#i could be wrong about a lot of the information here

[kooqitas]

#pairing: cheater!jeonghan x reader ♡ smut [18+ mdni], pwp ♡ wc: ~1400 #synopsis: you always knew jeonghan was worthless, you just didn't expect to see him at a school parent meeting with his wife #warnings: cheating!!!!! rough sex, semi-public sex, degradation, breeding kink, spitting, slapping, humiliation, jeonghan is dom and y/n brat. wonwoo mentioned. unprotected sex. #warnings: ok, maybe i went a little over the moral line, but considering that i fantasize abt kpop idols having sex i don't think morals matter that much here… ★ m.list | inbox :D join my taglist

you knew you were fucked when he walked into that class.

yes, the guy you had been fucking without any strings attached almost daily for two weeks was at the school's parents reunion at that exact moment. the problem? you were the teacher and he was the father of one of your students... with a huge fucking ring on his finger and his WIFE by his side.

eunbin was so cute, as always, the girl with asian eyes loved you as her teacher, and made sure to show you how much her father and mother who loved each other so much were there, after going through a five-year wedding anniversary dinner last night.

you tried to be professional, you tried your best not to show how pissed you were about the whole situation, but honestly yoon jeonghan should go fuck himself!

it was the worst time of your life, a student's mother telling you how much her daughter loved you, and all you could think about was her husband cumming inside your cunt. god...

you don't know what the hell he came up with, but after the meeting was over, while you were gathering your things in your class, jeonghan appeared behind you.

"you told me you were single!" you asked, visible mad.

"well... maybe i hid some information..."

"fuck you!" you said, stupidly.

"look, it's just a... detail" he said.

one detail? seriously? you shameless son of a bitch- you wanted to tell jeonghan to go kill himself, but you took a deep breath, trying to be professional about the situation

"your wife wouldn't like to see this, you better let me go."

he chuckled, now leaning in as he placed a hand on your waist, holding you in place. 

“you are probably right, but who says that i care? do you care?”

“yes. i do!”

“really?” he laughed. his mouth on your ear now, his hands started moved over your body. “then why don’t you push me away?”

“you are married, jeonghan”

“so? my wife isn’t here, is she?” he placed a wet kiss on your neck, that make you gasped. “maybe you are enjoying this…”

“do you have a free relationship?” jeonghan didn’t answer, he just laughed again. “that’s so fucking wrong. if i knew that you are married, nothing will happened in that bar, and after… what that fuck, who owns the apartment where we had sex?”

“is mine. only mine!” he laughed.

“did she cheated you too? is it some type of revenge?”

“no” he shook his head. “i’m cheating cause i want you… so bad.” his hands start moving up your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress. “stop acting like you really care for it, you aren’t pushing me away”

“eunbin… your kid…”

“i don’t care!” he kissed your neck. “she isn’t here, is she?”

“but if she discover it..”

“then she wouldn’t have to discover it, that’s the whole point, pretty!” he kissed your neck again, a lot of wet kiss when he touched your tight.

“you are disgusting!”

“and you are a whore! so we match a lot…”

jeonghan kissed you

he kissed you in a wild way, in the naughty and delicious way that you liked so much, his tongue dominating the kiss, his hand roaming your body without any shame, his waist glued to yours making you feel his cock in his jeans, fuck, jeonghan was the devil!

“i’m gonna tell everything to your wife!”

he laughed, and grabbed your hair, forcing you to look at him.

“are you threatening me with that? really? and what will you tell her? that you are letting a married man use you as he pleases?”

you hit him in the face, hard, before spitting out the words that were in your head.

"don't treat me like a slut."

jeonghan laughed, his typical sadistic laugh, lightly caressing his cheek before turning to you again.

"but as far as i know, a woman who moans, fucks and cums for a married man is a slut!"

you wanted to resist, you wanted to hit jeonghan and expose to his wife how much of a scoundrel he was, but you did the opposite, you kissed him, kissed him as if you needed it, kissed him sitting on the table and letting him have free access to between your legs.

"you're pathetic!" you muttered as he knelt down, leaving kisses on the inside of your thigh as he lifted your skirt.

"and you're a disgusting whore! you know, we deserve each other!"

"be quick, you've already given me enough trouble for today!" you complained.

"i'm leaving on a 'business trip' on tuesday, i promise i'll fuck you properly in my apartment" he mocked, making it clear that the times he slept with you were because he made up to his wife that he was working.

but he got the message, undoing his belt and pulling your panties to the side, mocking how wet you were with the whole situation.

"what's up? my little bitch got wet watching me be a good father? do you have some kind of breed kink, huh? do you want me to cum inside you, to get you pregnant?" Jjonghan put two fingers inside you, just to make sure how wet you were, and as he imagined, you were fucking wet. "imagine how beautiful you'd look pregnant of me."

"shut up, i'd rather die than have your child!"

"you say that but you're spreading your legs for me, like a slut!" jeonghan pulled your hair hard.

"i do charity work for motherfuckers sometimes"

jeonghan spat in your face, making you laugh, you knew you had affected him and that was what you wanted.

and the next second he was inside you, fucking you as if your office door wasn't unlocked, fucking you as if his wife wasn't waiting meters away in the parking lot, fucking you as if he were a single man...

jeonghan threw your bag on the floor, laying you down on the table and fucking you even harder, holding your mouth so you wouldn't moan loudly and draw even more attention (as if the table shaking wasn't enough)

"sluts like you are only good for this, full pussy and covered mouth!"

"what's the name of that friend of yours?" you questioned, making jeonghan arch his eyebrow in confusion "ah, jeon wonwoo..."

"what's wrong with wonwoo?"

"i'm sure he'd love to help you keep my mouth quiet!"

"slut!" jeonghan growled before thrusting into you again, this time angrily, squeezing your neck and grabbing your waist. "you're mine, only mine, this pussy is my toy!"

"no, love! a slut's pussy has no owner... and you know it!"

jeonghan's eyes darkened, you had never seen him hate him, but that was exactly what he was feeling at that moment, jeonghan tightened his grip on your neck, leaning his body against yours and thrusting into you even harder.

"you're not even crazy enough to fuck with Wonwoo, i'll end his life," he growled once more.

"i'm not yours, jeonghanie," you teased him.

"you're. mine. only mine. my personal whore. my toy. my bitch. mine. mine. mine."

and you cummed.

yes, you admit it, it's pathetic to come with a married guy calling you 'mine', but you came.

"tell me you're not mine now, damn it! tell me you're not mine after you've come on my dick!"

jeonghan kept thrusting into you, but all you did was seriously tell him to stop.

he respected you, still confused by the situation.

"what's wrong? did i do something wrong? is everything okay? did i hurt you?"

"i came!" you answered simply.

"yes, i never let you not come..." you laughed, leaving him even more confused.

and then you stood up, still staggering a little, but lowering your skirt and panties, and picking up your bag from the floor.

"what are y-"

"your time with that whore here is over, jeonghan... by the way, tell wonwoo that i changed my mind and now i really want to sit on his cock."

"he... he... WHAT?"

"shit, i thought he told you that at that party at his house he tried to fuck me while you were sleeping." you laughed, knowing that you wouldn't be the only one to find out things that night. "good night, by the way... your wife pays me not to lower eunbin's grades... but i don't think she's gonna tell you about that, right... i'd have to explain to you what other secrets i keep."

and then you closed the door, leaving a confused Jeonghan.

and hard.

♡ @highvivvy, @bath1lda, @unlikelysublimekryptonite, @gyuguys, @aaa-sia

[mars-ipan]

Hi, it's me again. I decided to follow your advice and try to seek out your 'actually serious' analysis, which led me to your komahina bible, the most easy to find compilation of this supposed analysis. Here are my thoughts-

1) Overview

- Most of this 'analysis' isn't analysis but a summary/overview of the game. It's not so much a 'bible' as a children's book summary of the bible, which at that point it would be better to play the actual game itself. It's clear it was made for a presentation on the 'uninitiated' if you will, but if that's the case, you shouldn't be advertising it as the literal bible on the subject.

- When you are not regurgitating points from the game beat by beat, the screen is halfway filled with either manga panels or fanart. My gripes with manga panels are, that even though they do depict the events of the game, the way they can be depicted by the artist can be pretty subjective due to the freedom of the medium in comparison to sprites, and that the role of one character can differ depending on whose pov manga it is (chiaki vs nagito). Fan art therefore should be scrutinized even more since it fully depicts abstracted and even the fandomified version of events, leading to situations where it's either unclear what is actually happening or betrays your more shallow view of the characters (i talk abt this later.)

- When you do use pictures directly from the game it's either a possible screenshot from a memorable moment or dialog from the wiki, limited almost exclusively to the freetime events. This leads me to believe that you haven't actually played the game(there are other factors hinting towards this) or watched a Let's Play of it, but going off of merely information that's already widely known and circulating within the fandom, and easy to search on the wiki.

2) Incorrect/Questionable information

Here I'll compile a lot of information that's either plainly wrong or baffling to having come to that conclusion , leading more credence to the theory that you either haven't actually played the game or your memory of it isnt as good as you think.

-"if Nagito's plan went off of without a hitch, he would have killed anyone that was closes to him at the time" plainly wrong. Komaeda's goal from the start was to make himself the victim, so by dying this way his death could have meaning and help the others. For somebody that keeps talking about Komaeda's "Martyr complex" this is truly a weird take to have.

-"Nagito...got the nurse for sure sick" is there any proof that specifically points to Komaeda for this? I believe the takeaway should've been that Mikan got sick because she was around all of them AND she overworked herself trying to take care of them. Is this just an awkwardly phrased attempt to make more of a connection between Tsumiki and Komaeda? I don't think you needed more than the ones that already existed.

- "he helps Junko brainwash a bunch of students" Kamukura at neither point in the anime or Danganronpa 0 was ever specifically implicated in the brainwashing. He never 'helps' Junko, especially in that way. If you meant, participates in the student council killing game, you should've said that, but even then his agency and influence is limited.

-"they found the Remnants and captured them!"...no, they didn't. The Remnants presented themselves as survivors and the Foundation took them in. They handed themselves over willingly. It was a pretty big piece of the final part of the game...

3) Komaeda and Komahina

- "Nagito's habit of putting people on pedestals" Where. Sure, he certainly parrots the belief that the "Ultimates" as a unit are at the top of the food chain and should be prioritised, but its clear that doesn't exactly carry over to his classmates like teruteru, Kuzuryu and even Souda sometimes. Just because of a few positive comments refering to them as Ultimates and the trial which he literally breaks down in, this is a hard position to support.

-"Nagito manipulates Hajime into playing the game" How. He literally just told him to play it. How is that manipulation. Also, isn't it a bit unfair to put the blame on Koizumi's death to him as well? I think they were multiple factors playing into this, but sure, how else are you gonna convince people that Komaeda is a twisted fucking cyclepath that loves leading people to their deaths.

-The way that you say the Kuzuryu/Pekoyama relationship mirrors Komahina as 'I will give up my agency for you/ I just want you' is also confusing. Unless of course you mirror Peko's struggle with her agency and harmful beliefs the clan enforced on her with Komaeda's own belief system, in which case, idk man, i feel like you are giving a bit too much credit to the supposed severity of Komaeda's views and trying too hard to make Hinata the 'rational' and 'grounding' one in the relationship.

- Again, the amount of times you refer to Komaeda as a freak for doing something 'weird' or even being drawn weirdly doing it , mostly in the manga, makes me belief this isn't just an affectionate tongue in cheek joke as you claim, but an actual way in which your interpretation of Komaeda is colored.

-"it doesn't excuse his nonchalance towards tragedy and murder but explains it" what needs to be excused here exactly? Komaeda doesn't need to immediately bawl his eyes out when someone gets killed or else he's suspicious and...bad? I am confused with what you mean by this. If you mean that Komeada shouldn't be so nonchalant about murder because he's constantly trying to kill someone else, that is plainly incorrect and i explained above why.

-Posturing about Komaeda's 'black and white thinking' while in the next exact slide you show fanart of him smugly explaining he has Borderline. First, i want you to explain to me the black and white thinking in a way that isn't "oh, the friends and classmates i previously liked turned out to be fucking terrorists". I think that's a pretty justifiable situation for your thinking to go from white to black. Also, if that is enough credence to assign Komaeda BPD, you really don't know how BPD works, especially since you assigned it to the one character you constantly talk about being a freak (and also lust...pseudo lust? after).

- The insistence with Hinata not really understanding Komaeda and running away, even if he wants to understands him is pretty suspect, especially when compared to the game. Hinata is confused and overwhelmed yes, but it's not just that he wants to understand Komaeda but that he still feels fondness for him, he still follows his advice and puts his faith in him and the way he mourns him in Chapter 5 is also pretty indicative of this. It's just another part in the pattern in you making Hinata the confused, rational, 'morally pure' man that's 'tempted' by 'corrupted' manic pixie mentally ill demon Komaeda. Something tells me your priest AU isn't so much playing with dolls as much as...what you actually believe these characters dynamic is.

- The whole page where Servant is basically made into a joke about how hot and sexy and freaky he is doesn't help your point either.

-The most damning evidence of course is a drawing in the second to last slide, wherein Komaeda is supposed to be analogous to 'guy who has something wrong with him' (distorted, freak, mentally ill) and Hinata is analogous to the guy that 'is the only one that understands them' (the rational one, the relationship of understanding doesn't go both ways).

- Your slide with sources is pretty vague and unclear. Also the way that you credit "Your superior mind" before the game itself when all you've been doing is repeating and misinterpreting the plot of the game is ...ironic

So yeah, that's all I got. Feel free to 'debunk' my observations as much as you please, I just want to know if there's actual basis behind everything you just said or I should go digging for 'the actual serious analysis' yet again.

i think you forgot that fandom is meant to be fun

[pmpknsoup]

my possible island list, btw:

• costa rica

—> reasoning: has black beaches in guanacaste and limón due to volcanic activity, has a warm climate, and grows malanga

• panama

—> reasoning: same as above

• puerto rico

—> reasoning: same as above

• new zealand

—> reasoning: ocean based culture, would have easy access to boats, reasonably warm climate, grows malanga, has black beaches

• guadalupe

—> reasoning: offshoot of france + makes sense geographically (though the layout of the other countries doesnt seem to be real life accurate, so this point is null)

• georgia

—> reasoning: same as costa rica, sans malanga (i think, im having trouble finding information because of the u.s state of the same name)

• cuba (one of my personal favs)

—> reasoning: this is where malanga fritters themself come from!! theres black beaches (la playa bibijagua), and it's mountainous

• the philippines

—> reasoning: same as cuba

• malaysia

—> reasoning: same as above

• indonesia

—> reasoning: same as above

honorable mentions:

• guatemala

• el salvador

• iceland (i believe this was confirmed as not it by the dev)

• greece (same as iceland)

• portugal

• spain

• cyprus

[eisthenameofme]

i wonder if there's the potential for a solution to the doxxing fucking over marginalized people specifically thing and/or the some people only being able/knowing where to engage with community online thing if we we were able to like. weaponize the relative lack of actual anonymity in the opposite direction.

like for one thing, instead of doxxing just resulting in problems from others in person, using that information to actively support the person instead, and for another for the other potentially more targeted use of the internet to find people to engage with in person (although that one you'd have to be even more careful about in case it worked in the opposite direction. I'm just thinking it would be nice to have something more structured/widespread than happening to find out your internet friends are in your local area, that could potentially be used to circumvent people not meeting in third spaces/other issues people have initially finding local community in person.)

It would be nice if instead of exclusively finding offline solutions/telling people how to be more careful we could also use what's often part of the problem to our advantage when it does happen. Like, having a way to address it that isn't only preventative.

[pochapal]

kind of funny how indirectly the story is signposting the reader to start thinking in the general direction of my notion of the 1-10 culprit theory

[tempestclerics]

.

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

desperate people find faith

summary: your first mission ends with you in Jean's lab and a very worried Logan who's had trouble leaving your side wc: 2.0k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your very positive feedback on the previous fics with these two!!! I am really looking forward to writing more for them, so please feel free to send any requests for them my way, or Logan requests in general! And yes, the title is from a Taylor Swift song again. Lots of hurt/comfort in this one, talks of mushy gushy feelings, very worried Logan find the previous part here! all empath!reader fics here!

You took the cold table underneath you as a sign that something had gone wrong. You peaked one eye open before quickly squeezing it closed, the bright florescent lights too much to handle. You took a beat, trying to make sense of your surroundings. 

You remembered the jet landing in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, you and Jean searching an abandoned building looking for the young mutant that Charles had promised would be there and coming up empty. The two of you had made your way back to the jet and.. shit. The kid had freaked, and you distinctly remember taking enough damage to warrant a swift retreat back to the school. You must be downstairs, in Jean’s lab. It’s probably a bad sign that the first thing you worry about how much shit Logan is going to give you for this. 

You reached out with your power, too cautious of the lights (and the judgment of the rest of the team) to look with your eyes. A few people were mildly worried just across the room, but it was hard not to be distracted by the huge amounts of anger and exhaustion on your left. You debated facing him head on, being a grown up about it and fessing up to the fact that you were wrong. Thankfully, you could be immature when the situation called for it. You attempted to even out your breathing and smooth out the crease between your eyebrows, anything that could give you away. 

“Sweetheart?” Logan’s voice is so much softer than you were expecting, based on the waves of pure fury currently radiating off of him. 

You shush him, blinking one eye open. “I’m sleeping.” You whisper, letting your eye fall shut again. 

You felt his hand gently brush over the top of your head. His voice is closer, air tickling your ear as he leans down beside you. “Been sleeping for three days, bub. Need you to wake up now.” 

You turn your head to the side and are treated to Logan dropping a small kiss on your forehead. You can’t help but smile at the affection, eyes half open against the bright lights. After a few moments, they dim. Jean takes her place on the other side of the table, lab coat on and stethoscope in hand. You expected her to shoo Logan away in the name of a more thorough analysis but she doesn’t even attempt it. 

Logan’s hand finds your own, gripping tight enough to be just short of uncomfortable. Jean makes quick work of taking your diagnostics, and gently informs you that besides feeling fatigued, you are just fine. 

That can’t be right. 

You know that you caught the brunt of the impact, it was beginning to come back to you. The young mutant had lashed out, and before you’d had the chance to get close, he’d sent a car flying towards you and Jean. She’d managed to counteract it with her own mutation, firmly shoving you out of the way. But she hadn’t been fast enough to catch the small metal spikes he’d also thrown. There was no way you should be ‘just fine’ by now. 

Either Jean was in your head or the confusion was showing clearly on your face. She gave you a tight smile, eyes darting between you and the door. She took a few steps back, clearly intent of making her exit. “Jean, wait, there’s no way-”

She gave you her please stop talking smile. “I think it’s best if this comes from him,” she nodded at Logan, placing her stethoscope and clipboard on the side table. “I’ll be back in a bit to do one final check before we clear you.” She gives you another smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and then she was gone. 

You began to sit up slowly, still in shock that there was little to no pain, only stiffness from being immobile for too long. “What is she talking about?” Logan huffed, supporting you with a hand on your back. “What’s going on?” 

One hand made long, slow strokes up and down your spine, while the other had not loosened it’s grip on your own since you’d woken up. His eyebrows were scrunched together, the tell tale sign of his thinking face. You tried your best not to rush him, but everything about the situation was so confusing and your mind was racing. You were far too healed, and he was being far too calm for the anger that was rolling off go him, still. 

“Didn’t expect me to just sit around when you came back one foot in the grave, did ya?” 

“I’m sorry if me coming back banged up gave you extra work, I just don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.” 

His eyes went wide, the hand on your back stilling. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” The tremble in his voice almost had you convinced. 

“Don’t lie to me about it,” you help up your hand, still firmly entwined with his. “I can tell.” 

“I’m notmad at you, bub.” He brought the back of your hand to his lips, peppering it with kisses. “I’m mad at the little fuck who did this to you, I’m mad that they let this happen, and I’m furious with myself that I wasn’t there.” 

“He’s just a kid, Logan.” 

His shoulders shook with silent laughter, a stark white dancing at the edge of his emotions now. Shock. “You almost died, and your first instinct is to defend the little asshole responsible.” 

You leaned forward, bumping your shoulder against his chest in warning. “I feel fine.” He nodded, taking a deep breath in through his nose while his hand not currently locked with yours resumed it’s path up and down your back. You let it go on for a few moments, appreciating the silence and the grounding effect of his touch. “Do you… wanna fill me in on why exactly that is?” 

He sucked in a breath, shoulders visibly tense. “We were lucky that Hank was stopping by for a visit.” He played with your fingers, distracting himself. You tilted your head to the side, wondering why that information was important at a time like this. “When they brought you in, god there was so much blood. Jean managed to take care of a lot of it, but she didn’t know when, or uh, if you were going to wake up.” He blew out a breath, steadying himself. “You know that Hank has been asking for a long time-”

Both of your hands gripped his tightly. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

Hank had been asking for ages to use some of Logan’s blood to synthesize a more advanced healing serum for the X-Men. It was rare they came back with more than bumps and bruises, but he was a worrier and felt that Logan was the key to making something truly effective. The only problem? Logan hated needles. You’d only gotten bits and pieces from him about why, but you had a hunch that when you were alive for as long as he had been, people were willing to poke and prod for some answers. He’d never admit it, but you had felt how terrified he was the last time he’d been down hard after a mission, and Jean had tried to give him an IV of fluids to speed up the regeneration. It hadn’t ended well, to say the least. 

“I should’ve done it sooner. Seeing you like this, knowing I could have done something about it.” He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. 

Cautiously, you fit yourself against him, arms tight around his neck and your chest flush with his own. You half expected him to reprimand you, to remind you that you should be careful, not to move too much. Instead, he held you tightly, the side of his face pressed against the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a good long while, reveling in the comfort of the other. 

