsis: unlike other demigods, Leo Valdez took his sweet time on quests. more particularly, its been a year since he last returned to Camp Half-Blood, his especially grueling quest taking up too much of his time. he can't help but think his partner has already moved on. he couldn't be farther from the truth.

warnings: cursing(like 1), overthinking, mentions of deaths, guilt, happy ending!!

w/c: 1.7k

a/n: ahh first leo and gn fic!! i hope you enjoy, i actually listened to the song as I read the fic over before posting haha, its about the same length :3 also this song is so leo coded; i tried making the banner as gn coded as possible, sorry if the hold handing one isnt!!

ྀིleo valdez masterlist

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

Leo Valdez took great pride in many things. In his ability to build, the fact that he has a rare quirk as a son of Hephaestus, and his determinism to take risks. Especially when those risks come to quests. Unlike other demigods, such as Percy Jackson or Jason Grace, Leo never rushed his quests. In fact, he took his time on them, wanting to make sure every little detail was set in stone and completed. 

He didn’t intend to be on a quest for a year, really. Leo tends to get sidetracked easily, he can’t help it. Maybe it’s his fatal flaw, as Annabeth calls it. Now, Leo sat atop of Festus, eager to get back to camp. His hair whips in the wind, he could use a haircut. You would have to cut it for him.

The thought of you sends a pang of emotion through Leo’s heart, and he can’t help but be excited to see you. That quickly fades the moment his overthinking nature takes over. What if they fell out of love? Leo had be gone for a year, things like that were bound to happen. 

But, Annabeth and Percy didn’t lose the love they had for each other when Hera removed all of his memories and separated them for months. But those were only months, not a year. Leo sighed in frustration, annoyed with his own burdening thoughts. He attempted to do some breathing exercises, a pathetic attempt to calm his mind—but it didn’t work. The only cure to his overwhelming mind? You. 

Leo’s heart began racing even faster as the familiar landscape of Camp Half-Blood came into view. Shit, maybe he should’ve gotten you flowers or chocolates or something considering he’s been gone for an entire year. Steam rolled out of Festus’ metal nose, his own way of telling Leo he’s not turning around. 

Festus not-so-elegently lands near Bunker 9, his usual resting spot. Leo knew you saw Festus, everyone probably did. And he knew that once he reported back to Dionysus and Chiron, he would have no choice but to face you. 

Leo sneaks into the Big House, waiting outside of Mr. D’s office as he waits for him to finish up whatever mindless game he’s playing.

“Aphrodite, if you’re listening, please help me with this,” he looked up to the sky, muttering out the words. His intentions were true, and he hoped that his friendship with Aphrodite’s daughter, Piper McLean, would grant him some favor with the goddess.

“Are you seriously praying to Aphrodite in front of my office?” Mr. D’s voice comes from behind him, gaining his attention. He sheepishly smiles at the god, not given an opportunity to explain his reasoning before he’s dragged into the room, an expectant Chiron waiting for his report. 

One gruesome hour later, Leo is finally dismissed by the two camp leaders. All he wanted to do was lay in his bed for hours, he desperately wanted a mattress after a year of sleeping on Festus. 

is it you? have my prayers been answered?

is it really you standing there, or am i dreaming once more?

You thought you were hallucinating. You thought your mind was playing tricks on you were you thought you saw the familiar shadow of the metal dragon you’ve grown to love. Alongside his creator. 

When you sought out his usual resting spot, behind Bunker 9, you nearly fell to your knees crying from the mere sight of the dragon. The only thing that stopped you was that there was no Leo in sight. You assumed he was with Dionysus and Chiron, that was the usual protocol after a demigod completes a quest.

So, you swallowed your emotions, patiently watching the Big House from a distance, waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to eventually emerge. Though, you couldn’t help the overwhelming thoughts. Had something happened to Leo? Festus wouldn’t return without his owner, no matter what…right? You’re pulled out of your thoughts when your sibling nudges you, pointing to a figure coming out of the house. Your eyes widen, the breath leaving your throat as you see him. Your Leo. 