“I know you think that you only did it because,” you paused, steeling yourself. “Because it was me.” You can feel him trying to pull away, but you mold yourself to him even more tightly, knowing that if he really wanted to he could break away from you like it was nothing. “You’re wrong. You would have done this for anyone.” 

“Except for-”

“Even for Scott.” You were quick to cut him off, unwilling to hear him being so harsh on himself.

You pulled back, just enough so that you were able to meet his eyes. You needed him to know that you are being earnest. “You are a good man, Logan. And before you even try to deny it or say I’m lying I know you can hear my heart beat. And I know you can tell when people are lying. And besides, I’ve never ever lied to you, have I?” He shakes his head slowly, one tear falling, and a few more after that. You reached up, brushing them away. He grabbed your hand, gently placing a kiss on your wrist, and then your palm. 

“Y’scared me, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled by your palm still against his lips. “Don’t ever do that again.” 

You slide your hand to cup the side of his face, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You know I can’t guarantee that.” His eyes closed for a moment, and you knew he was doing his best not to shout. “I will always be careful, but I can’t stay back and leave the work to everyone else. If I can help, I’m gonna help.” 

His eyes narrowed, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Fine. But we’re getting you trained up and you aren’t going out there without me again for a good long while.” 

You rolled your eyes, the both of you well aware there was no ill will behind it. “If you insist.” 

“I absolutely do.” He pulled you back into his chest, keeping you there until Jean peaked her head in through the door. 

“If you two are done being mushy, there are a few people who have been dying to see you.” 

Ororo rushed into the room, playfully shoving Logan away to scoop you into her arms. She gently checked you over, ignoring the fact that you’d already had several medical professionals on the case. Scott clasped you on the shoulder, reassuring you that for a first mission, this was a success. You laughed before shooting Logan a look that begged him to let it pass. He huffed, but nodded all the same. 

“Shocked we didn't have to keep him from trying to tear the kid apart, but he refused to leave the lab.” Scott nodded his head at Logan, who was continuing to shuffle closer to the table where you sat. 

Well, you would be dutifully ignoring the latter half of Scott's quip, instead choosing to focus on the young mutant. “You mean he's?” 

Scott smiled, nodding. “He’s settling in upstairs.” 

You grinned, glad to know that it hadn’t all been for nothing. You fixed your gaze on Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about failing him out of history as some kind of weird revenge, I’ll know and I will find a way to get back at you for it.” 

Your friends laughed around you, let you know that Charles has ordered in your favorite take out for dinner and started to filter out of the room. Eventually, you and Logan are left alone again, sitting side by side on the metal table. 

“You still owe me an important conversation, ya know.” You bump your shoulder against his. You stay there, pressed against his side with your head leaning on his shoulders. His hand rests on your shoulder, holding you close. 

“Maybe wait until you aren’t in a hospital gown, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes, clearly aware that he was deflecting, but still content to take in his warmth and quiet support. You were safe, and you were home. Not just at school, but with him.

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of the scariest things that ever happened to me was when I was working at Red Robin. I was around eighteen and I worked as a host. I answered phones, opened doors, and seated people. The job wasn’t strenuous.

One night, the phone rang. It was fully dark outside. My shift was almost over and my mom was picking me up because I still didn’t have a car of my own. She was waiting in the parking lot when the store phone rang.

I picked up with a chirpy greeting and slammed into a horror movie when a gruff voice informed me that he could see me. He had a shotgun pointed into the building and I’d see brain matter sprayed across the walls if I didn’t do what he said. My brain froze in blind panic. I couldn’t believe this terrible thing was really happening to me.

The restaurant was all windows, visible on all sides by the parking lot except for the kitchen. He could be looking in from any direction, shotgun leveled on customers, or coworkers, or me. “Do you hear me?” he asked.

I stared in blank terror, not answering until he yelled, “Do you fucking hear me?!”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Do you have a cellphone?”

“Yes,” I was so transfixed with fear it hadn’t occurred to me to lie.

“Give me the number.”

My mind suddenly whirred into panicky circles. I couldn’t give some crazy man my phone number, I needed to do something else but I couldn’t make up a number either because my head was pounding with adrenaline. My frightened head latched onto the only other number I had memorized.

I rattled off my mothers phone number.

“You’re going to hang up the phone, walk to the back dumpster with your cell phone in your left hand, and I’m going to call you. No one has to die tonight.”

I stood shaking with the phone pressed to my ear.

“Hang up.��

I hung up the phone. I was trembling, but I knew there was no windows in the kitchen. If I got to the kitchen I’d be safe, and that’s where he told me to go so I could make it there if I just held it together.

I made it to dry storage and met one of the assistant managers exiting. I broke down in sobs and started garbling in incoherent fear. He looked utterly flabbergasted by this, as I had the reputation of being the most level headed of the host staff.

He asked me to wait at the bar. He rushed off to try to finish what he was doing so he could deal with me. I was too scared to leave the kitchen hallway; I huddled as close the end of the bar as I could get without leaving the safety of the wall.

I was sobbing when the bartender looked over and saw me. She gasped in outrage and had me into the managers office in a blink, arms around me asking what was wrong, what was wrong.

I was finally in an enclosed room with a locking door. The gibbering in my head calmed to the point that I relayed the whole thing to the bartender. Near the end, the manager returned. He had my mother in tow.

She was furious, hearing the tail end of my death threat call. Apparently, while sitting in the parking lot she’d received the call I had been too scared to get.

The man had asked if she was me, and she was instantly combative. She didn’t tell him anything, just demanded to know, “Who’s This?” He hung up.

He’d called back once just saying my name and she’d angrily asserted, “No.” He hung up.

My mom was furious and confused and marched into the building. Part of her anger was that I’d given away her phone number. She’s a violently private person. My manager had been making sure the servers knew they didn’t have a host when my mom burst in on a mission of vengeance. He quickly escorted my rampaging mother to the back room and they were both in time to hear I’d received a death threat.

My mom rounded on my manager demanding to know why they hadn’t called the police and he pleaded that this was the first he was hearing about it. The police were called.

My mom and I waited in a booth while my nerves jangled with anxiety. No one had checked the cars outside for shooters and now I was sitting here exposed, surrounded by windows. She tried not to be mad about me giving her number given my emotional state, but she wasn’t thrilled with me.

A police office showed up an hour later. I answered her questions and my manager asked if I wanted anything. Everyone at the table looked astonished when I requested a root beer float. But by god, I wanted one.

The officer assured me that most events like this did not happen on site, that the caller wasn’t here. I didn’t believe the dowdy woman sitting across from me had even bothered to do a security sweep but I drank my float and tried to forget the darkness of the night staring in from all those windows. The clear line of sight on me from every side. The image of brain splattering against the glass divider. I drank more root beer.

I got a day off to calm down. On closing shifts after that my heart would pound when the phone rang and the bartenders all agreed to be on phone duty for me. A private investigator came in one day and I recited the whole event again. He’d been hired by the company as Red Robin’s nation wide had been targeted by the same caller.

The investigator told me he was working on it. That dozens of other businesses across the country had been called. He told me that if I’d given the caller my real number I would have been subjected to sexual assault over the phone.

I was starting to feel stupid. Everyone I told was so sure that he’d never even been present. That I’d never been in danger. The only thing I could console myself with was that many other girls had given him their number, but I hadn’t. I started forcing myself to pick the phone back up on closing shifts.

A few months later I was notified that he’d been arrested. The private investigator hired by a fast food restaurant had done what the police force hadn’t and tracked him down to a small town in the Midwest. My testimony was one of dozens used to convict him and for a while I received checks for 0.23 cents as reparations for the mental distress.

[thelostconsultant]

Puppy love

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: During his karting days, you were one of his opponents, but outside the track he was just a stupid boy who fell in love with a pretty girl. Now, after all those years, you meet again in the paddock, and he doesn't want you to leave.

note: Yes, Jos is an asshole in this (too).

“Have you seen who jumped in to do the interviews?” Charles asked with a wicked smile when he stopped next to his rival after the race. Max hadn’t really paid attention to these details until now, but now that he was informed there was something he should probably know, he looked around to see where the reporter was. “I haven’t talked to her since your dad ruined her career. But she seems truly happy now.”

That’s when his eyes fell on you, the girl who had been haunting him in his dreams for long years, the one who was glowing while talking to the cameraman. He wanted to object, he wanted to say “my dad didn’t ruin her career, she just decided to quit,” but the way you had left certainly hinted at a possible connection between the two events. Because his father’s outburst took place a week before he found out you weren’t coming back to race, and you didn’t even try to contact him ever again. 

What made it real hard was the fact he knew you were left heartbroken, and it wasn’t racing that you missed. His mother called your parents to ask them about you, and they said you had been crying in your room for days, but when the option for a call from Max came up, they were quick to shut it down. They said it would be easier for you to move on if he didn’t show up in your life again, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for everything that happened. 

If he hadn’t fallen in love with you, if he hadn’t met you on a vacation, if his father hadn’t found out he loved someone, maybe you would still be racing. He remembered your bright smile that was present even after a tough race, and your good mood that was often highly contagious. The boys you raced against loved you dearly, mostly because you brought a different energy into their little boys’ club.

“Max, you’re next,” he was told all of a sudden. 

He wasn't ready to face you, but there was no escape. What he had to do now was force a smile on his face and act like he was talking to someone else, someone whose presence didn't affect him half as much as yours did. But the moment he stopped in front of you and noticed a strange glint in your eyes, he had to focus on breathing in and out while you asked your first question.

After the camera was turned off, he cautiously watched you to see if you were planning to approach him, or if you seemed open to the possibility of him doing that. When you looked at him with a smile and said goodbye to the cameraman, he walked over to you with his hand folded behind his back.

“It's nice to see you here,” he said with a small, cautious smile. You nodded, but Max could see behind the cheerful look on your face, he could tell you were tense. “If I'm bothering you, just say it.”

You took a deep breath, and soon your smile changed, and it was now showing a lot more sadness. “It's been a while, that's all. Talking to you in person brings back different memories,” you admitted.

“Good or bad ones?”

Following a shrug, you folded your arms over your chest and looked down at your shoes. “Compared to the ones that come back when I see you or Charles on TV? Bad,” you finally replied. 

Max gulped upon hearing this, feeling guilty despite knowing he had done nothing wrong, that whatever happened back in the day was the result of a series of decisions made by your parents. If it was up to him, he would have kept in touch with you, doing his best to see where this puppy love would lead the two of you. Maybe you would have broken up after he got into F1, maybe you would be married by now. It was a question he had no answer to.

The best he could do now was trying to make you understand this, making you see that he wanted to fix things now, even if you would be nothing more than friends. Sure, he had no idea how much you had changed over the years, but he knew there was only one way to find out. “I know it means very little after all these years, but I’m sorry,” he said to break the deafening silence.

You nodded, then to his surprise, took a step closer to him. “I know it wasn’t your fault. My parents told me what happened exactly eventually.”

He watched you closely, trying to figure out if you were interested in a proper conversation, maybe later in private. But before he could speak up, Charles walked over to the two of you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a big smile on his face. “It’s been so long,” he said happily, earning a shy smile and a barely visible shake of your head from you.

Max bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed by the sudden appearance of the Ferrari driver, but the main problem was a vivid memory from his childhood. While him and Charles had gone for blood on the track and didn’t have the best relationship off it either, you and the Monegasque were on very good terms, with you even visiting him and his family in his home. It didn’t bother him until his brain finally caught up with his feelings and he realized he had a crush on you, because then he felt intense jealousy every time his rival laid a finger on you, even if it was nothing more than a friendly pat on the shoulder.

You then suddenly moved to give him a hug, and seeing the way Charles wrapped his arms around you made his blood boil, even if he knew deep down that he had no right to be jealous. But it was painfully obvious that the two of you were talking to each other, keeping your voices down as much as you could in the noise around you, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about.

Then he finally let go of you and said goodbye, although the two of you agreed to have dinner in Italy next week to catch up. Max took a deep breath and thought about what to say, but before he could come up with anything, an official came over to drag him to the cooldown room, so all he could do was apologize and say goodbye, wishing he could see you again next week. According to Charles you were supposed to be there in Monza, which meant he would have the chance to talk to you.

To properly talk to you and possibly find out more about your life after you quit racing.

He knew in the cooldown room they were supposed to talk about the race, but all he could think about was asking Charles what you talked about, what was so secretive that no one else could hear it? So, in the end he didn’t say much, he just watched the recap of the race and discussed what he saw if it was standing out. Even while standing on the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd under them, trying to find you as if he was playing Where’s Wally?

On the way home, he spent his time browsing your social media accounts, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never checked them. On X, you were posting about F1 news, commenting on them as a journalist, while on Instagram you focused on sharing more personal posts, like photos of your holiday, your hobbies, or yourself in the paddock. There had been so many of those, how come he hadn’t met you before?

Having a glimpse into your life felt so nice that he hadn’t realized he had scrolled back a few years. Well, not until it turned out he accidentally liked a few of your old photos. If you hadn’t seen the notifications, he wouldn’t have noticed that. But you saw them and weren’t shy to send him a DM about it.

The next few days passed with him regularly checking his DMs to see if you wrote to him again, if you changed your mind and decided to have dinner with him, but there was nothing, so he was forced to wait for the perfect opportunity to talk to you in the paddock in Italy. How he would find you in the flurry of people was a mystery, although he had a fleeting idea that maybe their PR team could help him get a hold of you. Not like that could work, a request like this would certainly give them a stroke, assuming he was planning to give a random interview.

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed you at the press conference, talking to some of the drivers behind the cameras. Your eyes were shining brightly, your smile lit up the room around you, and Max felt like he had been taken back to his childhood when all the boys at their karting races swarmed around you to get a scrap of your attention. But those were hormone-driven teenagers, while these guys were grown men, many of them in serious relationships, so he knew it wasn’t entirely the same situation.

This time Max made sure he could stick around after the interviews, hoping to get a hold of you once you were done. He approached you after everyone left and you decided to chat with someone from the crew. He cleared his throat nervously, subconsciously expecting you to yell at him, to tell him to leave you alone. But your poker face was perfect, because you turned to him with a kind smile and acted like you were ready to have a pleasant chat with him. The crew member left you alone, so only the two of you were left there. 

“You either don’t understand the word no, or you just learned to completely ignore it because you always get what you want,” you said with a sigh, the smile long gone by now. 

He let the last part of the comment go past his ear, instead he just took a deep breath and began to massage the back of his neck. “Can’t we have a pleasant conversation? Just put everything aside, forget about our shared past, and let’s treat this as a chance for a fresh start.”

You watched him with a thoughtful hum for a while, then nodded. “All right. What would you like to talk about?” you asked with a curious look in your eyes. 

“Us.”

“There’s no such thing as us.”

“Too bad, because that’s exactly what I want,” he was quick to inform you, mentally kicking himself for being this straightforward, even if it was true. Because he wanted to see if you would be interested in the 2.0 version of your relationship, the chance to see how your young love would work out in your adult lives. “Are you seeing anyone?”

For a moment you hesitated, but then you shook your head. “No. I don’t really have the time for that,” you replied honestly. Before Max could speak up again, though, you began to talk once more. “But I’m a reporter here, dating a driver would be… unethical. I can’t play favorites,” you explained. 

Max took a quick look around, then gently placed a hand on your cheek. “We can figure that out later. Let’s focus on step one, which is going on a first date. Tonight? We can turn to room service to help us out if you don’t want to meet somewhere public,” he told you. 

“So you want me all to yourself in your hotel room?” you asked with a teasing smile. 

He was sure as hell he blushed, because the idea of what you were suggesting hadn’t occurred to him. Having you alone in his hotel room wasn’t something he consciously planned out, he only wanted to meet you somewhere away from the curious eyes. “It’s not like that,” he told you defensively. 

“I know, don’t worry. Send me the when and where,” you said as you patted his shoulder. “See you later, Max.”

Nodding, he watched as you walked away from him. He didn’t say a word–no, he couldn’t say a word. His brain was too busy replaying the way his name rolled off your tongue, that sweet, soft tone of your voice as you said goodbye. With his mind still lost in a pink haze, he returned to their motorhome to gather his things and call it a day. He couldn’t wait to meet you, that was all he could focus on. 

A few hours later he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his foot nervously tapping on the floor while he waited. You could be here any minute, and waiting was the worst part. Well, maybe the conversation wouldn’t be that much better, but he could still hope for the best. So when half an hour later there was a knock on his door, his lips curled into a wide smile and he rushed over there to let you in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was held up in the media center,” you apologized the moment the door closed behind you. 

Max had to take a deep breath to calm himself. You being close to him again brought back feelings he thought he had long forgotten, and he wanted to give you a kiss, a soft kiss to test the waters with you. But he had to behave, he had no idea where the two of you were standing right now. “It’s okay, don’t worry. So, dinner?” he asked after a short break, giving you a smile. 

Food seemed to get you in the mood to chat, because as the two of you enjoyed the various dishes he ordered, you started to tell him about your life after everything that had happened back then. You finished high school like a normal kid, went to college to study journalism, and you managed to get jobs at various places that were related to motorsports, especially F1. That was your dream, to once work with this world, but you were quick to clarify knowing he made it here didn’t give you the idea. 

He tried to hide the cocky smirk that wanted to show up on his face, because he was sure what you said weren’t true. A voice in the back of his mind told him you wanted to see him again, that you wanted to get back what had been taken from the two of you all those years ago. After all, why wouldn’t he think that? It didn’t take much convincing to get you to meet him tonight. And if he was delusional? At least it was a nice thought. 

It was then his turn to talk, so he told you stories that you had probably never heard, about himself, about the grid, about everything, really. If you asked questions about his family, you focused on his sister and mother, but you were mostly interested in his cats and hobbies. As you told him, you couldn’t understand how he ended up being such a cat dad, but it certainly suited him. 

“Charles said he doesn’t get murderous thoughts about you several times a day lately,” you suddenly noted with a short laugh. 

Clearing his throat, Max tilted his head to the side. “You talked to him?” he asked casually. 

You nodded and took another bite of your pasta. “Yeah, we had dinner yesterday. I remember how the two of you were back then, I was wondering what the situation was now,” you said with a shrug. 

A wide grin crept on his face upon hearing this. “So you asked him about me.”

“It was just one question, don’t get too cocky,” you pointed out with a roll of your eyes. “But I’m glad you kinda get along now. It’s nice to see that.”

Max flashed a smile at you, then returned his attention to his dinner. For a while you both ate in silence, but then you got rid of the plates and he found himself wondering what to do next. So he just looked down at his hand and moved it closer to yours, letting his little finger brush against yours as if you were back in your teenage years. You let out a laugh when you noticed, and you looked at him with a kind smile. You weren’t as cold as you had been earlier today, now you seemed to have warmed up to him, ready to give him a chance to show you what he wanted. 

So, he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss you, cautiously moving his lips against yours to make sure he didn’t scare you away. It took you a few seconds, but you eventually eased into the kiss, one of your hands even moving up to his face to keep him close. He couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle that drew a questioning hum out of you. Max shook his head, then he dived in to kiss you again, but at the same time he let his hand wander under your shirt, even though he could have expected what happened next. 

Because you pulled away and pushed his hand away from your body. “Stop, don’t… I shouldn’t even be here, I should just go, and–”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’m sorry. If you want to slow down, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do, okay?” he asked you, his voice desperate. For a minute or two you remained completely silent, you were just watching him with doe eyes, as if you were trying to process what just happened. “Please, just stay,” he said quietly.

You hesitantly took his hand and gulped loudly as you gathered your thoughts. “Listen, it’s complicated. I already told you, I shouldn’t date drivers, but,” you began, but fell silent without finishing the sentence. 

Max cupped your face and rested his forehead against yours. “One step at a time, all right? We’ll figure out if this could even work between us, then we’ll decide how to move on,” he said with a soft smile. When you nodded, he kissed your nose. “Good. Do you want to stay with me and cuddle a little, or would you rather go?”

“We just cuddle, right?” you asked with a thin voice. When he nodded, you let out a soft sigh. “Okay, just for a little while, then I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t leave. The next morning he woke up to you sleeping soundly with your head on his chest, snoring softly while you were lost in your dream world. Max couldn’t stop grinning, he was way too excited and happy to keep a straight face. It felt so nice, so natural, that he wondered how long you would be against it. You clearly wanted this as much as he did, but if you needed time, he was willing to give it to you.

As you lay there, he remembered that vacation all those years ago, when your parents not-so-accidentally bumped into his mom. His first date in a local cinema, watching a movie that was dubbed and neither of you could fully understand it. His first kiss in that movie theater with a girl that was special enough to catch his attention. The way you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder one night when your parents talked a little too long in a restaurant on the beach. 

And he was hell-bent on going back to that town to experience everything again as adults. All he needed was you softening enough to let him take care of you in front of the whole world.

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[taeghi]

– i don't want to be your roommate, i want to kiss your neck || (m)

heeseung x reader | smut, fluff, angst, PWP lol | roommate + best friend's brother!heeseung

➤ summary : at first, you cursed lee hana for ditching your roomies-forever contract, but now you want to thank her for having such a great idea for her hot brother to move in as her replacement... just as long as she doesn't find out you think he's hot.