You were sent into flight or fight mode, rushing over to him. “Leo!” Your arms wrap around his neck as he stiffens under you. After a moment, his body relaxes as his arms finally embrace you, making their way around your back. 

You took in everything about him. His arms were warm, they always were. A perk to his ability. He smelled like smoke and grease, a scent that lingers on him whenever he’s near Festus. His hair was much longer, tickling your cheeks as you hugged him. You didn’t mind the longer hair, it gave you even more of an excuse to tangle your fingers in it. And most importantly, his heart was beating, and he was here, in your arms. 

He pulls away, looking away from you. You frown at his action, cupping his cheeks with your hands as you force him to look at you. “It took you long enough.” 

“You waited?” He mutters, uncertainty laced in his voice. 

You furrow your brows, confused by his question. “Of course I waited, why wouldn’t I?” 

“It’s been a year,” he points out, as if it’s the most obvious reason. He takes in your raised brow, probably saying something like “so?” He realizes he has to be more specific, a conversation he didn’t desire to have. “The quest was…heavy.”

“Heavy? Heavy how?” You question, lowering your voice so the conversation can stay between the two of you. Though, it was fall, and most campers were not at camp. Only a couple of campers stayed, yourself included, but you two were the only ones outside. Your sibling was kind enough to go back into the cabin, giving you some privacy.

left a trail of red on every island

hurt more lives than i can count on my hands

Leo gulped, unsure how to word his sentences. “I uh, had to hurt people. A lot of people actually.” 

He watched as one side of your mouth tips down, something you always did. Whenever you did so, he always kissed that side of your mouth, making some cheesy remark that you’re too pretty to frown. 

“Were they bad people?” The question leaves your mouth, and Leo is caught off guard by the question. 

“Some.” He answers, slightly hanging his head. He hated that some of those people, those caught in the crossfire of it all, got punished for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt like a monster. 

I am not the love you knew before

“Hm,” you ring out, eyebrows furrowed as you take in his words. Leo patiently waited for your conclusion, fearing the worst. “Well, we are demigods. It happens.”

Leo snaps his head up, eyebrows furrowed. That was the last thing he expected to hear come from your mouth. “What?”

You laugh, “what?”

“It happens? Baby, I killed people. Plural, not singular.” 

“I understood that, Leo.” You respond, brushing some of his curls back.

“I’m not the same person you last saw,” he whispers, his words holding weight.

You tilt your head, analyzing him. Your finger holds up a couple strand of his hair, “messy, untamed brown hair? Check.” Your fingers go to his white shirt, lightly pinching it between your fingers, “dirty white shirt? Check.” Finally, your hands cup his jaw, “the beautiful brown eyes I fell in love with? Check. I think I would know if you weren’t the same person since I’ve last seen you, love.”

Leo hangs his head, but not in shame. Rather, in embarrassment. He felt embarrassed that he assumed all these things before even speaking to you. He couldn’t help but think the worst, it’s a bad nature he’s always had. He smiles at your words, a light blush coating his cheeks. 

“No matter what quest you go on, no matter who or what you have to eliminate to complete it, you’ll always be my Leo. Nothing can change that. I’ll always love you, and you’ll always return to me.”

“I love you, mi amor.” He whispers, pulling you closer to his body. The silent confession lays over you like a blanket, making you giddy.

“I love you too, Leo Valdez.” You smile, bringing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. 

The kiss is filled with so much love, passion, and longing. A kiss that was long overdue, a year overdue. Leo smiles into the kiss, tilting his head to kiss you deeper. Your hands slide further up his face, the tips of your fingers tangling in his hair. You let out a breathy laugh, and he takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting you after a year. Once the need for air starts to become too much, Leo leaves your mouth, placing small pecks around your mouth. First, at the ends of your mouth, then right in the middle. His kisses spread all around your face, causing you to laugh as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, and finally your forehead. 