➤ includes : warning!cuddling!!!, also masturbating, unprotected sex, fingering, praise, breeding kink ;)

➤ word count : 15.7k (jesus)

minors DNI!!!!

taglist : @iamliacamila @m3chigo @jaylaxies @stellarpsh @noonareads @xrvrqs @enmayz @enhastolemyheart @notevenheretbh1 @jjhmk @heyitsbush @ipoststuffandyeah @seokseokjinkim @capri-cuntz @parksunghoonsgf @hoyeonheeseung @erehkinnie30 @niniissus @janehrt @jenojammin @heerated @luvjongseong @wonniewonwon @loveyrovey @page-odette @slay-you-slay-all-day

lee hana was the best friend you could ever ask for. 

when you met during freshman year of college you knew that you would be best friends forever. she was the missing piece that you were missing in a lot of ways. so, when she asked if you wanted to find a place to rent together you couldn’t possibly turn her down. 

you decorated the apartment you found so that it could be deemed as ‘your shared home’. parts of you both were mangled around the apartment, wherever you looked there were pieces of each other somewhere.  hana’s favourite photography works she’s taken, your ugly wool throw blankets that you insisted on having and both of your dirty dishes piling up in the sink because you both hated doing dishes. 

 though, you both lived wonderfully together. you managed to cook almost everyday regular meals that were somewhat healthy and made sure the other one was getting to class on time. you figured that you would continue to live with her for the rest of your early-mid twenties. 

until she got a boyfriend. 

don’t get it wrong, you loved jay; but you despised him for taking away your perfect roommate. 

you were worried at first when hana sat you down and told you she’d be moving out by the end of the month. her and jay had decided to take their relationship further and she agreed to move into his apartment with him. you knew that your lease wouldn’t end until the rest of the year, meaning that you would have to pay the rent for two people even though it’d be only you living here. which, you did not have the money for as a broke college student. 

“but don’t worry!” hana smiled at you from her spot on the couch when she broke the news, “i’ve found you another roommate who is just like me! so there won’t be any problems.” 

you sigh, because there are usually always problems if hana isn’t involved. meaning, you will most definitely hate your new roommate, hana’s replacement. 

“don’t sigh like that y/n!” hana smacks your shoulder, “he’s seriously a perfect mix of you and i, you’ll like him.” 

“him?!” you exclaim, shaking your head no to the fact that you will have to live with a boy. 

“y/n, just give him a chance! you haven’t even met him yet!” 

you glare at your best friend and soon-to-be-ex-roommate with displeasure at the new information she was laying on you. “but he’s a boy, hana! he’s gonna ruin our woman sanctuary here!” 

“y/n, i don’t think this has been a woman sanctuary since we’ve moved in,” 

“but it could be, if you stay living here,” 

“y/n, i already told him he could have my room, I care about him a lot.” hana juts out her lips into a pout, her pretty features contorting into begging ones as she desires your approval. 

“fine, but i want him to at least try to contain his man testosterone to one room,” you sigh, giving in to your best friend. her squeals reach your ears quickly as she leans over to pull you into a hug. 

“you’re gonna love him! you won’t even want me back as a roommate,”

“who even is he?” 

“his name’s heeseung,” 

“heeseung?” 

“yeah,” hana shrugs casually, “my brother.” 

“what?!” you exclaim at her again. you had never met her family before, both of you growing up in different states made it hard to meet each others. hana was usually private about her family, not talking much about them either way. you were aware that she had an older brother, but you would have never thought that you would come to live with him. “hana, what.” 

hana lets out her familiar roistering laugh at your shocked expression, “i told you he was just like me- and if he’s just like me then he’s just like you!” 

you pout, “we’ll see about that.” 

you didn’t meet lee heeseung until lee hana had officially moved out. he came unexpected, a knock on your door that you couldn’t guess would be him. 

it was the day after you sat on the kitchen stool, a pout on your face as you watched hana and jay  take her boxes to the moving truck. 

“can’t i just move in with you guys?” you whine out to them. 

“aw, y/n,” hana comes over to you, cupping your cheeks harshly together. “no.”  you let out a hmph at her response, making her let out her obnoxious laugh. “i’m still going to see you!”

“yeah, i know, but it won’t be the same,” you shake your head at her. 

though you were happy for hana, it was still hard to believe that you would never be roommates again with her. jay and her made the perfect match, so part of you knew this day would come. the day that you would no longer be able to refer to lee hana as your roommate. so the final goodbye as roommates was bittersweet when hana and her cinnamon scent left the apartment that she no longer called her home. the apartment had an echo to it that night, when you were cooking dinner by yourself- for yourself. 

hana had texted you that she had forgotten a few boxes in her closet, therefore when there was knocking on the door at 8am the next day you figured it was her. you swung open the door, dressed in your loose sweatpants and tank top, ready to tease her for coming back so soon.  

you were not expecting to open the door to see an ethereal man. 

his warm brown, deer-like eyes were relaxed as they met your surprised ones. his said eyes wandered down your body, stopping to stare at your exposed lower stomach from your sweatpants sitting low on your hips. you felt your neck gush with heat as you attempted to pull down your tanktop when you realized where his eyes had been stranded. 

“hi, you must be y/n,” he spoke first, his voice as warm as his eyes. 

“uh, yes?” you respond curiously, your mind still flowing with sleep from waking up seconds before. 

the boy raised a singular key on a chain in front of your face, “i’m heeseung- hana gave me the key but i figured i would knock first anyways.” 

“hee- heeseung, right, um,” 

“so, can i come in?” heeseung smiled at your shocked demeanor. 

“yes! um, of course, sorry- i just woke up.” you mentally cursed yourself for being so bewildered. 

your new roommate stepped in and stopped in the middle of the living room. looking over the place from top to bottom. his eyes were going over every nook and cranny that he could possibly see. when he figured he had seen enough, he turned back to you at the open door and said, “it’s nice in here- really nice.” 

“thanks,” you stated, curious about where he was taking this. 

“i’ll try to keep my man testosterone to my room so it doesn’t ruin what you’ve got going on here.”  your jaw dropped at his words, not believing that hana could’ve told him that you said that. 

“look, i didn’t-” you started, trying to explain yourself so your new roommate doesn’t hate you completely. 

his laugh that is a lot quieter than hana’s, considering that they’re related, rings out in the apartment. you paused for a second to think that maybe you could get used to hearing his laugh instead. “it’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

“no, really, sometimes i just-,” 

“it’s alright, hana gave me some pre-move in roommate tips, i got you.” 

your demeanor changes as you cross your arms over your chest at the news, “oh did she?” heeseung gives a faint noise of confirmation as he scans the old couch you and hana picked up on the side of the street two years ago, “and what was one of those tips.” 

“hm, that you must have green tea every morning before you can do anything else.” he smiles cheesily at you, “which i think we should get on doing so you’re down to help bring in all my shit.” 

sure enough, you got your cup of green tea, showing heeseung around the kitchen as you did so. he sat at the kitchen stool where you sat yesterday, watching the other lee sibling move all her belongings out.  you tried to tell yourself to calm down as he sat behind you, out of your view. you were not used to having a good looking boy in your apartment. you were glad that you slipped into your room to get a hoodie on before reaching the kitchen for that cup of tea. 

“sorry it’s a mess in here, i didn’t know you were moving in today,” you spoke with your back still to him. 

“really? hana told me that she told you i was coming,” 

you scoff, “of course she did. she always forgets to do as she says.” 

a knowing smile crawls onto heeseung’s pretty face, a smile that seems to be the only thing that gives away he’s related to hana, “i know; i shouldn’t have trusted her this morning.”

“she also didn’t tell me that it was her older brother moving in,” you joke, turning around now with a hot cup of tea in your hand. when he lets out a shocked expression you continue, “i knew she had an older brother, but she never told me your name.” 

heeseung shrugs, “yeah, we’re private like that- i don’t think many of my friends have met hana either.” 

“why not?”

“i don’t know, we’re just like that.” 

you set down your now empty cup, feeling refreshed as the hot tea settles in your stomach.  “right, let’s go get your man testosterone shit.” 

heeseung follows you out of your now shared apartment, smiling to himself as you complain about becoming his personal mover. 

with lee heeseung’s belongings finally all brought into your now shared apartment, you couldn’t help but compare his scent to his sisters. it was similar in a way, the cinnamon wisp of hana’s you became familiar with circled around heeseung, but there was a mix of something sweet along with it. 

the boy didn’t have too many things. a big computer set, a few boxes of clothes and a ton of cd’s. hana’s old bookshelf seemed to suit heeseung’s cd collection easily as there was just enough room for them all to be lined up by genre. you could tell that the remnants of hana will no longer be in your apartment by the end of the day. 

“i think i forgot another box of cd’s in my car,” heeseung said as you watched him unpack from the bedroom’s door frame you were leaning on. “i’ll be right back.” he walks past you, a noise of acknowledgement coming from your throat. 

with the front door closing and heeseung’s brown hair leaving sight behind it, your head turns to hana’s now old room. heeseung’s clothes boxes are stacked up on his new bed. you wonder for a moment what other clothes he wears besides the gray sweats and black hoodie he has on today. then, drooping out of the farthest box on the bed, a white and black flannel catches your eye. before you know it your legs and feet have moved so you’re able to pick up the flannel. the fabric is soft and you instantly smell that sweet scent of heeseung surrounding you. 

“i can put away my clothes myself, it’s okay.” heeseung’s voice speaks from behind you, making you jump and instantly drop the flannel from your hands, back into the box. 

you turn to see him putting the last box of his cd’s onto his desk, his hoodie sleeves rolled up so you can see his smooth forearms now. “right, i know. sorry.” 

heeseung chuckles under his breath as he flips his bangs up out of his face and runs a hand through his hair, “no it’s okay, i just figured you wouldn’t want to touch more of my man testosterone than you already have.” 

your lips purse at him, “yeah you’re right. i can already feel it growing on me.” you make so that your hands are trying to brush something off of you in disgust. 

“well how about you go wash it off in the shower while I make breakfast?” heeseung suggests with a playful smile on his pink lips. 

“breakfast?” you exclaim, your eyes wide. 

“well i would say it is around breakfast time, no?” 

“hana never made breakfast.” 

“what can i say? i’m the better roommate.” 

you crossed your arms over your chest, “don’t push it, heeseung.” you glare at him as you push past him to go to the bathroom. “and I like my eggs over-easy.” 

you hear heeseung’s soft laugh as you close the bathroom door. 

not only did lee heeseung offer to cook breakfast, he is actually good at cooking. as soon as you walked out of the bathroom in clean clothes and the man testosterone on your skin properly washed off, you started drooling at the smell of food. 

heeseung was standing over the stove, finishing up the last of the scrambled eggs he was making. the small kitchen table you and hana bought years ago was set up with plates and cutlery, some fruit, bacon and toast. 

“heeseung, oh my god,.” you say in shock. you would have never imagined that your new roommate would have done something like this. .

heeseung turns with a pretty smile on his face, “sit down, the eggs are done now.” 

in your shocked state you managed to sit down in the chair heeseung motioned to as he filled up your plate with eggs. “why did you make all this?” 

heeseung shrugs as he set the empty frying pan in the sink and sits down across from you, “i mean you let me move in here without ever properly meeting me and then you helped me move in all my stuff, so i figured this was the least i could.” you stare at him in shock and heeseung lets out a quick, dry laugh, “well are you gonna eat it or what?” 

“right! sorry!” you pick up your fork and start to dig in, “it’s just, i haven’t had a breakfast like this in years.” 

“what do you usually have for breakfast then? besides green tea.” 

now you shrug, eyes practically closing from how good his food tastes, “nothing, pretty much.” 

heeseung rolls his eyes, “well that’s not good, we’ll have to change that.” 

“if you make breakfast like this often then you and your man testosterone can stay here for as long as you like.” you point your fork at him with a knowing smile. 

“or until the lease is up in december.” 

“right, or until then.” 

the mention that heeseung nor you wouldn’t be living here together for more than four months suddenly leaves a pit in your stomach that his eggs couldn’t manage to fill as you continue eating. heeseung has already been in your apartment for no more than four hours and you already could not imagine living with someone else. 

besides their smiles, heeseung and hana seem to only have one other thing in common. which is their ability to get comfortable anywhere. 

you had made sure to tell heeseung to make himself feel at home, since it is home now. at least it is for four months. you didn’t want to be those awkward roommates that feel like they have to sneak around the apartment to not piss off the other roommate. 

but, for a moment, you forgot who he was related to. 

so, heeseung made himself comfortable really quickly. by the third week of living together he was already settled in and acting like he had owned the place for years. 

you learnt quickly that heeseung really likes music. his cd collection taking over his room was the first sign of his passion. when he mentioned he is a dance major at your university, it was not that big of a shock to you. you also quickly caught on to him seemingly always having his earphones in, the white cord trailing from his ear to his phone he always carries with him. 

you didn’t mind heeseung’s obsession with music, in fact you found it interesting he could listen to music for so long without a stop. you didn’t think it would ever be a bother to you. 

except for now. 

you are in your room trying to finish writing your qualification letter to the university’s library so you could become a student librarian this year, which you procrastinated so much that you only have two days before the school year starts to hand it. it is like you are having a severe writer's block and could not think of why you should be the one with the librarian position. you love going to the library to study and to read, you spent your entire first year in the library so much that hana said you should just move in there. having this student librarian position would be good for your career as you wanted to become a teacher abroad. 

you were getting frustrated at your lack of writing for this letter when you started to hear music coming from heeseung’s bedroom across the hall. it was loud and it was some aggressive heavy metal music. you take a breath and decide that it’s a sign that you need to take a break from this letter. you push your laptop to the side and lay down, covering your eyes with your arm draped over your face. 

even with your eyes closed you can still see words going across your eyes, not being able to stop thinking about what you could possibly write in your letter. you lay there trying to think of something, anything, but everytime you think you get somewhere it seems to be stupid and then heeseung’s music fades into your ears again. 

when you’ve finally had enough of laying there, getting nowhere with your letter and heeseung’s music having no sign of stopping, you toss your sapphire sheet off of your legs and stand up, beelining it right to heeseung’s door. without a hesitation you knock on his door, and a second later the music stops and it opens. 

heeseung stands in the doorway now, his brown bangs practically stuck to his forehead with sweat and his bambi eyes immediately looking down at your figure. his cheeks are flushed a red hue that almost matches the colour of his lips that are parted as he breathes. but you can’t properly match the colour of his cheeks to his lips because you realize he is shirtless standing in front of you. 

sweat droplets are trailing down his tanned skin like they’re racing each other. his broad shoulders that you couldn’t have stopped yourself from noticing weeks ago are now plain in sight for your eyes to drink in. his abdomen is full of muscles that move with his chest as he practically pants, trying to catch his breath in front of you. 

“what’s up?” his voice successfully breaks you out of the trance you were somehow put in. 

“uh,” you shake your head trying to grab onto all of the thoughts that were filling your head, “i’m trying to write my student librarian application letter and i can’t focus because your music is too loud.” you try to sound as angry and frustrated as you were one minute ago, but your words only come out mediocre when you speak. 

“oh shit, i’m sorry,” heeseung’s hand brushes his damp bangs out of his eyes, his face forming into a sorry expression as he looks down at you. “i was working out because the university gym isn’t open yet– i’ll put my headphones in.” 

“right, okay.” you speak, trying to not focus on the way his muscles flexed in his arm when he pushed his bangs back. 

“good luck on your letter,” heeseung smiles at you and it triggers reality for you as you quickly back up and enter your own room. 

“thanks.” you say to him, closing your bedroom door so you’re out of view of each other. 

you hold onto the doorknob until you hear heeseung’s door click shut and you let out a breath of relief as your body laxes. you climb back into your sapphire sheets, thankful for the coolness of them that will bring down your flushed hot state. 

when you realize your panties are damp against your skin, you make a pact to yourself– and to hana– that there is no possible way you will find your best friend’s brother hot. 

you thought that when school started you would see less of heeseung than you did in the final days of summer, but it seemed that you only saw more of him. you would see him walk past you on campus, never failing to wave at you or call your name. you also learnt that heeseung has a bad habit of skipping classes. so he was home more than you were. the only classes he never skipped were his dance ones, that would go on for hours and leave him to be tired and sweaty when he comes home. 

like tonight, you were sitting on the couch in the living room, your laptop warm on your lap as you typed away at your essay, telling yourself to write just a few more sentences. since you ended up getting the job as the student librarian, you’ve had less time to do school work since you’ve had to run around helping other students in the library. when the front door opens, a very tired looking heeseung walked in, his clothes practically falling off him from exhaustion. 

“long practice?” you ask him absentmindedly, still focusing on your essay. 

“very, long practice.” you hear him respond as the fridge door opens. you hear him shuffle around in the fridge before it closes and he tells you he’s gonna get in the shower. 

the faint sound of the shower running starts and you forget that heeseung is even home as you continue to write your essay. when the bathroom door opens minutes later, you glance up at the time on your computer, seeing it approaching 9pm. 

“wanna watch a movie?” heeseung asks from behind you. 

you sigh, “i really wanna finish my essay, though.” 

heesung comes around the couch and sits on the other side, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of it, “that’s okay, right? you can do both. plus knowing you, you’ve probably been working on it all day right?” 

“maybe.” 

“well then you need a break.” 

“but i’m almost done, just a few more paragraphs.” you jut out your bottom lip as you look at him for the first time. his hair is wet and it’s falling into his eyes. the sight instantly makes you remember the working-out incident from a few weeks ago and you tighten your thighs together at the mere thought of it. 

“c’mon, watch a movie with me, y/n.” he begs you, “please.” before you can say no he’s reaching over and taking your laptop out of your hands. 

“heeseung!” you whine out, “i’m almost done!” 

the position he was in to grab the laptop meant that he was a lot closer to you than before, his face only centimeters away from yours as he leaned on his elbow on the couch cushion. “please, watch a movie with me.” he mimics your earlier expression of your jutted out lip. 

you sigh, giving into the boy, “fine.” he lets out a hissed ‘yes’ as he sets the laptop on the coffee table and passes you the remote.

you still for a moment when he drops his head into your lap. you’re unsure what to do or say so you try to focus on finding a movie in front of you on the tv. 

“it’s okay if i put my head in your lap right? i’m just so tired.” heeseung asks, probably noticing how stiff your body went. 

“uh, yeah sure.” you say, watching where you place your hands and arms now. you hear him let out a quiet ‘yay’ before he’s telling you to put on a studio ghibli movie.

It was hard to concentrate on Spirited Away at first, with heeseung’s head weight in your lap. you could feel his warm breath on your thigh everytime he exhaled. one of his hands was hooked onto your thigh in front of his face and you could feel him mindlessly tapping his fingers against your leg, probably to some song that is stuck in his head today. you told yourself to focus on the movie and it worked until you stopped feeling his fingers tapping on your thigh. you glance down at your roommate and see that he’s fallen fast asleep on your lap. his damp hair now dry and falling into his closed eyes. his lips are parted slightly as he exhales deep, slow breaths. you allow yourself to take him in for a moment, never seeing him so calm before. 

through his bangs you see that his eyebrows are not scrunched up in their usual frown since school started. you almost instinctively brush his bangs off of his forehead, but stop when you're a mere inch away. roommates should not be affectionate with each other, especially when said roommate is your best friend’s brother. 

haku distracts you again. 

when heeseung moves once more, it’s an hour later when Spirited Away has finally ended, the ending music causing him to stir. 

“damn, i basically missed the entire thing.” he mumbles, sleep laced in his voice. 

“you did miss the entire thing.” you respond, quirking an eyebrow up at him as he lifts himself from your lap. 

“sorry,” he shrugs, “but that was the best sleep i’ve had in a while.” 

“really?” 

“yeah, i’ve been stressed about the dance concert that’s coming up- they put me in charge of a major part of the choreography so, my minds just been on that.” 

“heeseung, what? that’s amazing!”

heeseung smiles at you, brushing his bangs back like you almost did an hour ago. “thanks- and thanks for letting me sleep.” 

“it’s no problem, it gave me more time to think about how to end my essay.” 

“yeah? think you can end it perfectly after taking a break?” heeseung asks with a sly tone.

“just perfectly.” 

since the night heeseung had slept in your lap, neither of you had shied away from little touches of each other. like hands casually sliding over each other’s when he passes you the milk for your cereal, laughing into each other’s bodies, and more naps with heeseung’s head in your lap. 

you told yourself that it’s no different than hanging out with your other friends. that you guys are just friendly with each other. there was no romantic feelings between you and your best friend’s older brother. 

you knew you and heeseung were getting more comfortable with each other, but when he barges into the bathroom while your mid-shower, you had to re-think just how close you two were. 

“sorry!” heeseung immediately calls out as soon as he enters the bathroom, “but i gotta pee so bad and i need to leave!” 

your mouth drops open as your eyes widen. you instinctively cover your body even though the shower curtain is covering you completely. “it- it’s fine.” you hear him shuffling around through the sound of the shower’s water hitting the tub. tyring to ignore that there is only a thin layer of fabric covering your naked body from heeseung’s gaze you ask him “where are you going?”.

“uh, jaehyuck’s having a party tonight and jeongin’s been outside waiting for me for almost ten minutes now and he’s pissed.” 

“oh, ok. have fun.” 

“i will, thanks!” are heeseung’s last words in the bathroom before he’s shutting the door and leaving. 

once you’re alone in the shower again, you wonder what you should do tonight since heeseung’s gone and it’s friday night. you wonder if hana would want to hang out at the old cafe you two used to frequent before she moved out. but the odd’s are low since she’d probably rather go to a bar and “start her weekend off right”. you laugh to yourself as you perfectly hear hana’s words in your head. but still, you figure you would try. 

your efforts immediately fail as an hour later you open the door to hana dressed in her ‘ready for the bar’ outfit glaring at your ‘ready for the cafe’ outfit. 

“no.” hana states as she glances up and down at you, shaking her head. “it’s friday y/n! let’s go drinking! you can study for the other two days of the weekend!”

“ugh,” you move aside and plop down on your couch, hearing hana close the door behind her wander around her old apartment. “i hate going to bars!” 

“yeah well you need to get away from “studying” places every once and a while!” hana’s voice rings from your bedroom. you sit up on the couch, realizing your head was placed right where heeseung’s face was pressed against your thighs a few weeks ago. 

“we don’t have to study at the cafe!” you call back to her. 