“You’re not allowed to go on a quest for a while,” you lightly scold, but your words hold no threat.

“Trust me, I’m not planning on leaving you anytime soon.” You smile as his words, your heart melting. “Now, can you please cut my hair for me?”

“Of course, baby. Come on,” you intertwine your hands, leading the way to your cabin. Leo’s thumb rubs small circles along the front of your hand, swinging your interlocked hands back and forth as you close the small distance to your cabin. 

Leo may had been gone for a year, but nothing will ever change the love between you. He may have seen things that make him feel different, but if theres one thing that’ll never change about him—its his love for you. And sneaking into your cabin at night to cuddle with you. If Chiron doesn’t know, it didn’t happen, right?

i, i love you

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

[ashlovesfood]

Fifty Shades of Wayne.

Tags: 50 shades of grey mention, CAS mention, Bruce is horny, bondage, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, marking and kissing, grinding, cum, squirting, grool, this is insane.

50 shades of positions!(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

How about we spice things up a bit? Like, A lot.

The most damn grueling day of work in your week was today. Wednesday’s kicked you in the ass so damn much, and its not even Friday. You hate them, the fact you have to wait so slowly for Friday to come just for the weekend to be over quick. Today was worse. Your boss had put another assignment on your desk, about twenty pages full of bullshit you had to complete before the end of the day. “Yeah, sure no problem.” It took you the most self control to not just punch the shit out of- It took you about an hour for ten pages, the whole assignment making no sense. Make it worse because you CAN’T even ask your boss questions, too dumb to answer anything.

Your hand cramped, the cheap ass caffeine you ran off tasted disgusting and none of your workers helped. Maybe, it couldn’t get any worse. Around 5 or 6 you finished, could’ve gone home on time but no, the assignment couldn’t wait.

A buzzing took you back. It was Bruce, he called you. “Hello Bruce?” Your shoulder held the phone up, your hands occupied with packing up. “Baby, do you need to be picked up? Could give you some relaxation.” “Oh yes please! Thank you so much Bruce, you're a lifesaver.” The call ended shortly after as you walked down to the lobby, exiting the entrance as you saw Bruce's black Mustang. He was leaning against the side, looking around the area when he heard your footsteps. “Hi bun.” His arms wrapped around you tightly, his palms rubbing your back. You practically melted into his embrace, your face buried into his dress shirt as you inhaled his scent, minty with lemon and a subtle hint of vanilla. “You smell so yummy..” You couldn’t help it, his scent made you so warm and fuzzy.

Bruce chuckled, tapping your thighs to signal you to jump. He lifted you up like nothing, opening the passenger door to let you sit down, the door closing gently. His body slid into the driver's side, his hands grabbing the wheel. Your thighs clenched together, the sight of his hands did something to you, how gentle they could be but when you're in bed together… No, focus. A slight blush overcame your features, your cheeks and ears flaming red when you realized. Of course, Bruce caught onto this, his hand moving down to massage your thigh, his fingers spread out and took up your whole thigh. He rubbed circles with his thumb, sparking a fire inside your stomach, your cunt throbbing.

It took so long to just get home, like the car ride back was longer than usual.

“Bruce- dont, stop teasing my thigh..” You pushed his hand off, your legs moving together as he drove the car with one hand. “Sorry doll, couldn’t help how, soft, you look.” Maybe you're just a teeny little turned on…. Bruce had a raging hard on, your reaction being so damn cute he got excited. The fabric did its job concealing his dick, but the fabric was tight around his cock.

Bruce’s car parked into the garage, his hands moving fast as he made his way over to you. He pulled you out of the car and into his arms, pushing you against the side to make out with you. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse. His tongue fought yours, the clash of teeth and spit making you horny. His legs trapped you in as he grinded against you, the thin layer of fabric separating skin to skin contact. He lifted you up with one swift movement, your legs wrapping around his as he walked towards the door.