“but you’ll be thinking about studying!” 

“i’d probably be thinking about studying at a bar, too!” 

“not if you’ll be drinking and,“ hana’s voice gets clearer as she continues, “wearing this.” 

you turn to look at her as she emphasizes her last word. in her hands is a tight black dress that you have never worn before. it has thin noodle straps and is made of silk. “no.” 

“yes!” hana answers, “and since when did you have such a cute dress?” 

“ugh,” you plop down onto the couch again, “i don’t know, a while ago. it was stupid of me.” 

“c’mon y/n, it’s gonna look nice on you!” hana pushes your legs so she can sit beside you. “plus, i already ordered a taxi and it’ll be here in five minutes.”

“what?” you sit up with wide eyes. 

“you better hurry and get this dress on!” hana grins at you, allowing for you to grab the dress and run off to your bedroom to change. 

hana’s grin doesn’t leave her face, even when you’re sitting across from her at the table in some bar she’s chosen to take you to. since it’s friday night and you live in a popular school town- this bar is practically packed. you glance around nervously, always hating big crowds of people. 

“so, what’s it like living with my brother so far?” hana asks you, sipping her drink through her straw. 

“it’s fine.” you shrug, mimicking her actions with your own drink. maybe getting more alcohol in your system will take away your anxious thoughts. 

“oh come on!” hana exclaims, “this is like the one hundredth time i’ve asked you and it’s always the same reply. and i’ve noticed you never even mention him to me either.” 

“well what do you want me to say? living with him is fine, it’s normal.” you defend yourself, flashbacks of every not-so-normal roommate encounter you’ve had with her brother the past month and a half. 

“well i mean do you talk to him?” 

“hana, i kind of have to, because you know, we live together.” you roll your eyes at your best friend. 

“well what do you talk about?” 

“i- i don’t know! normal things! what’s this all about?” 

hana shrugs and sits back into her seat, “nothing- it’s just ever since he moved in i don’t hear anything about him, like does he even still live there?” 

“yes, he lives there.” you shove her legs with your foot playfully under the table, “and it’s just there’s nothing to say. we’re roommates- that’s it.” 

“so you guys aren’t like, friends?” you think about it for a moment, are you and heeseung? friends? you suppose you see each other at some of your worsts, like right after waking up, or all sweaty from dancing. you share things about your day and food. but those are things that just come with being roommates. so, you shrug. “what do you mean? you’ve lived together for two months and aren’t friends?” 

“well i don’t know! i haven’t asked him if we’re friends or anything- nothing like that has come up!”

“do you guys know things about each other? like share things like that?” 

“yeah, some things.” 

“like do you know who his stupid friends are?” 

you think about it for a second. every time you’ve seen heeseung on campus he’s been by himself. and he’s only briefly mentioned jeongin a few times. so you’ve assumed to yourself that jeongin must be his best friend. “only jeongin. but i’ve never met him or anything.” 

“ah jeongin!” hana nods, “yeah he’s one of the nice ones.” 

you tilt your head, “what do you mean?” 

“heeseung hangs around with the Sigma Fidi guys- the ones that are all born in 2001.” 

“the ones that completely ruined the library last year?” your mouth drops open in memory of how the beloved library- the only place you could find peace- was entirely flipped upside down last year. 

“yep, those guys.” 

“oh my god!” you sat back in your chair in despair, “that took weeks to fix!” 

“i know, i clearly remember how much you complained about it when it happened.” you ignore hana’s playful smile as you try to take in how someone as nice as heeseung could be friends with people who are capable of tearing apart such a beautiful place. “anyways, there’s the yang jeongin guy you’ve heard of. i guess him and heeseung have been friends for maybe ten years now?” so you’ve correctly assumed that they’re probably best friends. “and jaehyuk, beomgyu and theo. there’s more but those are the ones that heeseung usually hangs around with.” 

“and all four of them ruined the library?” you ask hana, still not comprehending it all. 

“mm, i think so.” hana nods, “i never really asked heeseung about it so.”

“oh.” 

the music in the bar is suddenly louder, playing some song you’ve never heard of and are far too busy mentally to even decide if you like the song or not. you would’ve never thought that heeseung would be the one behind ruining your sanctuary last year. even after speaking to him about the library so many times! you remember how distraught your favourite librarian was when you walked in after opening hours. the books were pushed onto the floor and ripped. the tables, walls and ceiling had spray paint all over it. all the flowers that even you watered sometimes were ripped from their roots and dirt was mucked throughout the entire room. not even one bookshelf was together after being stepped on and smashed. you remember how much you struggled to find a calming place to sit at school for months afterwards. 

“what’re you thinking about?” hana asks you, nudging her foot against your leg. 

“nothing.” 

“then let’s go dance!” before you can refuse, hana is pulling you up, leaving your drinks and table behind to enter the very crowded dance floor, pushing your new revelations of heeseung out of your mind, at least for awhile. 

it was hours later, further into the night when you got back to yours and heeseung’s shared apartment. it was quiet and dark, as you expected since it was reaching 3am. your familiarity with the apartment was your only guidance to your bedroom. 

within inches from your bedroom, you heard it. 

a muted moan through the walls. 

your entire body tensed and retracted your hand that was about to touch your bedroom’s door knob. a thump followed by a woman’s giggle from the other side of the hallway made you stand up straight. and then it was clear what was happening in your roommate’s bedroom. 

you never expected heeseung to bring home someone. it was never even mentioned between you two. he’s never even brought home a friend before as they always just wait outside for him. 

a deep, nauseous feeling overcomes you and you curse yourself for drinking tonight. without thinking much- only the vibrant thought of ‘i can’t be here anymore’ flashing in your mind, you turn back the way you came, catching a glimpse of high heels at the front door. you only stop when you’re in the lobby of your apartment. 

the moonlight is filling up the entire room, bringing some comfort to you as tears start to well up in your eyes. you know the reason why you’re crying, but you refuse to accept it and blame it on the alcohol. you sit down on the small couches that the lobby holds for visitors, and accept your fate of sitting here for the rest of the night. 

you didn’t know what to do. you couldn’t go to hana’s because then she’d obviously ask why you're upset. and what’re you gonna say? that you’re upset because you’ve developed a crush on your roommate that happens to be her brother and that the thought of him fucking another girl in your apartment makes you feel like you’re rotting from the inside out? that wouldn’t go well. 

because you know how hana would feel to have trusted you to live with her brother just for you to ruin it all. she was never close with heeseung in the first place, so to have her best friend have feelings for him? it just seems out of the question. why would she want her best friend to date her basically estranged older brother? even after tonight, when she asked question after question about your relationship with heeseung, she seemed off. she seemed like she wanted to know that you and heeseung are just friends. you wouldn’t even put it past her to be secretly happy that you told her everything is just normal roommates between you two. 

if only she knew how not normal it was. roommates don’t sleep with their heads on each other’s laps. they don’t drool over the other when they’re working out. their hearts don’t flip when they see each other in the hallways at school. and they most definitely don’t get upset when the other is fucking someone else.  

you sigh frustratedly, swearing to wipe the last tear off of your cheek and rest your head on the arm rest of the small couch. it’s small enough for your legs to curl up on, but it does nothing from the small gushes of air that circulate your dress-clad body. you fight the urge to go to sleep, but soon give in, the last thought being of heeseung and the unknown betrayal he just carried out. 

when you woke up, the pale moonlight had turned into a warm yellow glow. 

which was being blocked by your apartment’s front desk worker, jongho. you sit right up when your sleepy mind clears and you realize he’s glaring right at you. 

“good morning, y/n.” his monotone voice speaks to you. 

“uh, hi, jongho.” you try to speak cheerfully to distract him from the fact you probably smell like alcohol and are passed out in the public lobby. 

“have a good sleep?” 

“uh, yeah! just wanted to see how comfy these couches are, you know?” 

“no, i don’t know as i would think my own bed would be far more comfortable.” 

you cringe at his words, standing up and avoiding eye contact as he scolds you. “yeah, i should go see just how comfortable my bed is- sorry.” you wave smally at him as you head to the elevator, wanting it to come faster as you could still feel jongho’s eyes on you as he makes his way back to his desk. 

“have a good day, y/n.” he calls out to you when the elevator door closes with you inside. you only then let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when his cold eyes leave your body. 

out with that breath and in with the thoughts of what the hell you’re about to walk into as the elevator quickly takes you to your floor. you mumble a curse as you see the mess you look like in the elevator’s mirror. scrambling to fix your hair and wipe the fallen eyeliner as walk to your door. 

your quick plan to quietly sneak into your bedroom and act as if you didn’t just freak out that heeseung was having sex with a girl and sleep on a basically public couch all night failed just as quickly as you thought of it. 

as soon as you entered your apartment, lee heeseung was standing at the kitchen island, glaring at you with eyes almost as cold as jongho’s. “where the hell have you been?” your eyes catch the floor where you saw the high heels hours ago and take a mental sigh of relief when you see that they’re gone. she probably walked right past you when you were passed out on the couch. “hello?” 

your body tenses again when heeseung’s tone matches his eyes. his hands stop mixing whatever’s in the bowl as he takes in your figure. 

“i went out, to the bar with hana last night.” you reply, easing off your own high heels at the front door. 

“and so you couldn’t answer a text? i was worried.” 

it’s then that you realized you left your phone in your purse on the couch last night when you came home. mentally slapping yourself. “i forgot it, so i slept at hana’s.” 

“i thought you said you never wanted to sleep in an apartment with jay and hana again?” 

you shrug, not finding any humour this morning. “i was drunk.” 

“ok, well i’m making eggs if you want some.” 

you shake your head no as you whisk up your forgotten purse, “no thanks. i’m just going to go to sleep.” 

“oh, ok.” heeseung’s tone drops, “see ya later then.” 

you’re too upset to respond as you smell a woman’s perfume come from heeseung’s bedroom when you walk past. your bedroom is like a safeway for you as you close the door, your back sliding against it as your knees give up from under you. the events from last night seem too much for your body to take. first with hana interrogating you about heeseung, finding out heeseung’s friends are assholes and then hearing heeseung, your best friend’s brother that you have a crush on, have sex with someone else in your shared apartment. it felt like the world was against you. 

you tiredly crawl around to slip on some sweatpants, throwing heeseung’s black and white flannel that you borrowed to the other side of your room that you stumbled on. when you crawl into your covers, ready for some sleep in your own bed you decide two things : 

you need to make some distance between heeseung and you and 

you’re never going to a bar again. 

the last few weeks of fall in your once sanctuary of a home, turned into an awkward hell. it was easy to distance yourself from heeseung at first from your hours at the library and his hours spent choreographing for the dance concert. the apartment was usually empty until late hours of the night, which were spent solely for sleep until you woke up and left quietly again in the morning. 

heeseung tried to speak to you at first, always asking if you wanted to watch a movie on the couch with him, or if you wanted another bowl of cereal. both things that you used to look forward to with heeseung, but had to turn down for the sake of your relationship with hana and heeseung. everytime you denied, you could see a deeper frown on heeseung’s face when he turned away. 

his efforts to speak quickly faded just as quickly as he was denied. your only conversation was swift hi’s and byes as you passed each other at the front door. when both of you were home, which was rare, both of you stayed in your rooms. 

you distracted yourself in your room with your studying, but hearing his laughter while he played video games with his friends echoing in the walls, only made you distracted with the thoughts of how much you missed his laugh and smile. but those thoughts were quickly fought with the fact that you should not miss your best friend’s brother’s laugh. 

after a tiring day of classes and a shift at the library, you didn’t expect to come home to a bunch of boys lounging around your apartment. you hang your coat at the front door as all of their eyes land on you. 

“hey, y/n!” heeseung’s cheery voice calls from the kitchen. 

“uh, hey.” you respond, a shy smile spreading on your face as you greet everyone. 

“these are my friends- jeongin, beomgyu and theo.” you smile as heeseung introduces them, all of them greeting in response politely. you try to pretend like hana didn’t show you pics of the Sigma Fidi members a few days ago so you know who exactly is sitting in your living room. 

“heeseung you didn’t tell us your roommate was so pretty!” the one with long black hair who you recognize as yang jeongin speaks, his eyes almost sparkling as he speaks. 

“yeah, you really are so pretty!” theo smiles at you. “isn’t she, hee?” 

with the dim kitchen light, you can still see a hint of pink hit heeseung’s face as he continues to pour juice in a cup. “um, yeah- of course.” you felt exposed standing in your own living room and you quickly wanted to get to your peaceful bedroom and away from this group forming. 

jeongin tsks at his best friend’s response, “c’mon heeseung, make it seem more meaningful than that!” 

heeseung stops pouring and looks up at you, taking in your pink cheeks of embarrassment and the cold, fall wind before quickly glancing back to his friends, “she’s really pretty.” 

“that’s it!” theo laughs tossing his head back to laugh at how embarrassed his friend looks. “if you’re gonna compliment someone, you gotta mean it.” 

the apartment goes silent as you try to decipher what you should do next. 

just as you’re about to beeline it to your bedroom after offering a quick goodnight, beomgyu speaks from his side of the couch, “oh and y/n!” 

you turn, forcing an awkward smile on your face, “yeah?” 

“thanks for letting me sleep over a few weeks ago.” his smile beams up at you. 

“you slept over?” you ask him, confusing covering your face at the news. 

“uh, yeah… the night jaehyuk had a party i came back here with chaeryeong and passed out.” 

“the night of jaehyuk’s party…” you speak out loud, trying to comprehend what you were hearing. 

“yeah, the night you went out with hana… i slept in your bed that night, that's why i was worried you didn’t come home.” heeseung speaks up from the kitchen. “i never got a chance to tell you i slept there… sorry.” 

“oh…” you place your hand on your head… so it wasn’t heeseung having sex in his bedroom that night- it was beomgyu, “no, it’s fine, yeah.” 

“are you okay?” jeongin asks you, a worried expression on his face. 

“yeah, i just- yeah i’m good- just a long day so i’m gonna go to bed.” 

“alright, it was nice meeting you!” theo waves to you, which is followed by the other three saying goodnight, too. 

in your bedroom you had to fight the urge to laugh. the amount of relief you had now that you learnt heeseung hasn’t fucked someone. it was laughable how worried you got for something that could’ve been easily avoided. if you had just gone into your bedroom that night you would’ve found heeseung awake in your bed, waiting for your return. the thought of heeseung laying in your bed makes you wonder what he thought of your room. if he liked the smell of your sheets or perfume. if he even paid attention to those details about you. 

the group of boys laughing in the living room makes you move from your bedroom door, suddenly extra ready for bed now that something that has been eating at you for weeks is finally cleared up. you crawl into bed, wondering if heeseung had put his head where yours is, and you wonder if it’s okay to think of your roommate this way. 

soon after, you decided that you can’t avoid heeseung forever, and honestly it was getting tiring trying to stay away from him. so, instead of heading to the library to study for hours after your last class of the day– you headed home. you could feel your cozy blanket on your body the more you got closer to your apartment. you imagined eating a bowl of ramen in bed before taking an afternoon nap as soon as you got home. 

the thought of heeseung being home not in your plan for the day as you assumed he would be at one of his many dance classes, or teaching his new choreography to the other dancers for the concert that was quickly approaching. you wonder what heeseung will say when he sees you home before him for once. you giggle to yourself when you try to imagine the look on his face. 

when you open your apartment door, you quickly realize that the afternoon you had planned was in fact, not happening. the tv was turned off as heeseung sat on the couch. the sunlight from the large window panning onto him as he sat with his back completely against the cushion. his head was tilted back, his brown hair shaggy on his head, desperately needing a haircut that you didn’t want. his brown, bambi eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. 

it only took a second for you to notice the rest of him, his body shaking and panting. your eyes glance down to where his hand was wrapped around his cock. the red tip oozing precum as heeseung continued to jerk himself off. your mouth opened, wanting to say something– anything, but you couldn’t. you knew this image of heeseung would forever be ingrained into your brain, but you can’t look away at how beautiful he looks, with each droplet of sweat catching on the sunlight. 

your body rests on the right side of your body, moving the door an inch– the perfect inch that makes the door squeak, causing heeseung’s eyes to fly open. when they meet you, they widen, curses flying out of his mouth. “oh y/n! fuck!” 

you turn your head, your hand covering your eyes, “sorry! sorry! i didn’t see anything!” you hear heeseung scrambling around, probably pulling his pants up and knocking things over in his surprised state. you felt your heart rate speed up, a feeling of anxiety taking over and you decide that you can’t take this right now and slam the front door after you. you’re practically running down the hallway of your apartment building, taking the stairs down instead of waiting for the slow elevator, needing to get away from this situation fast. because there’s just no way you just watched heeseung masturbate. 

this is definitely not normal for roommates. 

you head to the library and stay there until closing, trying to study and distract yourself from the image you saw earlier. but it seemed like every ten seconds, the thought of heeseung masturbating would pop into your head. 

it was the way that heeseung seemed to be so close to his climax, his low grunts frequent as soon as you stepped in the door. the light sheen of sweat covering his face as he focused on the pleasure he was giving himself. his chest moving erratically as he struggled to catch his breath. he looked gorgeous and overwhelmed at the same time, triggering something inside of you that you’ve never thought of before. 

the more you thought about heeseung masturbating, the more you could feel your panties getting wet. when it was closing time you could only sigh, thinking how now you have to walk home uncomfortably and how this wasn’t the first time heeseung had made your panties uncomfortably soaked. 

you didn’t know what would await you this time you came in the front door, but you were glad that it was dark and silent. no group of boys, no heeseung attempting to cook and no hana who had forgotten something at the apartment again. 

you lied in bed, wanting to go to sleep to forget this long day. but the uncomfortableness in your panties couldn’t go away. there was something swirling in the bottom of your stomach and you knew it was all because of heeseung. 

your hand naturally finds its way in your panties, gasping quietly when you feel just how wet you are. your fingers basically slip through and catch all of your juices. within a second your fingers are circulating your clit in small circles, imagining heeseung was in your bed again, but this time with you. you imagine that he’s whispering for you to cum for him, that he wants to see you cum. you try to imagine what he’d look like laying beside you, watching you pleasure yourself to the thought of him. 

but then it only takes a second for you to give up. the pleasure you’re seeking can only be satisfied with heeseung yourself. your eyes open and you groan out into your dark bedroom, frustrated with yourself and heeseung. you turn onto your side, eyes closing again, but this time for sleep, just wanting to forget this whole day happened. 

you don’t think you were asleep for long when you woke up to a bump. you lay there, trying to listen for another and then you hear your bedroom door open and a whisper of your name. “are you awake?” 

your roll over, eyes squinting as you look up to find heeseung standing at your bedroom door, “yeah. you woke me up.” 

“oh i’m so sorry,” heeseung pouts at you, you hear the slur in his voice when he speaks louder and you catch the way he’s holding onto the door knob tightly. 

“it’s fine– are you alright?” you ask him, sitting up on your elbows now as you take in his composure. 

“mm-yeah. i was just- i’m really sorry- about what happened, uh earlier. and i just-.” 

“it’s fine heeseung, if it's bothering you then we can talk about it in the morning.” you tell him, putting a smile on your face. 

“well, okay, but i, i was wondering if i could sleep with you, in here. i just, yeah.” 

“you want to sleep in my bed with me?” you ask him confused. 

“yeah, i went out with beomgyu and jeongin and i told them and they laughed at me so i drank a lot and now, now i just want to lay with you.” 

you take a deep breath before pulling the corner of your blanket over, “come on.” 

“really?” heeseung asks excitedly. 

you smile at his reaction, “yes, come on, i’m tired.” 

within a second heeseung was lying beside you. there was only an inch of space between your warm bodies. it only took another second for heeseung to roll over and lay his arm over your stomach. he exhales into your neck before he speaks, “i’m so, so sorry for earlier, and for now since im so wasted.” 

you laugh silently, causing his body to bounce from your movements “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

another beat of silence passes between you and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep until he speaks again, “will you play with my hair this time?”

“this time?” 

“yeah, when i was laying on your lap i saw that you were about to, but then you stopped.” 

“i thought you were asleep for that.” 

you feel heeseung smile against your ribcage, “well i was, but i was awake for that part. why’d you stop?”

you shift under him, not knowing how to feel about his observation, “well, because we’re roommates, and i don’t know if roommates play with each other’s hair when they’re supposed to be sleeping.” you flick his forehead playfully. 

“we’re more than just roommates.” heeseung replies, a slight slur onto his words as his lips are meshed against your body. 

“are we?” 

“yeah.” 

you sigh, knowing that you really won’t be able to sleep now, but you need to know, “then what are we?” 

your bedroom goes silent again, but you know heeseung isn’t asleep. his fingers are tracing tapping onto your side and you want to ask him what song is stuck in his head this time, you wonder if it's the song he’s choreographing for the dance concert. 

“i don’t know, but it’s more than roommates.” he finally answers, gulping loudly after he speaks. 

you decide you’ve heard enough for the night then and turn around in his arms so your back is turned to him. he only takes a second for you to get comfortable before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you into his chest. you can feel his heartbeat slowing on your back and you know the alcohol has finally taken over and he’s passed out. 

the final thought your mind gives before your own slumber takes over is that you hope heeseung sleeps in your bed again. 

when you wake up again, the sun is pouring onto your face and your bed is cold and empty. you sigh and sit up, glancing around your room. when your eyes land on your clock you jolt out of bed, realizing that you’re going to be late to class. 

you scurry around your room, picking up heeseung’s flannel that you threw across the room a few weeks ago and throwing it over your tank top. in a flash, you’re out of your shared apartment and running to your class, hoping to not miss something important. 

like usual, you’re headed to the library to study after your long class. thankfully, your professor only gave you a stern look when you walked into class late. you managed to not think about heeseung until your phone started vibrating on the table underneath your textbook. 

“hello?’ you speak into the phone. 

“hey, where are you right now?” heeseung asks you, his voice no longer slurring like the night before. 

“at the library.” 

“right, i could’ve guessed that.”

“hey!” you whine playfully with a pout that he couldn’t see. 

his sweet laughter echoes through the line, “well, i think you should pack up now anyways.” 

“what, why?” 

suddenly your textbook is being slammed shut and lifted up. you drop your phone to your lap, ready to reprimand the person who’s stealing your textbook. but stop when you see heeseung’s cheesy grin looking down at you, “because we’re going home, c’mon.” heeseung turns with your textbook, leaving you to scramble once again and shove the rest of your things into your bag, catching up to him quickly.

before you leave, you catch the librarian giving heeseung a detached expression as she watches him walk out of the library and you gulp, remembering that he and his friends were the ones to disturb it only a year ago. 

when you entered your shared apartment, heeseung finally handed you your textbook back after threatening to throw it if you didn’t hurry up the entire jog home. you’re about to give him a snarky thank you, but stop when you realize the living room is filled with the scent of your favourite food. 

“chinese food?” you question, your eyes landing on the food on the coffee table, plates and chopsticks laid out as well. the couch has pillows and blankets, and the candles that were covered in dust are now lit. “what’s all this?” your eyes are filled with amusement as heeseung takes off your coat for you and hangs it up. 

heeseung shrugs, “i just thought we could have dinner and a movie together, like we used to.” there’s a shy smile on his face as he avoids your eye contact. 

“that actually sounds great.” 

heeseung grabs your wrist, “then c’mon, let’s eat.” 

heeseung sits in his usual place on the couch, lifting the blanket for you to sit down beside him and you start to dig in. he puts on Howl’s Moving Castle quietly and leans back into the couch cushion. it would feel like a normal night between you and your roommate, one that you used to look forward to after a long day of classes, but now, both of you can tell that there’s a heavy burden in the silence between you. 

thankfully, heeseung is the one to break it, “look y/n, i’m going to be honest–,” you finish your last bite food and look over at him, his face curled up with anxiety before he continues, “i did all this as some sort of apology for how things have been these past couple of weeks. and for what happened yesterday.” 

you sigh, “don’t worry about yesterday, i know you didn’t think i would be home because well, i haven’t been properly home in weeks, and that’s my fault.” you shift uncomfortably in your usual comfortable place on the couch and decide to let out what has been weighing you down for weeks. “it’s just- can i ask you something, heeseung?” 

“of course,” heeseung bites the inside of his cheek out of nervousness, “anything.”

“was it you and your friends that destroyed the library last year?” 

“what?” heeseung’s face contorts in confusion. 

“well you know, the Sigma Fidi guys, did they really destroy the library?” 

heeseung laughs suddenly and it makes you whip your head to look at him. anger washes over you as your roommate laughs at you, and you cover your body with your arms, huffing as you let him laugh. “what’re you talking about, y/n? you really think i, or jeongin or even theo! could destroy a library? why would we even do that?” 

“w-well, it was just, hana-.” you stammer out, feeling awful now that you’ve literally accused heeseung and his friends of a crime. 

heeseung laughs again at the mention of his sister, “hana told you that it was the Sigma Fidi guys who destroyed it?” he rolls his eyes at your confirmation nod, “hana always gets the frat’s names mixed up! it wasn’t us who destroyed the library, it was the Sigma Drakos who did it! all the guys born in 2000!” 

“oh my god!” you slap your hand on your forehead as you sit back on the couch cushion. all these weeks of worrying that the guy you had a crush on destroyed your favourite place– just because your best friend can’t remember the name of a frat! you laugh with heeseung now, both of you now realizing how appalling the accusation was. “i’m so sorry!” 

heeseung waves it off, “it’s fine– is that why you’ve been avoiding me? because you thought I destroyed the library? because i really would never do that. especially since i know how precious the library is to you.” 

“well, that’s part of it.” the smile falls from your face as you find twirling your fingers together more interesting. 

“what’s the other part?” 

you gulp at heeseung’s question, not even mentally preparing yourself for your next words before you speak, “i thought- at first– that you had sex with some girl and i heard it, but then it turns out that it was beomgyu! but that set me off because i didn’t think i should be so worried about my best friend’s brother having sex with another girl…” 

your apartment goes silent as joe hisaishi plays in the background. both of you stare off at Howl jumps off with Sophie. you wonder if heeseung will say anything, or if it’s his turn to avoid you for months now. with each burning second of silence, your calm facade begins to fade and your true interior of anxiety starts to shine through. your leg starts bouncing quickly, trying to relieve some of the anxious tension filling your body. could you deal with heeseung avoiding you for months? could you still live in this apartment if he moved out tomorrow? could you manage to see his pretty smile on campus? 

“is that i’ll ever be to you? your best friend’s brother and your roommate?” heeseung finally asks quietly, interrupting Howl’s current dialogue. your leg stops bouncing as he speaks, wanting to hear every word of his perfectly. 

“what do you mean?” you ask warily, not understanding what he wanted to hear. the truth of your real feelings for him? or the safety net of that there’s nothing between you two, just normal roommates?

“i mean,” heeseung sighs and brushes his bangs out of his face, “i mean, i want more than just catching a glimpse of you out the door everyday. i want more than whatever’s been going on recently. i don’t care if you’re friends with hana or not, i just want more of you.” 

the silence between you two continues as you process his words. your relationship with his sister means nothing to him. and you wonder if it should mean nothing to you too when you thought of your relationship with heeseung. maybe it would be okay to be more than just normal roommates with him after all. 

“alright.” you give finally. 

“alright?” heeseung questions you. 

“alright we can go back to the way we were, we can see more of each other.” 

“really?” heeseung sits up from the couch. with your nod, he’s suddenly jumping from one side of the couch to the other, throwing his arms around you. you laugh as you wrap your own arms around him, allowing yourself to be surrounded with his warmth with no worries for the first time. he only held on tighter when he realized you hugged him back. “i’m so glad! i missed you so much! and– oh,” heeseung retracts his body from your own, his hands gripping your shoulders as he looks at you, “one more thing.” 

“what is it?’ you grumble out. 

“we’re having a party this friday.” 

“what?” you jerk back from him, making his hands go limp in his lap. “why?” 

“because exams will be over then! so we should celebrate!” heeseung speaks with an obvious tone. 

you cross your hands over your chest, “is this why you got me chinese food? so i’d be more agreeable to having a party this week?” 

heeseung’s hand scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “well, no, but kinda.” you give him an unimpressed look. “so… yeah? we’ll have a party? please?” 

you give in when he pouts at you, “fine.” and then you’re pulled into a bone crushing hug as he thanks you for ‘being the best roommate ever’. 

“is this my flannel?” heeseung asks in your ear. 

“um, yeah?” 

heeseung only laughs melodically, not letting you go. 

both of you go to bed when Howl’s Moving Castle is over. properly saying goodnight to each other for the first time in months. while you lay down, you wonder how the party will go this weekend. you wonder how hana will react to seeing how close you and heeseung really are. you wonder if she’ll notice that you have feelings for her older brother. 

you try to push those thoughts away as you try to fall asleep for the night, and replace them with the memories you made tonight with heeseung. 

friday night came fast. 

you spent all week studying and then taking your exams, which you think went well. heeseung spent his afternoons practicing for the dance concert, but always made it home early enough to eat dinner and watch a movie with you. it was nice to see him so much again. the bond between you felt closer and tighter than ever before. and the fire in your heart only grew stronger for him. 

little touches of each other grew into subtle hand holding during movies under blankets. his head always seemed to fall into your lap after he was done eating. soft compliments of each other were more frequently exchanged than not, always causing a pink dash to spread across your cheeks. it would’ve felt perfect if there wasn’t that nagging feeling in the back of your head that hana wouldn’t like this. 

hana was in fact invited to the party that you and heeseung were holding. alongside the rest of the Sigma Fidi boys and their friends, and their friends and their friends. you were worried that your small apartment wouldn’t be able to hold everyone. but, even though winter was finally here, and outside was beginning to look like a sheet of white cloth, people went out on your balcony, chatting like everyone else. 

by the time the party was in full swing, you were already feeling drunk. before everyone showed up, you and heeseung took a few shots together. you had to, because when heeseung stepped out of his bedroom, dressed in a nice silk button up, you knew you would be dead meat for the rest of the night. you also couldn’t ignore the way heeseung’s eyes wouldn’t shy away from trailing up your bare legs from the dress you borrowed from hana tonight. 

theo, beomgyu and jeongin didn’t shy away from complimenting you tonight either, like they ever do. but they were definitely more sober than you, and having fun watching you drunkenly talk about the library, living with heeseung and how you miss living with hana. 

“you talking about me?” hana suddenly asks as she appears and sits beside you, jay following her. 

“no, never.” you playfully grin at her, laughing when she gently nudges you. the rest of the boys start greeting jay, who they apparently haven’t seen much of since he’s moved in with hana. “i’m going to get another drink.” you tell hana beside you. 

“i’ll come with you,” jeongin says from across the coffee, you smile and give your hand out, letting him hold onto it to follow you into the kitchen. jeongin and you speak about nothing but everything while you pour each other drinks. he’s funny, and he’s good looking, and you’ve never noticed it before. the dim lights you and heeseung put up around the apartment make jeongin’s eye’s sparkle every time he drunkenly laughs. “do you want to go dance?” you don’t say no when he asks. 

you’re in the middle of your living room, dancing with people who you assume are friends with either heeseung or hana, and jeongin’s grip is tight on your waist. you’re both laughing as you continue to jump around close to each other. you think his cologne smells a lot like heeseung’s. you felt jeongin’s hands slide from your waist to your ass, pulling you closer to his chest and you both continued to dance. 

the music starts to fade out once you realize how close you are to jeongin, and focus on his movement and his laughter that doesn’t seem to stop. you’re both unaware of the envious eyes watching both of you. 

suddenly, jeongin is being pulled away from you, and you stumble a bit to catch yourself since you were leaning so much of your weight onto him. 

“what the hell?” jeongin turns angrily, but stops when he sees that it’s heeseung, “oh, hey. what’s up?”

heeseung shrugs, “i think y/n’s drank too much tonight.” 

“what? no i haven’t!” you speak up with a whine. 

“you only ever dance when you’re wasted.” heeseung points out, and it makes you mentally drunk-check yourself. heeseung pats jeongin on the back, “plus it’s almost 3 so i think it’s time everyone heads out.” you don’t hear what jeongin’s reply is as you turn and look for hana. she’s sitting where you left her not too long ago, but on top of jay now. 

your eyes squint when the apartment’s lights are flicked on and the music shuts off. everyone groans before heeseung’s voice cuts through, saying that it’s been fun, but they gotta go. you wave bye to the people that you recognize. hugging jeongin when he walks past, laughing when he twirls you around, oblivious to heeseung’s eye roll. 

“at least you seemed to have fun.” heeseung’s voice rings out behind you as you shut the door. 

you turn and see your roommate leaned up against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest with a displeased look on his face. 

“yeah, i did. and so what?” you huff at him, starting to head straight for your bedroom, “sorry you hate seeing me have fun.” 

heeseung’s hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, stopping you from moving forward, “y/n.” your name sounds so desperate coming from him. “sorry, i didn’t mean it like that- i’m, i’m just–.” 

“just what, heeseung?” you rip your wrist out of his grip. “why can’t i dance with jeongin? and why’d you have to tell everyone i drank too much, why do you even care how much i drink?” 

heeseung’s face drops and it makes you scoff, turning around again to head to your room, “y/n!” heeseung reaches forward, so both of his hands are on each of your shoulder, forcing you to look at him, “please, just let me talk for a second.” 

you sigh, but give into his bambi coloured eyes, “fine.” 

heeseung lets out a breath, “i- i care, because i like you. i like you a lot.” a small gasp leaves your mouth at his confession, “i like that you’re shy when it comes to physical touch, i like that you’d make yourself blind just to finish an assignment– i like how passionate you are about libraries and books and writings! i like, everything about you.” 

your heart started beating at heeseung’s words, a rush of emotions washes over you as you stand before him. his confession has taken you completely by surprise. you had never thought lee heeseung would have actual feelings for you– his little sister’s best friend, and his roommate. 

you felt your cheeks turn pink as you looked into his serious, genuine eyes. you force yourself to respond to him, “heeseung, i didn’t know you felt this way. i wasn’t expecting this at all.” you hear heeseung gulp as his hands start to loosen on your arms. “but, i care about you, heeseung. more than i can put into words. i like you, heeseung. more than you’ll ever truly know.” 

heeseung’s face instantly lit up with your words, his beautiful smile taking up his entire face. “y/n, you seriously mean so much to me, and i, i want to be more than just your stupid roommate.” 

“hee, i want that, too.” 

heeseung removes his hands from your arms and carefully place them on your cheeks, cradling your face, bringing your faces closer to each other. you swallow harshly as your lips brush together for the first time. you instantly feel the connection you thought you had just been imaging soar through your veins. 

time seemed slow in that exact moment. it was just you and heeseung, kissing each other. kissing the only other person who truly understands you and never judges you. the kiss symbolized just the beginning of your relationship with heeseung. 

when you pull away, you watch the adoration fade from heeseung’s eyes, and is replaced by deep lust. the alcohol had finally hit him, and now you could tell he was feeling the same emotions you were. you were needy, desperate and wanted to feel him inside of you so bad. 

with no hesitation, heeseung picks you up, making you squeal out his name as he takes you to your bedroom. he plops you down into your sapphire sheets, making your body bounce slightly on the mattress. 

“god, you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted- needed this,” heeseung says, ripping his silk shirt over his head and tossing it on the ground. 

“oh, i bet i do.” you tell him honestly, knowing that you’ve wanted him since the first day he stepped foot into your apartment. 

heeseung chuckles and smashed his lips onto yours, slipping his tongue so easily into your mouth to explore. your tongues mesh together, heeseung’s hips grinding into yours. 

“why did you never do anything about it if you needed it so bad?” you ask him curiously, his lips trailing down your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. heeseung groans into it, his hands rushing up to cup your cheeks again as he looks into your eyes. 

“i didn’t know you wanted it, too. thought you’d always just see me as your roommate or something,” heeseung admits, leaning down to kiss you again. your lips feel swollen from all the kissing, but you could care less, as long as it was because of heeseung. 

“i do want it- i have wanted it.” 

heeseung shakes his head at in you in disbelief, “i’m gonna fuck you so good, y/n.” 

“please, hee, i want it so bad.” you don’t care if you sound desperate, because you are– and so is heeseung. he smashes his lips against yours once more, this time the kiss is just as despeate and needy as you are. his fingers start to pull down the top of your dress, revealing your breasts. 

you can’t stop your head from falling back as heeseung sucks your nipple into his mouth. his tongue starts circling and prodding your nipples. you let a small whine fall past your lips as you glance down at the man. you let your hands trace down his bare back, finally able to touch his skin after months of being teased by it. 

“hee,” his nickname is so soft coming from your lips. he’s always loved hearing you say his nickname, but hearing it as he pleasures you was something he thought he could have only ever dreamed of. 

“such pretty tits,” he mumbles as he presses one last kiss to your nipple before he’s grabbing a handful of your thighs and flipping you over onto your stomach. you squeal out his name at the sudden, forced movement. heeseung pushes up your dress so it bunches at your hips, and pulls your soaked panties to the side. “you sure you want to do this, y/n?” 

you gasp out, “yes, heeseung, please.” 

with your confirmation, heeseung pushes his finger into your wet folds. you both groan at the feeling. you’re so soft and warm and he can’t believe how fucking wet you are. you helplessly whine into your bedroom, your grip on your sheets tightens as he slowly starts to move his middle finger in and out of you. 

“fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” heeseung graosnas his vision is completely taken over by the sight of his finger disappearing into your squishy walls. he wonders when was the last time you’ve been fucked, he’s never seen you with any other guy– or girl. but your pussy is so tight, he conjectured if his cock would fit or not. 

heeseung’s fingers are much more long and slender than your own, letting him reach places you’ve never been able to when you think about him late at night. he slips in a second finger alongside his middle finger, and they both start to massage the pad of your gspot. you slowly feel yourself start to reach your peak so you slip your own hand down to your clit. 

heeseung groans at your actions, watching both of your hands work to make yourself feel so good. he feels himself get harder as your cries increase in volume. both of your hands are moving in sync, your hips are bucking up for more. heeseung wants to see you cum all over his fingers so bad. 

“hee, fuck– so close.” 

when heeseung slips in a third finger you know you’re about to cum any second, and so does heeseung. he feels your walls get even tighter some how and start to pulsate around his fingers. he can’t take his eyes off of the scene in front of him. your fingers wet from rubbing such fast, small circles over your clit. and your juices slipping down his hand from his three fingers fucking inside of you. 

“c’mon baby, cum for me– i wanna see my good girl cum for me.” heeseung coaxes you to an orgasm. your eyes lock together as you hit your high. your body stills as your pussy starts to uncontrollably flutter around his fingers. your cries are mixed with his name, and soft grunts of praise from heeseung. 

heeseung slows his pace to let you breathe from your climax. he carefully slips his fingers out of you, and you wince as your pussy tries to flail against nothing now, so spread open from his fingers. 

you watch as heeseung insert his fingers into his mouth, watching to catch all your juices. his eyes close at your taste, his tongue pressing all over his fingers. 

“heeseung,” you whine from you position on the bed. 

he pops out his fingers as he looks at you, “what, baby?’ 

“please, fuck me. want your cock inside me.”

heeseung bites his lip as he leans over top of you, “you sure you can handle that when you’re already so fucked out?” 

“yes, heeseung, i can, please.” 

heeseung laughs at you, his hand coming down to brush his thumb over your swollen lips, “you’re so polite, baby. how could i say no to you?” 

you relax back onto the bed as you let heeseung pull down your dress and panties and toss them onto the floor. your bare body makes heeseung shiver at your beauty and he can’t take his eyes off of you as he starts to take off his own pants. 

heeseung’s hard, swollen cock springs up and hits his stomach. you can’t help but marvel at it as you take it in. it’s definitely the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. the small veins that traces up his length to his red tip. drops of precum were already falling down his shaft, and it only made you want him inside of you more. 

“uh,” heeseung suddenly sounds nervous as he looks at you, “do you have a condom?” you shake your head no, “shit, beomgyu took my last ones.” 

you sit up, “that’s ok, i mean. we’re both clean right?” 

“yeah, i am.” 

“and you can pull out?” you tease him gently. 

heeseung rolls his eyes but smiles, “yes, y/n, i can pull out.” 

you try to contain your excitement as heeseung crawls on top of you. you position your legs so they’re encircling his waist. he slowly rolls his hips forward, so the tip of his cock slides in between your pussy lips. 

“fuck,” you let out quietly as his cocks slides so easily between your walls, filling you right up. your breathing is already staggered from the intrusion. you’re fighting for your eyes to stay on heeseung’s as the pleasure already feels too much. 

you manage to watch as heeseung’s teeth are gritting against themselves and his eyebrows are knitted together. he tries to steady himself to ease you into the stretch his cock is giving you. but its hard when you’re so warm and soft, your walls feel like velvet to him. 

when your whines start to pick up, so does heeseung’s pace. your perked nipples are rubbing against his chest with the motion of his hips and the bed. 

“you feel so big, hee, i love it so much.” you tell him genuinely. heeseung leans his head down to press his lips into yours. you try to kiss him back as best as you could. 

your lips are wet and swollen when he pulls away, “your pussy’s gripping me so tight, baby, never wanna pull out.” his cock is hitting your g spot everytime, and you can only loosely smile at him in response. 

heeseung seems to understand you anyways, and starts thrusting into you faster. a loud moan escapes your lips and it mixes with the wet, squelching noises. 

“fuck, listen to how wet you are.” heeseung tells you, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head. “f-feels, so good, baby.” 

your head is thrown deep into your mattress, feeling no control over the rest of your body as you let heeseung pleasure you. “i-i know.” you tell him honestly and breathlessly. 

“wanted this for so long, and now this pussy’s mine, right baby?” his voice comes out in grunts as he matches his thrusts to his words. 

you nod loosely, “all yours, hee. just yours.” your voice sounds nothing like it usually does, and it makes heeseung’s cock grow bigger inside of her. the thought that only him and his cock can make you so drunk turns him on so fucking much. 

both of you can feel how sticky and wet it is where your bodies meet, and it only makes you lust after each other and your highs more. you’re both sweating and can see it drip down his line of abs that you want to lick so badly. they’re strong and prominent from dancing and you can’t help but reach out and drag your fingers down them lightly– so different from how hard and fast he is pounding into you. 

heeseung’s grunts ring in your ear, and you mewl out to him to keep going. 

“yeah? you like how i fuck you, baby? like how my cock streches you out?” 

you nod eagerly, knowing he understands just how you’re feeling. you moan with every thrust he gives you, whines that only edge heeseung to fuck you faster. he wants to hear every moan you’re able to give. 

“s-so big,” is all you can tell him. 

“yeah, think you can feel me in your stomach?” heeseung asks you, moving his hand from your thigh to press down on your lower abdomen. “feel me right there, baby?” 

you cry out his name at the pressure. your hand moves to grip his wrist, “fuck me harder like that, please. i s- so close. please.” you beg him, tasting the climax on your tongue at this point. 

heeseung’s hand lands on her throat, choking her as he starts to use all his force to fuck into you. your body is jolting the bed back and forth as heeseung pounds into you. your whines turn into sobs as you feel your orgasm hit you. your body stills and your lack of oxygen makes your head feel fuzzy as heeseung continues to fuck yu through your orgasm. 

“that’s it, cum on my cock like a good girl.” his voice is in your ear, praising you for squeezing your wet walls around him so good. 

when your orgasm starts to fade and you enter a fuzzy state with your pupils blown out, all you can think of is how badly you want heeseung’s cum. so, with hooded eyes you wrap your arm around his neck so he can look right into your eyes. 