It was a mess, your clothes suddenly felt hot and you broke the kiss, ripping off your shirt to throw it behind you. Bruce was slipping, his self control was thin. “You make me so fucking hot angel..” Bruce lifted your neck, biting the unmarked flesh as he skimmed it. Your legs tightened as you whimpered, his canines leaving a mark on your pulse point. “Bruce..!” He was barely holding on, his feet making it to the bedroom.

“Close your eyes, sweets, and I’ll reward you.” You closed your eyes, leaning into the crook of his neck, your lips connecting with his neck. That was the last straw for Bruce. He threw you onto the bed, your body landing with a soft ‘oof’. “Been making me feel so damn needy these days huh? Guess I’ll have to take it out on you.” Bruce slid your pants down, your panties going with them leaving you bare. You gasped as his hands worked the clasp of your bra, freeing your boobs from confinement. He grabbed a pair of  black ropes. “You're gonna tie me up?..” New kink discovered… His hands weaved the ropes around your legs, the special material used to not hurt your skin. Your legs were bound together as he spread you out, your pussy displayed fully to his eyes.

The juices flowed down your folds and got onto your inner thighs, all for Bruce. “Be a good girl and take it, okay?” His palm pressed down onto your stomach, his thick fingers entering your pussy. It was a stretch as he scissored his fingers in your walls, grool covering his palm. Bruce finger fucked you, his fingers working you to the brim as his palm pressed down onto your stomach, the pleasure intensifying. “No! Ngh- no more..!”

Your legs were shaking, the strong urge to close them was driving you crazy as your first orgasm hit. It was bliss, like pure euphoria for your mind. “Look at you, so messy for me..” Bruce slid his fingers out, his hand spanking your pussy. You jolted, the new sensation sending waves down your stomach. So damn good that you squirted, all onto the sheets as a puddle of juice formed under your ass. Y

ou never felt the end of it, his constant finger fucking and spanking dragged numerous orgasm out of your tiny cunt. “Bruuuceee!” He stopped his torment on your cunt, his hands reaching down to free his raging cock. Maybe, you shouldn’t have been so sexy..

It was a bright cherry color, the tip twitching as a bead of pre ran down the side. His veins ran up and down like lightning strikes, the perfectly sculpted cock making you shiver. Oh, you're not going to walk after this. The tip drove into your hole, the ring of muscle opening around his dick, gummy walls warming his length. “Fuh- gonna kill me with this pussy.” You could've come right there and then, his thrusts getting deeper and faster. He was pounding you straight into the mattress, your sounds bouncing off the walls. Squelches, groans, moans, it didn’t matter because he was fucking you so good.

His tip bumped into your g-spot several times, the endless abuse on your cervix making you drown in pleasure. “Oh daddy! Mmngh harder..!!” Bruce bear hugged you, his hips snapping hard against yours making the wet ‘plap’ sound over and over. You were cumming, squirt shooting up at Bruce drenching his clothes. He rubbed your clit, dragging a few orgasms out of you before his. The thrusts got sloppier, deep as he leaned down and buried himself to the hilt, his lips kissing yours as he came. Thick, heavy ropes of fresh white cream were shot into your womb, the feeling of being full made you dizzy. Bruce took it out, his hands undoing the ropes to let your legs go. He walked to the bathroom, grabbing a wet damp towel to clean you up. “Sorry if I went rough, I could barely help myself.” “Mm.” You fell into dreamland, his soft movements as he cleaned you up made you sleepy. “Sweet dreams, bunny.”

└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

A/N didnt feel like italicizing anything and also sick ⊂•⊃_⊂•⊃ Everybody say yay for 98 followersss! :D

[nightlark100]

Alpha Pack Vs Hale Pack: Further adventures of Stiles Stilinski and Kevin the Demon Wolf 🐺

Derek: I thought Stiles was cooking tonight?

Peter: huh? Oh yes, he was supposed to. But he got kidnapped.

Derek: What?!