“please cum inside of me, hee. wanna feel your cum so bad.” you whine out to him, lips pouted just begging for him to kiss them. heeseung grunts before he does just that. smashing your lips together as he continues his thrusts of pounding into you. 

“a-are you sure you want me to cum inside?” his voice is breathless when he speaks. he’s too focused on how your pussy is even wetter from your orgasm, and how he could  just slip out any second. 

“yes, hee, please. want you to make me pregant.” you speak before you could even think properly, “want you to fuck a baby inside of me.” 

“h-holy shit.” heesung sputters out, surprised by how turned on your words got him. he never knew he had a breeding kink– and well, neither did you until now. “you drive me so fucking crazy, baby.” your whimpers and moans encourage heeseung to continue. he swears he’s never been so turned on in his life. “g-gonna get your tummy so full, and swollen.”

heeseung’s pace doesn’t let up until he reaches his peak. his hips still as he releases his cum inside of you, his body practically laying ontop of you as you make out. you feel his warm cum fill you up. you continue to makeout until you feel heeseung’s cock completely soften. 

heeseung’s careful to pull out of you, not wanting to overstimulate you. even though he’s gentle, you still squirm as your pussy readjusts to not having his cock inside of you. both of you watch with eager, hooded eyes as his white, cum drains out of you and onto your thighs, making them more of a mess. 

“jesus christ that’s so hot,” heeseung mumbles to himself, choosing to ignore the twitch of his dick at the sight. you giggle at him as you relax back into your sapphire sheets. “i’ll buy you plan b in the morning, i swear.” 

you shrug against your mattress, “i mean it wouldn’t be the worse thing to have your baby.” heeseung stops pulling on his boxers as he looks at you with eyes. “sorry,” you cringe, “i think that was the orgasm bliss talking.” 

heeseung chuckles and leans back over your body from where he stands, “i wanna have a baby with you y/n, but maybe lets wait until we’ve dated for more than an hour.” 

“oh, so we’re dating now?” you tease him, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“uh, i mean, if you, if you want to. you can say no, but i uh,” 

“heeseung,” you place your hand over his mouth, “shut up. yes i’ll date you.” 

heeseung rips your hand off of his mouth and jumps onto you, pressing his lips to yours quickly out of excitement. he starts to press random kisses all over your face and neck, listening to your laughs to tell him to stop, but he doesn’t of course. 

“i’m so happy.” he tells your seriously. 

“me, too.” you smile, but then wince when you try to move your leg. 

“shit, stay here, i’m gonna get something to clean your legs.” heeseung presses a kiss into your temple as he flies out your bedroom door and to your shared bathroom to wet a cloth. 

without the boy in your bed, you easily fall asleep on your mattress. no worries on your shoulders for once as your breathing calms down. you drift off before heeseung can even come back. but, you know he will be. 

the morning sun filtered through the curtains and onto your sleeping bodies wrapped in your sapphire sheets. you realize that your once naked body was no buttoned up in the black and white flannel you stole from heeseung all those months ago when he first moved in. 

heeseung’s arm was wrapped around your core, pulling you into his chest as he continued to sleep. you watch him for a while, not believing that he was finally more than a roommate to you, more than, uh oh, your best friend’s older brother. suddenly, you’re filled with anxiety as you watch the peaceful boy sleep. 

as if he could somehow sense your shift in mood, heeseung’s bambi eyes open and look at you. a soft smile on his lips once he realizes that you’re also awake and still wrapped in his arms. but, his smile drops when he catches the worry that is covering your face. 

“what did we do last night?” you ask him, your eyes search his for help. 

heeseung sighs, his morning voice comes out deep in your ear as he speaks, “nothing wrong, y/n.” his hand comes up and brushes your disshelved hair out of your face, “i like you, and you like me. you don’t regret it do you?” 

you shake your head against your pillow, “no, i don’t regret anything about it or you.” you admit to him, trying to hide the shy smile that plays on your lips for a second, “but what are we going to tell hana, she’s going to be so mad at me.” 

suddenly, just as the sleep was finally leaving your body, your bedroom door bursts open, and lee hana stood there, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“shit,” heeseung grumbled as he looked at his sister. 

“well, well, well, look who’s all cozy in y/n’s bed.” hana’s voice is loud like usual as she speaks. 

“hana!” you sit up on your elbows, “this isn’t what it looks like, i mean-.” 

hana’s laugh cuts you off, “relax y/n. jay and i totally fell asleep in heeseung’s bed last night and i think i heard your little… adventure.” she winks at you, “i knew you two would hit it off eventually.” 

“what were you guys doing in my bed?” heeseung asks, but his question goes unanswered. 

“hana, i, i can’t believe this.” 

hana chuckles and leaned against the doorframe, “well i did warn you that heeseung would be a catch since he’s exactly like me.” she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “now, i think you guys are gonna have to resign the lease together before it’s up.”

you and heeseung exchange amused glances, the thought obviously appealing to you. your worries that have been on your mind since the day you met heeseung have now finally, finally faded as hana accepts your relationship. the relationship hana somehow knew would happen before you did. it seemed like your life was taking an unexpected but perfect turn as you laughed and teased hana to go back to her own apartment for once. 

you smile at heeseung, happy that he’s no longer just your roommate, or your best friend’s hot older brother, but he’s your boyfriend. you’re soulmate. your connection, grown through late movie nights, chinese takeout and stupid misunderstandings is strong, and wonderful. 

and you’re so glad that lee hana moved out. 

@ taeghi, 2023. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email. 

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow. 

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best. 

To convince you that this was for the best. 

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind. 

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least. 

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would. 

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning. 

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison. 

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father. 

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply. 

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.” 

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek. 

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival. 

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly. 

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff. 

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk. 

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile. 

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off. 

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around. 

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you. 

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.  

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter. 

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team. 

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity. 

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him. 

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.” 

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads. 

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.  

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness. 

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough. 

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment. 

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away. 

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed. 

“You don’t look surprised.” 

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.” 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open. 

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale. 

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you. 

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.” 

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit. 

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads. 

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it. 

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork. 

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case. 

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area. 

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head. 

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy. 

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap. 

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done. 

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off. 

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father. 

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort. 

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort. 

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand. 

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short. 

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks. 

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building. 

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input. 

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates. 

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home. 

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea. 

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end. 

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question. 

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion. 

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!” 

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful. 

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again. 

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap. 

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.” Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin. 

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer. 

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue. 

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts. 

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night. 

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct. 

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. 

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him. 

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks. 

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states. 

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?” 

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly. 

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration. 

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes. 

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard. 

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face. 

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him. 

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job. 

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger. 

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals. 

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong. 

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you. 

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins. 

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around. 

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night. 

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart. 

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece. 

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club. 

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared. 

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents. 

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good. 

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you. 

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit. 

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet. 

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases. 

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley. 

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes. 

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone. 

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.” 

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[flowerisevil]

Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen reader where she is Rhaenyra’s sister and daughter of Viserys and Aemma, she is pregnant when they visit King’s Landing and she has the baby so Alicent calls her as she does with Rhaenyra and Gwayne gets furious about it even more when Alicent insinuates that their son is not Targaryen so from then on he is team black.

Devotion

Gwayne Hightower X female reader Targaryen

A/N: I hope its okay that I use an original female character and i don't if i understand your request right but yeah here it is I hope you enjoy. Happy reading mwa!

Disclaimer: grammatical/typographical errors ahead, englisn is not my first language.

Warning: mention of blood, child birth, cursing, and no use of Y/N. Please tell me if I miss anything.

//

The married couple returned in Kings Landing from Oldtown for the King's funeral, the second born princess Targaryen along side her husband and her growing belly arrived at King's Landing, the princess was expecting to see her elder sister Rhaenyra only to hear that she had already departed with her family to Dragonstone.

"Your sister s-she is rather not very pleased to be here" the Queen explained of her sister's departure with her new husband Daemon.

"How is your pregnancy daughter?" Alicent asked, changing the topic.

The princess rub her belly as she smiled "It is great though a bit struggle happens"

Gwayne her husband held her hand that was caressing her stomach, as he joined their conversation "My wife pregnancy is very delicate, it is her first pregnancy and the maesters said her body needs a lot of rest"

Otto nodded in acknowledgement "I am happy for the both of you, you seem to grow fond of each other"

The couple smiled, they did indeed. "We truly did and Daeron in Oldtown is one of our witnesses" Gwayne chuckles, the poor boy was tired seeing the two couple always on each other like what a newlywed partners would do.

Alicent sighs at the mention of her youngest son "and how is he? Daeron?"

"He is doing good, a boy full of wit, a good sword fighter" the princess explained ".....he is very kind your grace, a soft hearted child, his heart has a space for animals" she added, her youngest half brother was a great boy, far away from them. He is a chivalrous boy.

"I should talk to the both of you outside, may I?" Alicent turned to them, the couple simply nodded as all of them walked outside the chamber.

"I wish for your wife to give birth here in Red Keep" Alicent said, the princess frowned but before she could give reaction her husband spoke first.

"I wish my child to be born in Oldtown, why you must decision for that?"

Alicent looks resigned to her brother's fire backs.

"It is an order from your Queen" was all the Queen say before she entered the room, shutting the door before them.

Gwayne's clenched fist softened as she caress it. "We shall give it to them for now Gwayne, there's nothing we could lose for giving them a small favor"

Gwayne rolled his eyes "Oh please that is my sister, and I am a Hightower I know how one thinks"

Gwayne was never unknown to the small resentment his sister Queen had for his wife, even before Alicent was a young lady she had always envied the younger princess, the princess was smarter, kind, beautiful, she was like a glowing light walking through the halls of the Keep, everyone pleased her, and when she was on the right age for marriage she was married to him, the heir to Oldtown and a knight. She had the life his sister was deprived of.

And he knew Alicent has some plans behind this little show of hers.

And he was not wrong.

His wife give her the favor, she gave birth between the walls of Red Keep, her screams and groaned echoed all over the Keep, they can hear her dragon Silverwing roaring for her rider.

"Lord Gwayne you shall not enter, you should be somewhere else or perhaps on the training grou-" the servants shuts when his collar was tigtly gripped.

His wife birth was no jest, the Maesters had informed them before her birth that her body was weak, and she might be carrying a boy for having such a hard labor.

"Don't you understand my wife's condition? She needs me, let me in" Gwayne scowled but his request was denied as the servants pulled him away from the room.

One of the Maesters came out, his face full of worry "My Lord, the princess"

"How is my wife?"

"The princess...she is trying her best my Lord but I must be honest with you, I have both a good and bad message to deliver" the Maester exhales before he continued. "The good one is that the princess is able to push half of the babe's body"

Gwayne wanted to smile, he will finally have an heir and child that he had hope would taken the look after his beautiful wife but knowing that the news has a bad new to come, he can't help but worry for his princess.

"And what is the other one?"

"The babe was rather in an unfortunate position, in birth the head of the babe should be the first thing to come out but in her condition it is unfortunately the other way around"

"You mean my baby's head is still stuck inside of her?"

The Maester nodded "and it is quite dangerous my Lord, we might lose the babe"

Gwayne nodded but frustration covered his face, what would happen to his wife and child?

"Unless my Lord you wish to cut open the princess to save-" the Maester wasn't able to finish his words as he stumble on the ground from Gwayne's singld punch.

"You will do no such thing, what you will do is save my wife from that horrible state whatever it takes, my wife shall come out of that room fine and alive, you hear me?" He command, his knuckled has some blood stained from punching the man.

The Maester nodded and walked back inside the room, Gwayne sat on the cold floor, they will have to save his wife one way or another.

"Your father wish to see you Ser Gwayne" one of the guard approached him and spoke.

"I do not wish to leave my wif-"

"The Lord Hand wants me to tell you it is urgent" the guard continued, Gwayne groaned out of frustration, slowly standing up and walked to his father's office.

On the other hand the princess was lie down on the bed, blood was everywhere.

"Your grace, another push please you are doing well" one of the midwives encourage. Another scream filled the room, stained tears on her cheeks.

The nursemaid and midwives encourage her more, as she continued pushing out the babe inside her, her situation was hard to watch, as they looked at her filled with concern for the princess, she looked tired and breathless. Some of her handmaidens that was present was tearing seeing their princess crying out from pain.

Another scream filled the room once again.

"It is a boy!" The Maester finally announced. Holding a baby boy on its hands, the room filled with cheer as they ran to the princess, immediately handing her help, some wash their sweat, some clean her up.

She smiled as she saw her son being washed and wrapped, she was still shaking but she insisted to hold her child. A boy...an heir for her husband.

The cheering stop as they all looked at the door opening revealing a concerned servant "M-my princess...the Queen s-she uh"

"What of the Queen? Speak clearly"

"She said that she wish to see her grandchild, and you aswell, she wish for you to deliver her grandchild to her" the servants finished, murmurs, shock gaps and whispers filled the room, looking concerned for the princess.

The princess sigh, so this why she wants her to stay here? To have something to play with?

She stood up, legs shaking, her whole was is shaking rather, the nursemaids guide her to carry her newborn son.

"Princess....you're body is still trembling, you shall not walked around the castle or els-"

"Who are we to deprive the Queen a sight of her grandchild" she smiled weakly, as she embrace her son and start walking through the Halls, her whole full of sweat and blood still dripping on her legs.

The news arrived Gwayne's ear, one of his men bargen inside his father's office sending the news of his wife's succesful delivery, Gwayne stood up and left the room fast, his knight walk fast closely to him.

"But my Lord the princess has already left her delivery room, the servants said she immediately left as soon as she gave birth" his man informed.

Gwayne stopped his footsteps.

"They said her Grace had asked for your wife's immediate presence after her birth"

That mad woman. Gwayne was so done of his sister, she is nothing but a horrible Queen, he let her and their father do whatever they have wanted in this castle, corrupting the King, ruining the life of his wife's older sister but he would not let him take advantage of his wife's kind nature.

Gwayne ran as soon as he saw her walking through the halls, his mouth opened but no words came out as he saw her state. Trembling, body covered of sweats and bloodstains, her dress was not very appropriate to see, and his fist clenched as he saw the path of blood dropping from her legs as she walk. Was this is the sigh his Queen sister wish to see?

She wasn't suppose to even raise a finger after her horrifying birth but now she is walking around carrying their babe. He ran to them and cautiously held her back.

"My wife, where are you going?" He tried to sound calm to not show any hint of frustration and anger on his voice.

"Oh ask your dear sister, my love s-she wish to see our child" her voice was hoarse it sounded to frail almost like a whisper from all the screaming she made.

His jaw clenched, he looked at his men and ordered him to bring a nursemaid as soon as the nurse came he told her to carry their child inside the room.

"Gwayne but the Queen-"

"I would have the talk with her, you shall not worry she will be able to see our child when the right time has come, and that right time is when you finally have a rest and sleep" his voice was soft but full of authority, he slowly lower himself to carry her in bridal style.

His eyes cannot lie and his wife can see it, she see right through him. The anger she can almost see what she is plotting inside his head.

The princess lean on his chest. "Do not let anger took over you Gwayne, talk to her nicely"

Oh he would definitely do have a nice talk with his cunt sister.

"Please Gwayne, I would not wish you to be in trouble"

"She took advantage of you darling, how do you wish me to react when I see you trembling as blood drip from your legs walking through this long fucking halls of castle nothing but fragile? Do you wish for me to celebrate?" Gwayne sarcastically spoke, he hated her wife for being a too much proper but he also loved her the same way.

"I kinda wish you do, I gave you a boy. An heir" she smiled, her eyes sparkles as she look over the maid who was carrying their child, Gwayne smiled looking over the babe.

"I am happy more than happy actually, but I would not want to put you in that situation again"

"It is normal state they said"

"Still I would not want to risk you again, I am happy with you no matter with heir or none but now I have a young version of you, I would have more very reason to go home and wake up everyday"

She was his life, she made him whole, losing her would be a big tragedy to him, the day he vowed to her that he will love her with all he can offer, he did not just love her, he stayed and place his faithfulness to her.

As he slowly placed his wife om their chamber, he send her handmaidens and Maester to look after her, clean her and check if she need something to be mend.

He barged inside the council room knowing they will be their, the members looked at him, Otto spoke first breaking the silence.

"My son, as far as I remember you do not have a seat in this room to attend to"

Gwayne scoffs, as he eyed for his sister. "Is this your plan? Why you wanted my wife to give birth here? To make her suffer?"

"It is the King's dying wish"

"Oh I believe is it? Just like how his dying wish is to fucking crown Aegon as his heir, despite your son being brainless smug"

"To say that such thing to the prince is treason, what is it that makes you so angry Gwayne?" Otto tap his son shoulder but he immediately pull back.

"Your Queen, made my wife walk through the halls right after she gave birth to our child, have I not told you that her pregnancy is risky? Yet you made her walk instead of giving her the time to regain her energy"

Alicent snapped a look at him, the two children of Otto Hightower faced each other. "I wish to not harm her, I simply wish to see her and my grandchil-"

"Is that really it? Or perhaps you are so envious of seeing my wife live the life you wished you had?"

A deafening silence filled them, the members each switch looks between the Queen and Gwayne Hightower.

"You shall not touch my wife anymore and so is our child, we will leave here as soon as she recover" Gwayne discussed. Otto approached his son.

"What about your army? we need them incase Rhaenyra declares war after we declare Aegon as King" Otto explained.

Gwayne chuckles, the audacity of his father to think that he will give him his army.

He did not answer them instead walked out the room, he will make sure what they did to the princess will be delivered to the future Queen Rhaenyra.

//

She arrived at the chamber, she was welcomed by the sight of his beautiful wife holding their child, he slowly walked to them sitting on the edge of bed beside his wife.

"We will leave here tomorrow, I can and will not go another days with those cunts around you and our son" Gwayne spoke, caressing his wife's silver white hair, he sighed as he continued to reveal another thing.

"They plan to make Aegon King"

The princess turned her face to him, her face was confused hoping she heard him wrong.

"They know Rhaenyra is the heir, the future Queen of the realm our father made it known before he died, he declared her as his heir" she explained, she and Gwayne were both there as she was declared the rightful heir to the throne.

"I know but those two said it was the dying King's wish, I do not believe."

"We shall go to Dragonstone and send words to Rhaenyra..." She trailed, something in her was nervous what if Gwayne would not side with her?

"Yes we must, as soon as possible my love and make it clear to your sister that we bend our knee for her" Gwayne leaned his forehead to hers, his gaze moves to their son.

The boy had her eyes, lilac gaze, he had his nose and lips.

This is all what Gwayne had asked and wished when he married his wife, a whole family but with the upcoming war he knows they will have to be extra careful.

He will bent the knee for Rhaenyra but his wife and son's safety would remain a top of his list.

[atrwriting]

trust me -- billy the kid x barowner!reader

hi everyone :) sorry I've been MIA — law school has been kicking my #ass but it's ok. I saw the new thg movie and while IAMNOTACORIOSNOWSTAN but I am a t*m bl*th and the man was so fine in this show. so fine. I've only seen like three fics for this man (maybe I just don't know how to search correctly thats probably my fault) but I was SEARCHING FOREVER and then I just got pissed because I couldn't find any so I wrote almost eight thousand words for this man that is how down bad I was

informal warnings: me. 1) I should be put on a leash 2) I use italics way too much 3) and whatever the fuck this "—" is 4) will i ever give up the female bar owner trope 5) will I ever stop tho? [vanilla ice voice] no, I don't know

as always, the actual warnings: smutty smut smut SMUT!, unprotected sex (1880's bby but you still gotta wrap it before you tap it), violence, guns, bit of gore but like the tiniest bit, virgin!reader, p in v sex, oral sex, bit of a dom!billy, bit of a bratty!sub!reader, overstimulation what can I say I should be put on a leash

anyway.... here's trust me:

when your father died… it was hard to be sad. he wasn’t very kind and he never seemed to like you very much… but in his will, being his only surviving kin, he left you money.

a lot of it.

and an old building.

the town it resided in was convenient in the way that many people that were passing through had to stop there. so what did you do? well, the only thing you could do — turn it into a restaurant and boarding house.

the money he left behind was used to fix up the place and pay your employees.

within a few weeks time, your place was up and running with very little vacancy. families and important people were always in your bar or comfortably in their rooms. never had you ever thought someone could be as lucky as you.

until one day. that day.

you worked alongside your employees but flipped between positions. sometimes you were a hostess, ran the front desk, a bartender, or anything else that needed tending to. in response, many people did not know you were the owner — and, therefore, some people treated you like you weren’t.

mainly gross old men, which you could handle. however, when a young, strong, and tall man challenged you?

that was dangerous. too dangerous.

even a fake wedding ring didn’t steer them away.

on that day, a young blacksmith had found his way into your bar. he was handsy with you much of the night, and you tried your best to steer him away. it wasn’t until you pulled a knife on him that he finally let up. it didn’t look like anyone saw, but still — you were scared and worried. would people think you classless, for pulling a knife on a patron? would they see you as weak? would they notice that the alcohol you served brought in too rowdy of a crowd? would they stop venturing in?

you thought no one noticed, and tried to convince yourself of that fact — but you were wrong.

when you were closing for the night, mostly everyone had left. a small group of men usually stayed until close — and you didn’t mind. they drank well, paid their tab, and were mostly quiet and polite. you didn’t know any of their names — but it was usually bad when you did know a patron’s name, so you liked them.

you had your back turned to the front of the bar, stacking bottles, when someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“ma’am?”

you turned around.

a tall, fair skinned man with a hat stood before you. his clothes were old and worn, and his fingernails reflected that he was a hard worker during the day. that type of exhaustion was also reflected in his eyes.

but, damn... his face? no one could deny that that man was handsome.

you smiled. “another drink, sir?”

“no. thank you.” he paused for a moment, keeping your gaze. “i wanted to check if you were alright.”

you immediately knew what he was talking about, but kept your face stoic. “yes, sir, thank you.”

he looked like he wanted to say something, but struggled with how to word it. “he usually a problem?”

you clenched your jaw. “he’s… he’s fine. too much drink, ‘s’all. gets the best of working men. can’t blame ‘em.” you swallowed, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. who was this man and why did he care? was he a friend of the man? “you sure there’s nothing i can’t get for you?”

“some wouldn't blame ‘em.” he ignored your question. his bright blue eyes held your gaze. “i would.”

you forced a tight lipped smile. with a laugh, you joked, “i’ll… be fine, sir. thank you. thought a fake wedding ring would do the trick… gotta think of something else now.”

he smiled, but in a sad way. “i was going to ask if your husband ever checked in on the place.”

“no husband,” you affirmed with a sigh. you introduced yourself, and then asked, “what’s your name?”

“william h. bonney, ma’am… but you can call me billy.”

“nice to meet you, billy,” you smiled. “and, please — don’t call me ma’am.”

“alright.” he returned your smile. “the men behind me… we run a sort of — security detail for part time work. if you ever wanted to hire us, we could have a man here when we can spare.”

you nodded, contemplating your offer. he explained the per diem, and you immediately agreed.

“if your man can keep this place safe with little bloodshed, i’ll even throw in a free bottle a day,” you countered.

and that was how your business with billy the kid and his men began.

the men that came along were usually polite and quiet, and mostly stayed at the edge of the bar. they watched for problems, and slowly but surely your fear had begun to subside. there was a minor scuffle one day, where a man had cracked a glass and cut you with it… but billy’s man had stopped him before he could do anything else. you didn’t hold it against billy’s guy — you cared about your business and if the business got bloody, not so much yourself.

billy, on the other hand… did not agree.

one day, bright and early, he parked himself at the middle of the bar where you stood behind the counter.

“rarely see you for detail,” you smiled, wiping down a glass. “much less this early. breakfast, mr. bonney?”

“billy, ma’am,” he responded. “breakfast does sound fine.”

you laughed. “i hate when you call me ma’am.”

“don’t much like it when you call me mister,” he quirked an eyebrow. billy was a rather emotionless and hard man, but you could tell he was joking.

you laughed again. “steak and eggs for billy, coming right up.”

the rest of the day went on peacefully, and you kept billy’s glass full. he was quiet and didn’t talk much, which you weren’t too keen about. he was mysterious, tall, dark and handsome — which was usually a bad combination. you knew it was, and you should’ve cared — but you didn’t.

as you were filling billy’s glass into the later hours of the afternoon, you finally bucked up the courage to ask him a question.

“so why did you stop in today?” you asked. “not that i mind. i just have only seen you when you come in at night.”

“we made a deal, sweetheart,” he responded. your eyes perked up at the nickname. you didn’t hate the nickname — but you hated yourself a wee bit for how much you liked hearing billy call you it. “the man i sent here was supposed to make sure he kept you from harm — he didn’t hold up his end on the deal.”

“it was kept quiet from the other patrons,” you responded. “that’s all i really care about. i’m a woman in the restaurant and boardinghouse business — stuff like that is bound to happen. no need to be hard on him.”

“you keep my men’s glasses too full for them to let slip ups like that happen,” he replied. “he knew better. should've acted better.”

“you’re the boss, billy,” you sighed with a smile. “i’m just the bartender.”

“damn good bartender at that,” he spoke. “too good.”

you giggled, and grew ashamed rather quickly at how much you enjoyed his company. you didn’t know him well, no… but damn, was it nice to have him around.

the rest of the night was rather quiet. a few families had stepped in and out, and a few meetings were being held where the tables sat. that was until the blacksmith that started this whole thing came in and sat himself only a stool away from billy.

you threw a look at billy, but he didn’t meet your eyes. his peripheral vision was already on the man. billy remembered him, and you couldn’t say fondly.

“whiskey, sweetheart,” he grunted. “leave the bottle.”

you sighed. a quiet day was going to turn into a rough night in a matter of a few moments.

“mr. martin, i can’t leave the bottle unless you settle your tab from the nights prior,” you answered. “i can get you a double and add it on, though, if that’s alright with you?”

“that’s not alright with me, girl,” he grunted again, glaring you down. “leave the damn bottle!”

you stood your ground. “there’s a bar across the street, mr. martin.”

“you don’t want my business, that it, sweetheart?”

“not much business if you don’t pay," you quipped.

through gritted teeth, he spat, “leave. the damn. bottle.”

“pay. the. tab.”

he went to catch you by the arm, but you were too quick. you anticipated his antics this time. you snatched an empty bottle, and broke the base of it in the sink. you put the broken, jagged edge of the neck of the bottle in between the two of you. your eyes were wild — you could feel it, and both men could definitely see it. startled, he drew back.

“this is the only bottle you’re getting with that attitude.”

that was when billy stood up and walked towards the man. the thuds of his boots, though few considering the short distance, were deafening in the mostly silent bar. you may have had a makeshift weapon, but billy? billy the kid? everyone knew what he had on him.

“time for you to leave, friend.”

the man laughed. “friend? who’s my friend to tell me when i need to leave?”

“the one who’s a quicker draw than you, that's who." his answer was slow and cool — too calm, which only made the shiver of a threat run up and down your spine faster.

the man, all talk, clenched his jaw as he stared at billy. he slapped the tab money on the top of the bar, and walked out.

you didn’t let out a sigh of relief until the man left.

but billy was the one that spoke first. “was going to step in immediately… but you held your own. they need to respect you before they’re scared of me.”

you laughed. “little does he know i’m all talk as well.”

“with that bottle?” he chuckled. “sweetheart, even i was scared.”

“you threatened him with a gun… i don’t think anything scares you, billy,” you asked. “thank you for stepping in.”

“‘s my job.”

“i know… but still,” you spoke.

you were continuing to close before he spoke again.

“what made you want to start this place?” he asked.

“my father passed a few moons before i opened this place,” you responded. “no parents, no husband — thought i might try this out.”

“my ma wanted to start a place like this,” he replied. “never got the chance.”

you nodded with a sad smile. “didn’t know her… but i think she’d be proud of how you handled that. don’t think he’ll be much trouble anymore.”

“she’d think i’m trouble with how full the lovely bartender keeps my glass,” he spoke, but looked like he instantly regretted it. “my apologies, i shouldn’t’ve — the whiskey —“

“you’re fine,” you laughed, your blush pinching your cheeks. as you walked away, you threw over your shoulder, “hopefully your ma wouldn’t mind that i keep her son’s glass full for his good work… nor that i think her son’s handsome.”

from that day forward, billy was always the man who sat at your bar.

he always greeted and made pleasant conversation with you, and glared at any man that got too aggressive with you. if looks could kill… billy would never need what he held in his holster.

you’d giggle to yourself after the creepy men would walk away. you’d never know… but when billy would hear your giggle afterwards, he’d smile, too.

but he kept that to himself.

however, slowly… he was becoming more comfortable with your company.

“so why didn’t you marry?” he one day asked randomly.

you were wiping down a glass when you got lost in the thought. “when there’s a nice one that’s interested… maybe. haven’t already because there aren’t very many nice ones. it was very convenient when you started keeping the bad ones away.”

to your dismay, he didn’t say anything in response.

but you had gotten comfortable with his company, too. too comfortable.

“and why isn’t there a mrs. bonney, billy?”

“she’d get jealous about how much time i spend with you,” he responded.

there was very little emotion in his voice, and you were afraid of reading into what he was saying. was he returning your flirtations? was he telling you that you were a drag? to answer your own question, you jokingly said, “well if i’m too much trouble, mr. bonney, you are more than welcome to have another one of your men step in.”

“well, ma’am —“ he began. “then i’d get jealous of how much time they were spending with you.”

you couldn’t hide the blush that rose into your cheeks. billy looked upon your face with a small smile tugging at his lips, and his gaze didn’t waver.

“keep talking like that, billy, and i’ll become trouble for you,” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“can’t say i’d mind much,” he responded, taking a sip of his glass, but holding eye contact with you.

if you weren’t frozen, you would’ve pulled yourself over the bar right then and then and planted yourself in his lap. you would’ve flung his glass to the floor, and wouldn’t have cleaned it up until you had kissed every inch of that man. you would’ve responded, but you couldn’t...

that was when billy’s men had stepped into the bar.

the air immediately darkened. the blonde one, named jesse, had led the pack as they stalked in. billy immediately flipped around to see what the problem was.

“sweetheart, give us a minute,” billy asked, calling over his shoulder.

billy never gave you orders, let alone in your own bar. however, if he was asking you to… you figured you should probably listen. you left the bar and went into the back. most of your employees had left for the night, so you helped the remaining ones clean up. it would be a few minutes or so before billy had come back into the kitchen to find you. you went back into the bar with him.

“i’ll be back before you close,” he spoke. “lock the doors.”

a second order. something he never did in the first place. something was wrong. you didn’t pry… you just scrunched your eyebrows in response.

“something’s up,” he spoke. he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before he turned to leave. “i’m takin’ care of it.”

there you stood, absolutely stunned. billy and his men left the bar with haste and didn’t look back. you, on the other hand, stood frozen… unable to leave the spot where you had billy the kid, known for his deadly skills, kiss you on the cheek.

you finally moved, reluctantly, but only to close up.

it would be close to an hour before billy finally came back. a few of his friends came with him, and they dragged in a man on their shoulder who was grunting in pain. blood was pouring from his leg, and you immediately went for the medical supplies you kept hidden under the counter. you grabbed two bottles of whiskey for good measure, arguably also a part of your makeshift kit.

“put him down on the table,” you gushed. his men were stunned to see you hustling, but they didn’t hesitate to rest their friend. you immediately took a look at the man’s leg, and were thankful to see that there would be no permanent damage. you shoved a bottle at jesse, and stated, “make him drink this.”

jesse had unscrewed the bottle and helped his friend drink before you fished out the bullet. thankfully no arteries were punctured, but it would be some time before he was good again. you cleaned up the man the best you could, and asked if any of the men needed anything.

“no, ma’am…” jesse responded. “we were going to bring him here and do it ourselves, your place was closest… so thank you.”

you smiled at him. “take the bottles. need it more than me.”

he tipped his hat to you.

“jesse,” billy began. “you and the boys head home.”

without question, jesse nodded. they helped their friend to his feet and left with a goodbye. even though they left, the unsettling feeling of the room hadn’t changed. billy seemed… different. heavier. he wasn’t the same man that had kissed you on the cheek before he had left.

you turned to him. “i won’t pry, but —“

“good,” he spat, turning to you. billy’s eyes bore into yours like you were one of the problem men at your bar. “don’t.”

a look of hurt flashed across your face. you could feel it. “you’re looking at me like i did something.”

“i told you to lock the door,” he spat again, his look of anger unwavering.

you had only seen billy's eyes that wide and that angry when there was someone being cruel to you. the thought made you shiver.

“how would you have gotten back in?” you asked.

“knocked,” he bit.

you narrowed your eyes at his curt response. “i had a feeling something was wrong. if i had waited to unlock, i couldn’t have gotten that bullet out as fast as i did.”

“doesn’t matter,” he bit. “how am i supposed to keep you safe if you won’t listen to me?”

you scrunched your brows together in confusion. “billy… whatever happened where you were, it wasn’t here. i could’ve gone to bed… but i stayed up. waiting for you.”

“and what if someone came in, huh? what then?” he hollered. “what would you have done then?! what would i have done if you had gotten hurt?”

you shook your head in disbelief. you couldn’t believe billy was speaking to you with such disdain. “with the way you’re talking to me, billy — sounds like you’re used to women who don’t pull knives on creepy men, hold broke bottles to their necks — or fish bullets out of legs when i don’t know why he was shot in the first place. you’re used to those kind of women, and have a problem with me? maybe you should go back to them.”

you immediately turned away from him, beginning to walk towards the bar. billy was hot on your heels when he reached out to grab your wrist and turned you around.

he grabbed both sides of your face and pressed his lips to yours.

you wanted to scream at him, throw fists at his chest, push him away — anything to let you know how he hurt you, how he wronged you... but you couldn't.

no. you couldn't.

you were so stunned you stood frozen in place as his lips moved against yours. you loosely held his wrists in your hands, and kissed him back.

“don’t want those girls, darlin’,” he spoke, breathless, in between kisses. “knew you were a real woman the first time i saw you. the kind that puts the fear of god into you, but looks at you with such a sweetness in her eyes that you can’t look away.”

“better believe it, bonney,” you spat, half joking. “you’ve seen how quick i am.”

“i know, darlin’, i know,” he whispered, kissing you once more. “i also know i was wrong to speak to you the way i did.”

“shut your damn mouth and kiss me,” you replied, pulling him closer to you.

“yes, ma’am,” he playfully responded, and you slapped his shoulder.

billy had backed you up against the wall and pressed his body towards yours. you stood on your toes to reach him, and even then he had to lean down a foot or two.

“billy…” you began, pulling away. “i’ve never… but if you wouldn’t think less of me, we could go upstairs. to my room.”

“i’d never think less of you,” he spoke, shaking off your comment. “but… what’d’ya mean, ‘never?’”

“i’ve never been with a man, billy,” you responded, suddenly embarrassed.

he was quiet for a moment, before stating, “you sure you want it to be with me?”

you nodded. “if… if you want to, that is.”

he didn’t respond to your statement, he just kissed you. he kissed you with every emotion you didn’t think he ever possessed — raw, hot, desperate emotion that held you close and tight to him. the heat and the intensity made your brain swim, but you could only care so much when billy the fucking kid wanted you.

he slipped an arm around your shoulders and then underneath your knees before he picked you up. you bit back a squeal before you threw your arms around his neck.

“light as a feather, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” he spoke.

“all that steak i been feeding you?” you joked.

“my belt can’t help it if my woman feeds me well,” he replied, almost at the top of the stairs.

“you’re a flirt,” you giggled.

you pointed him towards your room. once in, he laid you down on the bed and laid on top of you. his body was warm and sturdy over yours, and you couldn’t help but feel warm. his hips were pressed against yours, but you couldn’t feel him through your dress. you grew frustrated at the thought.

you made quick work to undue his shirt, and billy was quick to catch on. he pulled away to take off his shirt, and you tried to take off your corset with his help.

“damn death trap,” he spat, fussing.

you giggled. he was cute when he was flustered, but nothing compared to the way he was looking hungrily down at you. you were completely bare before him, and you should’ve been embarrassed… but shame wasn’t present in this moment. the only thing you registered was how billy looked down at you — with adoration in his eyes as they raked down your naked form.

“will you…” you began. “will you show me… how to please… you?”

“another time, sweetheart,” he spoke, stealing a quick kiss from you. “i need my head between those legs of yours.”

“you-you don’t have to —“ you spoke. “i know that’s not something — that boys —“

“yeah — boys.” billy snapped, glaring at you. “real men want to taste their women.”

that shut you right up.

billy wedged himself in between your thighs and spread your folds. it caused a sharp intake of breath on your part, but you didn’t realize what you were in for. billy flattened his tongue, and licked a long stripe up your slit. your teeth sank into your lip at the foreign feeling that cause so much warmth to make your veins twitch.

…but when billy’s nose had nudged a specific spot at the top of your slit — your legs jerked.

“what — what —“ you stammered.

“shh,” billy cooed, slightly laughing. “i forgot how sensitive you were. my apologies, sweetheart.”

you trusted billy, sure, but you had never felt anything like that before in your life. the jerking motion of your legs was involuntary and made you fearful. billy could see the fear written on your face.

“that spot that i touched, that you felt?” he asked.

his eyes were so wide and meaningful you felt like you could melt in them. you brought yourself up to your elbows and hummed in acknowledgement.

“that is the most sensitive part of a woman, and if i play it just right —“ ever so lightly, you felt his middle finger and ring finger touch the spot. you shivered at the feeling, but you didn’t flinch like last time. you held his gaze as the warmth began to spread inside you. “i can make you feel better than you’ve ever felt.”

billy bent over your body and held himself up with extended arm planted firmly by your side. he swiped the two fingers over his tongue to lubricate them, and brought them right back to where they were. you both watched his fingers play at the most sensitive part of you, and your lip began to quiver.

“look at me, sweetheart.”

your eyes glanced back up to him.

like you thought before, if angry looks could kill… anyone would die by just a look from billy the kid. however, what would they say about the way he’s looking at you now? with his plump lips parted, and his eyes wild and hungry? you didn't know... but you knew you would find out.

“y’trust me?” he asked.

you hummed in agreement, nodding.

“say it.”

you sharply inhaled, caught off guard by his order. “yes, billy — i trust you.”

instead of leaning back down to plunge his face in between your thighs, he kissed you. his lips connected with yours in one of the most dominating ways you ever thought a man could. with his hand playing between your thighs, he swallowed every moan and cry you struggled to keep hidden inside of you. billy was breathing hard against you — relishing in how it felt to have you so vulnerable and close to him.

that was when his fingers picked up speed.

and, god… did it feel damn good.

“b-billy,” you whimpered. “feels…”

“still trust me?”

“yes,” you cried, screwing your eyes shut. “yes, it’s just…”

he leaned his head down so his mouth was right by your ear. his breaths were hot against your ear, and you hummed at the feeling. your hand played with the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging at the roots.

“fuck — you takin’ what i’m givin’ to you, darlin’,” he rasped, then continued, “drives me insane.”

you could barely hear what he was saying, nor could you respond. your head was swimming with the weight of billy so close to your naked body, holding you down and safe, with those skilled fingers of his working you like you were a damn trigger. you were a whimpering, crying mess — and billy loved every second of it.

“something — feels —“

“d’ya want me to stop?” he asked, breathless.

“no,” you whimpered, confused how the warmth inside you felt like it was going, going, going. you didn’t know where it started, where it was going, and definitely didn’t know where it ended. you were worried that you were going to explode — but you didn’t understand. “something feels — like i’m — i’m going —“

“let it happen, sweetheart.” his kisses were wet and sloppy along the skin of your throat. he nipped at the skin, and that only sent you into more of a frenzy. “that’s right, darlin’. that’s it. trust me. i’ve got you.”

and that was it.

the thing — billy’s words, that sent you toppling over whatever metaphorical edge you could think of to describe it. it felt like white, hot sparks went off behind your closed eyelids and were going off on every nerve ending in your body. whimpers left your bitten lips like you were a babe, and your back arched off the bed. distantly, you could hear billy cooing with excitement, laughter… and praise.

a light sheen of sweat was on both of you, and billy had never looked better. his musk was wafting through the air and had completely taken over your senses. you felt like the only thing in the room was billy and the only thing in the world that mattered was billy. men got drunk off whiskey, but you? you got drunk off of that pure, unfiltered scent and look of a masculine man who showed you how to experience the pleasure of a woman you had never known.

“fuck…” you whimpered as you came down from your high. you tried pushing billy’s hand away, but you were so weak you didn’t think you could.

“sorry, darlin’,” he laughed, kissing your throat again. “got selfish. wanted to keep seeing that pretty look on your face.”

it was difficult for you to find words, let alone enough for an adequate response. “billy… that… that felt…”

“i’m gonna be trouble for you now.” he stole a kiss. “nothing better than seeing you below me, like that…”

“i want you to feel good, too,” you began. “please, billy? i wanna see you, too.”

his lips formed a tight line. “i don’t want it to hurt you.”

“first time doesn’t always hurt,” you spoke. “no one says the second time hurts.”

he smiled at that, and began to roll on top of you. you stopped him, and gestured for him to sit up against the headboard. he was hesitant at first, but he did it anyway. you hovered your hips above his before licking one of your palms and gliding it over the tip of his length. you stroked him a few times, and a soft moan left his lips at the feeling.

“i can keep going,” you spoke, throwing a sultry look up at him. “i want to make you feel good.”

“no, doll,” he rasped. “too selfish. need to see that pretty face of yours do what it does again.”

you pouted for a short moment before you lifted your hips above his length and began to sink down. you could feel a slick leaking from your folds, which made you feel better about actually getting him inside you.

“go slow,” he ordered suddenly. “you stop if it hurts, got it?”

you nodded, half ignoring him.

but it didn’t hurt.

the first inch didn’t hurt. the second didn’t. the third, the fourth, the fifth, sixth, — you lost count. billy was so big and filled you so nicely that you were so greedy with how you sank down into him. you couldn’t have cared less about what he said before about going slow — all you needed was to feel all of him completely.

“you didn’t listen —“ he grunted, slightly mad. “you’re so lucky you feel good, fuck — you’re so tight —“

“so what if i didn’t listen, mr. bonney?” you smiled coyly at him, a sudden bout of confidence coming over you. maybe it was the post orgasm glow, maybe it was the new feeling of having the most perfect man inside of you — you weren’t sure. “you feel — so good.”

“don’t get bold on me, sweetheart,” he smirked.

you didn’t listen. you picked up your pace, rocking your hips back and forth to what felt good inside of you.

billy’s cock liked that, sure — but he didn’t. you could see the mental turmoil on his face as his neglected cock was finally getting the attention it deserved, but his hothead person didn’t like that his girl was getting smart on him.

that was when billy flipped you over onto your back, much to your dismay. you liked putting on a show for him and doing all the work for a change.

“you wanna act like that, darlin’, huh?” he asked in your ear with a raspy, lust filled voice. “not gonna listen to me?”

“it just felt so good, billy, please —“ you were whining at this point, pissed he had taken away that feeling.