Isaac: Alpha pack took him

Derek: And the two of you are... waiting for a ransom demand?

Peter: We were actually waiting for Deucalion to call us begging for us to pick up our human. He'll probably be back in time for dinner but we might want to order pizzas just in case

Isaac: We have bets on how long it'll take. Boyd says it'll be max a few hours before they flee the town to get away from him.

Derek: Boyd knows too? Where is he?

Isaac: He went to the movies. He wanted to avoid Stiles tagging along, figured now was the best time.

Derek: He went to the movies while his pack mate was kidnapped

Isaac: Uh huh.

Peter: In fairness Nephew, the boy does get kidnapped at least once every few months. Even I kidnapped him!

*Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and resists the urge to bang his head against the wall*

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

*Stiles wakes handcuffed to a chair*

Stiles: Eurgh just once I'd like to wake up on a tropical vacation. Why do people keep doing this... is there some kind of yelp reviews for kidnapping victims and I'm just getting super high ratings? Ahh well... KEVIN GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, I KNOW THIS IS YOU

Deucalion: Perhaps you should remember that you are in a position of vulnerability here, Mr Stilinski, and refrain from your usual level of sass

Stiles: oh that was me being restrained. And I would hardly call this a position of vulnerability

Deucalion: You're tied to a chair in an abandoned building with five alpha werewolves

Stiles: I choose to view it as five alpha werewolves are trapped in an abandoned building with me. What is with the abandoned building obsession anyway? Like, with Derek I get it. He was being broody Mcbrooderson and needed somewhere derelict from which to glare dramatically at passersby. But you? I expected better. I mean, if you're going to commit to this whole being a villain, you need to go all in. I don't see a single mounted skull of an enemy or even a dramatic chair for you to sit in and monologue from. Hell, the only piece of furniture in here is this chair and it's... Honestly, it's kinda comfy. Hmm.

Deucalion: I-

Stiles: Oh and by the way? You really should cut your losses and try again somewhere else. Derek is never going to buy into your whole GRR I AM ALPHA HEAR ME ROAR nonsense. I mean, you guys should get an image consultant or some kind of PR cause the whole offer sucks. And I get that you're embracing the idea of 'you catch more flies with manure than honey' with the grade A bullshit you're shoveling but it's such a weak pitch. Actually, maybe you should skip the rebrand and look at why you feel the need to pretend to be a monster.

Deucalion: wh... pretend?!

Stiles: Seriously. Peter didn't lean this hard into villainy and he was, by all accounts, an asshole before he went feral. Which is actually a shame cause he would have had an awesome evil lair. Ahh well, next time, next time. Anyway I'm getting distracted. My point was, you were apparently quite chill as an alpha before everything. You wanted peace and love and rainbows and fluffy kittens. I don't know what Brawny and the chiropodists nightmare had going on but I do know no one does a complete 180 on their personality without deeper issues. And I do get that you were in a horrible position, you'd just lost your vision, quite a few pack members and one betrayed you. That's enough to mess anyone up. But you still had some pack left, you had people you cared about and you just...

Deucalion: You're not a wolf. You couldn't understand the power that comes from killing your betas.

Stiles: I know Derek is much stronger with us than without us. No magical cure all power boost needed for him, just 100% pure alpha. Wait... is that it? Jeeze... I should have realised! It's nothing to be ashamed of, it is completely natural for a man your age to feel the need to... Compensate.

Deucalion: 😳

Stiles: But you need to take your midlife crisis out of my town. It was mildly amusing at first but now you're just getting obnoxious. We have exams coming up, can't be dealing with your nonsense. Just count yourself lucky that I'm too busy studying and not booting you out myself.

*Stiles sighs and pulls his hands free of the handcuffs he'd undone while talking, getting to his feet*

Stiles: But in all seriousness, you don't need more power, you never did. What you need is therapy. Just... All the therapy. And maybe a hug.

[grimlyink-but-creative]

“Blissful Ignorance”🌷🌌