“oh, you’re a greedy thing, that right?” he taunted. “gets one fuckin’ taste, and now she can’t get enough?”

you shook your head, desperate for something — anything. “so greedy, baby. please, billy — please just fuck me.”

his hips snapped against you. hard.

maybe it should’ve hurt — but fucking christ, it didn’t. it felt so good to have his strong, forceful hips thrust against yours and hit that spot so deep inside of you.

“you like that?” he asked, taunting you. “that’s what my greedy girl wanted? — needed?”

his hips were relentlessly snapping against yours now as he hovered above you by holding himself up on his elbows. the sight of his broad and strong chest and shoulders… enough to make any woman weak. a firm crease was in his brow, signaling he was struggling to keep up his mean persona.

“yes — yes —“ you cried. “billy, you’re so deep — it feels — fuck, you can’t stop billy. please —“

“sweetest fuckin’ pussy,” he grunted. “squeezing me so tight.”

“right there — that’s the spot, baby,” you bit your lip to keep your voice down.

billy leaned his forehead against yours, and his exhales fanned against your face. little moans were escaping his lips as well, but nothing like yours. instead, he spat, “couldn’t let me be nice to you and fuck you sweet, huh? had to get smart on me?”

you could barely hear him. billy’s usual raspy, and commanding voice was enough to make anyone stand at attention — but now? now you were some cockdrunk whore who didn’t care how she got what she wanted, only that she did. his thrust were hard and fast, hitting a deep spot in you that was making that warmth swell up in you again.

“didn’t want sweet, billy,” you whimpered. “wanted you to use me just like this.”

you weren’t sure what came over you — and billy wasn’t sure either. his thrusts didn’t falter, but he couldn’t understand how the pretty, innocent looking bartender could be so fucking naughty — but only for him. a sense of pride had never welled up inside him like that before, knowing that he was the only one who got to see the prettiest girl in town keen for someone’s touch like this.

his touch. only his touch.

“gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he spat against your ear. “should’ve known you’d be such a good girl for me — taking my cock like this. can you cum around my cock like this? gonna be the best girl — and show me how that pussy tightens around me?”

the curse words billy drew from you were not your sunday best, but they made billy’s guttural groans against your throat and ear that much more enticing. you were both covered in sweat, spit, and slick — and nothing had ever felt better. you were close, so close — and all you wanted was to see him finish so you could see it for yourself.

“billy, i’m so close —“ you cried. “but i wanna —i wanna see you —“

“shhh,” he cooed. “gonna take what i give you, sweet girl.”

he sent a hand in between your bodies, and started playing with that spot that had made you explode the last time. you almost protested, but there was nothing like having a man buried so deep inside you do whatever he could to make sure you felt the best you could. you whined, you cried, you screamed, fuck — you did everything to let him know that you were close, billy, i’m so close, please, i’m begging, please don’t stop, and billy refused to look away from your beautiful face as you came undone below him once more.

with your beautiful hair fanned out around you, billy thought you looked ethereal as your second orgasm overtook you. there was something about the way your eyes fluttered softly closed, but broken gasps left your lips like you were so far gone in pleasure that you were lost in it. here, beneath him, before him, was a woman he had spent so much time protecting, so worried about her safety… all he wanted to do was make her feel good. when your limbs began to quiver, knowing you were so deep in your orgasm that you were at the peak, billy couldn’t help himself. he knew you were sensitive, he knew how it would be too much, he knew he shouldn't — but he had to. he was so, so selfish with his greedy girl.

his fingers kept spinning circles on your pink rosebud, and it was like the white light behind your eyes couldn’t stop. you were gasping for air — begging, pleading, hoping, wishing. it was so much. it was too much. it was everything and anything all at once, and you didn’t realize how far you were falling until tears leaked from your eyes.

he should've hated himself for making you feel so lost, but he didn't. not one bit.

“billy —“ you cried, shaking. “i’m so — so sensitive —“

he engulfed you into a long kiss, smiling smugly against your lips. you would’ve laughed with him, but you were so weak. so, so weak. he knew how sensitive you were, and stopped his movements completely. you didn’t realize he hadn’t finished with you until he began to pull out of you.

“billy — you didn’t —“

“s’alright, darlin’—“

“no, it’s not,” you said firmly. “teach me how to do — that thing.”

“that... thing?”

“with my mouth.”

he hesitated before shaking his head. “i don’t… tonight was a lot — for you.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “boys don’t taste their women, right? men do?”

he scrunched his eyebrows together, confused, but nodded anyway.

“and what about real women, billy?” you asked. “you think they like leaving their men unsatisfied?”

his lips parted at a loss. he couldn’t argue with that, could he?

“sit on the edge of the bed,” you spoke, sliding out from under him and finding a place on the floor.

he hesitated, but he didn’t argue with that, either.

you tried to hide your smirk from him.

he'd never tell you he saw it. he also would never tell you he loved it.

"you gonna tell me what to do, or what, cowboy?" you smirked up at him, taunting.

he shook his head, and pursed his lips in a way that he knew you were in over your head. "you're acting bold. let's see if you got a reason to."

you narrowed your eyes at him, but smiled anyway.

you returned your attention to the muscle you were holding in yours hands. it was long and thick — you weren't sure how it fit inside you before, and you definitely weren't sure how you were going to fit it in your mouth.

"too much for you, darlin'?" he quipped.

you shot him a look. "wasn't too much a minute ago, was it?"

you didn't let him respond. you licked the palm of your hand — throwing manners to the wind — and wrapped your hand around the tip and the top of the shaft. you made circular, stroking motions at the top and licked a stripe, like he did to you, up his shaft.

that shut him up.

a long and drawn out fuuuck had left his lips.

you shouldn't've — you knew you shouldn't've.

but you did anyway.

you started to kitten lick at his balls, and you could feel him shift from above you. hot and heavy groans were leaving his lips, to the point where he was incoherent. now that you had found his sweet spot, you'd never let go. just like he didn't.

"fuck, you are naughty," he rasped, voice dry and cracked. "my naughty girl. so good f'me."

you hummed as you wrapped your lips around the skin of his balls. they were warm and salty, and you relished in the taste. billy placed a heavy palm on the back of your head. you realized then and there he was foreign to giving up control — usually you'd give in, but not now. not when he was teasing you before.

you replaced your hand with your lips, and brought him down as far as you could.

from the corner of your eye, you spotted him beginning to fist the sheets.

tears were springing to your eyes, but you didn't care. you wanted to — had to keep going. you wanted this so badly — to take care of him. you needed this, and if he wanted it, too — he was going to give it to you.

you began to bob your head up and down, taking care to mind your gag reflex and teeth. the slurping sounds from your mouth were obscene — as was the drool falling from your lips, down your cheek, and along the skin of your raw neck.

both of billy's hands were on the back of your head now, giving you slightest — almost ghost like — push down. you welcomed it, hoping to show him you could take him far, farther than he thought you could handle.

above, he was going crazy. fucking nuts. his entire body was hot and on fire, and it took every ounce of him to not drag you back up into his lap and impale you on his cock. however... his muscles were tired, and his sweet girl looked so perfect on her knees before him, and who was he to deny her what she wanted so badly — what she earned?

he'd never tell you — but he wanted you to have it more than you wanted it yourself. he wanted you to know that he only felt comfortable enough with you to be in such a vulnerable position like this — pretty woman, teeth so close to his jewels. he wanted you to know that you were setting every nerve, vein, blood vessel on absolute fucking fire with the way your silky tongue slid down the length of his shaft, and the way your tight, warm throat enclosed around his sensitive cock... he wanted you to know how much he adored you, and how much he wanted to give you everything you had ever wanted.

"fuck, sweetheart —" he bit. "I'm so close — you better — pull off —"

"too much for you, cowboy?" she only pulled off for a second, before she put him into the deepest parts of her throat.

the way you teased him set a raw set of anger and adoration through this veins, and he didn't know what to do with it. he was so weak, tired, spent, and fucking horny — he couldn't move, think, or fight back. all he wanted was to cum down this sweet girl's throat and make her his.

"that's it, baby, fuck —" he spat through gritted teeth, the hands on the back of your head encouraging your movements. "right there, right there — fuck."

you held your place, keeping a few inches of him in your mouth. his thick cock throbbed a few times before ropes of white decorated the walls of your throat, and you swallowed every last drop. you pumped him a few more times, for good measure — and also to get back at him for earlier.

"don't be mean to me, baby —" he whined. "come up and lay with me."

you giggled, crawling up the bed to lay next to him.

"gonna tell me how that was?" you asked. "or too proud?"

he chuckled then. his post orgasm glow was so beautiful... for the first time, william h. bonney didn't have a permanent from embedded in his brow. he looked so... peaceful.

"not too proud to admit that was the best I've ever had in my life," he laughed, letting his eyes close. you trailed a hand up and down the soft skin of his chest and stomach before curling up next to him. "going to be proud after i take you to the courthouse tomorrow and make you my wife."

you scoffed at that. "i didn't think cowboys were the settling down type."

"they're not — but i'm no cowboy, sweetheart," he rasped, turning to look at you. "you're it for me — if you'll have me, that is."

you smiled then. a real smile. the type of smile that gave billy hope.

"on one condition," you spoke.

his eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded his head anyway.

"you'll ask me for real in the morning, mr. bonney."

"i'll give you anything you want, mrs. bonney — as long as you're mine."

---

what did we think?? xox

-L

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible. 

"Who is this?" 

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me." 

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?" 

"There's someone in my apartment." 

"You're sure?" 

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen. 

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are." 

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real. 

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other. 

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy. 

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer. 

You hang up the phone. 

"I know you're here." 

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long. 

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible. 

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet. 

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself 

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality. 

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice. 

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you." 

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you. 

You could be dead in the next two minutes. 

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know. 

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this 

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees. 

"Found you." 

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar. 

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt. 

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away. 

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall. 

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood. 

"Stupid bitch," he hisses. 

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh. 

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed. 

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg. 

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you." 

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted. 

"What are you going to do?" he asks you. 

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down. 

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?" 

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic. 

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?" 

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw. 

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional." 

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice." 

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night. 

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here. 

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face. 

"Aw. To begin with, sure." 

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?" 

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice." 

"We both know you don't like nice." 

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things." 

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side." 

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else. 

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?" 

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better." 

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh. 

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read. 

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up." 

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face. 

Hotch moves in. 

"Drop the weapon." 

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room. 

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise. 

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?" 

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer. 

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light. 

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down." 

"No, I was surrendering." 

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering." 

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it." 

You hang your head. 

— 

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks. 

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone." 

"That doesn't need a cast?" 

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life. 

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen? 

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head. 

You'll be gentle? 

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy. 

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened." 

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock." 

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?" 

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently. 

You don't answer. 

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it. 

"I don't feel well," you say quietly. 

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?" 

"Don't think so." 

"It's shock," says the paramedic. 

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?" 

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's. 

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?" 

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval. 

"Her boss." 

"Not her partner?" 

"He's my closest friend," you say. 

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true. 

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay." 

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.  

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down. 

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye. 

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing. 

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me." 

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks. 

"No. No, I want you to." 

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks. 

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay." 

"I'm fine." You sound welled up. 

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine." 

"Yeah, I do. It's my job." 

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does." 

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. 

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there. 

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked. 

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast." 

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right. 

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start." 

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft. 

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard. 

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call. 

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down. 

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek. 

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.1k

genre/warnings. princess!reader, knight!kinich, slight enemies to lovers (not really, they just argue but idk the term for that tbh LOL), pixelprincess!au

summary.

ever since he became your personal guard, you've found kinich to be a royal pain in your ass. you've always assumed he felt the same, until the night of your matching ball. now, you're not sure what this burning in your chest means after all.

author's note. this is a drabble as part of a universe that i'm calling pixelprincess (knight!kinich x princess!reader). i don't really have a full fic planned for this or anything, i just have a bunch of small headcanons about them and i love aus so feel free to scream about them with me HAHA. thank you for reading! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

If there’s one thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that he’s not stupid.

Honestly, you could say a lot of things. You’ve heard the rumors just like everyone else, about the fearsome Captain of the Guard who passed training within a single day. They whisper that he holds a dragon’s power in his heart, a fact that strikes fear into any nation that dares encroach upon your territory. His reputation precedes him, and he’s somewhat of a mystery to the general public—most of them envision him as a hero, the key to the nation’s defense.

If there’s another thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that sometimes, you wish he was stupid.

The castle always feels larger during the summer, when the sunlight bathes the interior with gold and the halls bustle with movement during the day. Guards and aides rush in every direction, though none of them seem to spare a glance in your direction; there’s simply far too much to pay attention to today.

The maids are replacing the vases with fresh flora, Brilliant Chrysanthemums and Saurian Claw Succulents that make the room seem brighter, discussing which configuration looks the best. You know them all, of course; growing up within the castle meant that these women had practically raised you. Even as an adult, it’s hard to escape them when they feel like pinching your cheeks and reminiscing on old times.

Sensing the coast is clear, you crack the door open another millimeter, carefully slipping into the hall and blending in with the crowd. The maids, luckily, don’t notice, still fussing over petals and stems. You’d calculated this time exactly—right now, the guard patrol should be across the castle, checking the entrances before the ball tonight. If your information wasn’t wrong, then you should have just enough time to make it to the servants’ passages, and then out to the garden—

“Oh?”

The familiar voice makes you murmur some choice curse words under your breath. Of course, the dark-haired man in front of you is always several steps ahead of everyone. He’s leaning against the stone wall, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as if he knows something you don’t.

“Princess,” Kinich greets, bowing his head despite how you wave him off—you’ve never been one for formalities. “What are you doing here?”

“Just taking a walk.”

You move at a brisk pace past him, but Kinich is faster—he always is, the annoying bastard. Before you can turn the corner, there’s the blade of a greatsword blocking your path. No matter how much you see it, you’re always surprised by the size of the damn thing—you’re shocked he can even lift it as it is. A half-smirk rests on his lips when you gasp.

“Taking a walk away from your lessons? I do believe your teacher’s room is in the opposite direction.”

The annoying thing about Kinich is that he truly knows everything, including your schedules. He’s thorough to a near fault, though you suppose that that’s exactly the kind of person who would be fit for Captain of the Guard. Still, you duck under his sword, unwilling to make eye contact.

“Lessons are tomorrow. I have other plans today.”

Kinich falls into step beside you, and the halls are suddenly clear of people—the crowd parts before you, a stubborn rock among a rushing river. You’re unsure if it’s due to your status, or due to your temper—it’s a well-known fact in the castle that Kinich can get you wound up quite quickly.

“And what might these other plans be?” 

He always has too many damn questions, you think. Silently, you curse your father for assigning him to you. A series of attempts on your life last year had made him paranoid, and he’d been quick to promote the strongest knight as your personal guard. Back then, you’d been fooled just like everyone else into thinking that Kinich was some kind of serious, straight-laced hero. Instead, you’d since discovered that he was seriously annoying.

“Can I guess?” he asks, deftly dodging past the maids carrying bundles of tablecloths and the waiters carrying sky-high stacks of platters. 

“No, you can’t. In fact, you can’t even ask. I should have you executed for that.”

Kinich raises a brow, amused. “The Queen would never let that happen.”

And, unfortunately, he’s correct. Your mother absolutely adores Kinich as if he were her own son, and it irritates you to no end—especially when she heavy-handedly suggests that you make him your groom. The door to the back stairwell falls into view, so you break into a jog as you reach the end of the hall, but he’s right on your heel.

If I can just make it to the stairs…

Kinich steps in front of you again, not allowing you an inch further, and you nearly scream in frustration.

“If I didn’t know any better—”

You scoff. “And you, in fact, don’t know anything—”

“—I would say that you’re trying to avoid going to the ball.”

And, once again, you wish that just once Kinich would let something fly over his head.

Utterly defeated, you collapse into one of the plush chairs nearby, fanning your face. Kinich stands over you, a bit tense, as if he thinks you’re going to try to run again. You won’t; at this point, you’re too tired.

“So what if I am?” you finally admit. “You always complain about them anyway. I find it a little unfair that you’re allowed to and I’m not.”

As great as he is at his job as a guard, Kinich isn’t so great at facing the public, despite how popular he is among them (particularly the women). Whenever he can, he avoids social events like the plague, often volunteering to run perimeter duty as a precaution rather than attending with you. You, unfortunately, don’t have that luxury.

Kinich sighs, resting his weight on his sword. “I don’t complain, it’s just annoying when everyone is so loud and—”

You snap your fingers, interrupting and pointing at him accusingly. “You hear that? What you were just doing? That’s called complaining.”

Realizing he was caught in the act, Kinich rolls his eyes. “How very profound of you. If you put that much effort into your escape routes, maybe you would’ve made it this time.”

Your gaze narrows. “How about I stick a profound fist up your a—”

“Kinich? Is that you?”

The booming voice makes you both straighten up instantly. Kinich smoothly sheaths his sword, saluting to the king as he makes his way down the hall. You’re far less graceful about it, gathering up your skirts messily and quickly curtseying to your father. 

“Your Highness,” you both echo.

If your father notices the tension between the two of you, he doesn’t say so; he looks as jolly as always, even more so because of the event today. He’s the social type, a trait you unfortunately did not inherit.

“Just the two people I was hoping to see,” he laughs, a full-bodied sound that booms from his chest. “I’m glad that the two of you get along so well.”

To your irritation, Kinich smirks, while you offer your father a thin-lipped smile.

“Of course,” you lie, sneakily jabbing your guard in the ribs. He coughs. “We get along like a house on fire.”

“That’s good,” your father says, nodding encouragingly. “You’ll both do well later tonight then.”

Your heart drops at the thought of attending the event. You know how long your parents have been planning this, and how long they’ve been practically begging you to find a companion. It’s all a long-winded scheme to find you a princely partner, and not one that you particularly appreciate—a great majority of the princes you’ve met are far too full of themselves. You truly have no interest in any of them.

Kinich, however, pointedly clears his throat at your father’s wording.

“Both of us?” he asks, enunciating slowly. “I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

You perk up in interest—that detail had been lost on you.

“I invited several princes from neighboring nations today,” your father says, eyeing you with a pitying stare. You try not to feel offended. “I want my daughter to find someone suitable for her, no matter who that may be. Still, I was hoping you could attend with her this time? I know it’s not your favorite, but I would feel uncomfortable with her being around so many strangers alone.”

Kinich’s smirk falters, and he suddenly falls still. You wonder if he’s irritated by the prospect of attending the ball at your side. 

(Distantly, you wonder why the thought of that makes you feel a bit ill.)

The silence grows awkward, and you rock on your heels, searching for something to say. Your guard looks a bit lost for words, likely because he wasn’t prepared for so much social interaction today. You can’t really blame him—if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t be thrilled either.

“Actually, Your Highness, that won’t be necessary.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at Kinich’s reply, but you hurry to control your expression, unwilling to give anything away to your father. The king raises a brow.

“And why is that?” he asks.

Kinich gnaws on his lip, an action that is wholly unlike him—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him appear nervous about anything in his life. Still, he meets your father’s gaze head on, coughs once, then says:

“The princess isn’t feeling well. I think it’d be best if she didn’t attend the ball today.”

He nudges your foot just as your father’s gaze drifts to you, and you thank your lucky stars that you did inherit your mother’s dramatics. You throw a hand over your forehead, fanning yourself aggressively.

“Since this morning,” you explain, looking as pitiful as possible, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Thank the archons Kinich was here, otherwise I might’ve fainted earlier.”

And you really do feel guilty when your father’s eyes well up with tears of worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he cries, then turns to one of his aides in a panic. “Call the doctor! Have him attend to her immediately. And announce that she’ll be absent from our festivities tonight.”

You force yourself to hide your smile at his announcement. Your eyes flicker over to Kinich, but for once, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit amused—in fact, he still looks troubled. Your father fusses over you for a bit longer, asking a series of questions about what you’d eaten and who you’d been in contact with. You answer as honestly as you can—the least you can do—and then he directs Kinich to escort you back to your room.

The hallway seems to empty out quickly after that display, and then it’s just you and your guard. For some reason, he seems to avoid your eyes. He doesn’t speak, merely offering you his arm, and after a moment, you take it. 

“So, what changed your mind?” you ask, unwilling to let him sit in silence. He looks displeased by your question, but answers anyway.

“Nothing,” he says, expression blank, “I just didn’t think you should go to the ball tonight.”

The tips of his ears are flushed red, you note. Liar. 

Still, Kinich keeps countless secrets that you’re sure you’ll never know, and you suppose it doesn’t really matter why he decided to let you off the hook tonight. Really, you’re just grateful you’ll get to sleep peacefully with no stinking princes breathing down your neck. The thought makes you smile as you finally reach your bedroom door.

“Well, what a shame it is,” you sigh sarcastically, turning the knob, “I could’ve been dancing the night away with the love of my life. Now I might never meet him.”

The corner of Kinich’s lip twitches.

“As if,” he replies gruffly, a touch too fast. “You wouldn’t like any of them anyway. They’re not nearly capable of handling you.”

Your eyes narrow, irritated by the implication. “And you are?”

He raises a brow in response. “Aren’t I?”

It comes out uncharacteristically soft. A switch seems to flip in the room, and you suddenly start feeling sick for real—it’s too hot, too quiet. Kinich’s stare weighs on you heavily, and you get lost in the depth of it. You freeze where you are, bedroom door half-open, and you can almost pick out the meaning in his words when he turns away, clearing his throat.

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, and…get well soon.”

He makes his exit without another word, and you wonder if he’s still working tonight. Is he still going to guard the ball? The perimeter? What if one of the other princesses takes a liking to him—

You huff, deciding you don’t care and slamming the door shut. The ball is bound to be a drag, and you find Kinich annoying, you think as you fall into bed. You’re happy about this arrangement. Overjoyed, even.

Yes, you find Kinich very annoying.

…Don’t you?