#if only he could see himself through my eyes. the reader's eyes. he would've known.

[evilkaeya]

Oh he means the world to me

[easy-there-leftovers]

As Cool As I Think I Am

Summary: The 5 times Spencer tries to be cool, and the 1 time he doesn't care. 

Alternatively; Spencer never thought he was cool, but he found himself wanting to be just for you. 

[a/n] Recommended to be read after, "A Question Unasked", and is a roundabout sequel to "Mixed Messages."

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader| cw: slight spoilers for s1e04, s1e06, s1e08, s1e10, and s1e18 | description of canon-typical violence, timeframe switches because I can, and Spencer being an oblivious, lovesick idiot (can't believe this version of him survived all of this lol) | word count: 7.2k

Amazing. You had called him, “amazing” during the Arizona case and that was all that had been occupying his mind as of late. He had been called brilliant before. Been described as bright, gifted, hell, he was called a genius even. Yet that was the first time anyone had said anything positive about him.

Removed from his intellectual capabilities.

It made him think that there was more that he could offer than just his never-ending stream of knowledge and incessant rambling.

You had seen that in him.

Seen that he was 'amazing.'

But he certainly wasn’t feeling that way now.

“On SWAT we broke shots down into three steps." Spencer nodded as he listened.

"One: Front sight. Focus on the front sight, not on the target. Two: Controlled trigger press. Three: Follow through. After the shot, you come right back to the target. Now, what did you do wrong?”

He sighs with his eyes closed. “I didn't follow through.” 

“Right. You came off the target to see where you hit.”

Hotch had been observing him for the past few minutes to prepare him for his assessment tomorrow, and yet it still felt like he was making no discernable progress. 

He had memorized every trick, every form, every physics interplay that could better the ballistics of his shot and yet he still couldn't do it.

"Hotch, my firearms qualification is tomorrow morning. I barely passed my last one." He had said, putting the gun down.

He feels his unit chief gently push him aside to demonstrate and he gets in position.

"Front sight," He aims his gun.

"Trigger press," He presses down on the trigger, resulting in a gunshot to the target.

"Follow through." He finally says. Keeping his eyes forward with his finger still depressing the trigger until he holsters his gun again.

"You do those three things, you'll hit your target every time." Spencer shakes his head.

He tries to replicate the steps again, but only fails miserably.

He has been doing that. He is doing that. And yet he still keeps missing.

If this wasn't part of his job, maybe he wouldn't have cared all too much about his gun proficiency. Or lack of.

And yet it was.

And it was imperative that he learned it to keep his place on the team, but he had been losing hope.

"They're going to take away my gun."

Sensing his frustration, Hotch empathizes with him.

"Profilers aren't required to carry." He groans at that.

"Yeah, but she does and she's great at it."

God, you must've thought he was pathetic.

Aaron laughs internally at that. He knows exactly who the younger one is talking about.

He had seen the way that Spencer had been watching his 'protege,' and it didn't take being a profiler to know that he was absolutely smitten. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought that Reid's frustrations stemmed from wanting to seem more experienced in front of you.

And Hotch saw no problem with that, at least for now. On the contrary, the two of you working together seemed to have bolstered his focus on the case. Making the team more efficient with their investigations.

He also thinks that it helped because you seemed to return Reid's sentiment, which is why he had brought you along to help him.

So when Spencer turns and sees you walk in, he blanches.

As much as he really liked your presence (you were friends, right?), he really didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you.

He does that more than enough on his own.

But it seemed like your mentor didn't care.

Hotch says your name with a greeting before excusing himself which tells Spencer that he had planned this from the start. He sighs at that. Chest feeling heavy at the pressure.

He sees you give him a polite smile, which he's come to recognize to be your way of easing him, and he returns it.

"I've heard about your progress." Spencer rolls his eyes at that.

"More like regress. I'm sorry that you have to be here." You snort at his joke but shake your head to assure him.

"I'm right where I want to be. "

His heart fills, even though he knows that not what you meant.

"Why don't you go ahead and show me how you fire that gun?"

He nods and waits for you to put on your ear muffs and goggles before he returns to his position. Calming himself down as he remembers Hotch's words.

Front sight, trigger press, follow through.

He fires three bullets and sees them all hit the whites of the target, which makes him sigh for the umpteenth time.

He puts the gun down and lowers his ear muffs to look at you. Seemingly deep in thought, chin resting on your hand, with eyes travelling slowly up and down his form. Observing.

Scrutinizing.

Assessing.

He can't help but feel naked under your gaze.

He always knew you were smart. The cases you've helped solve were more than proof of just that, but he knew that even you couldn't solve the mystery that was his aim.

He couldn't expect that of you. He relies on you so often already.

He briefly wonders how there's such a different between you and him. You joined the same year, joined the same unit, and worked with the same people on the same cases. How was it that you seemed calmer, cooler, and more prepared for anything more than he ever was?

Spencer firmly believes that intelligence cannot be quantified. And if anyone ever doubted him, he would just point at you and say that you had him beat everywhere despite what any number might have to say otherwise.

Case and point. you had been talking to him about something very important and thoughtful and he had been zoning out the entire time.

"I um,–– what?"

You shake your head and gesture to his gun once more. "Show me your form again."

He takes his gun hesitantly, but readies himself the same way he did earlier. The only exception being that his finger isn't on the trigger.

He hears that telltale, almost bored, 'hm' of yours before you speak again.

"Tuck your chest in."

He's read countless firearm manuals and instructions and he's never heard of that before.

"I'm sorry?"

"Tuck your chest in." You say it again, but it's still not making sense to him.

Unable to voice or even act upon his confusion, he watches as you wait with an impassive face before asking,

"Can I touch you?" He lets out a shaky, but immediate 'yes' and you move to stand beside him.

Given your calm and nonchalant demeanor, he anticipates a more impersonal touch. For lack of a better word. He expects a shove. Maybe a push, to correct him into the right place.

So when your hand comes to softly rest on his stomach, fingers splaying across the expanse of his undefined abdominal muscles, he feels his breath hitch. Upper body slightly crumpling in on himself as he does.

He's surprised he hasn't dropped his gun.

"Dr. Reid,"

He's also surprised that his heart hasn't stopped. With how you said his name, and how close you are– he can already feel your soft breath gracing his ear–

"You're an autodidact, aren't you?"

A self-taught person, he thinks.

"I–– I am." Curse his shaky voice.

"You know, there are some things that can't be learned by just reading textbooks and looking at diagrams."

He feels you tap his stomach and he suddenly feels hot.

"Feel this?" He feels you engulfing his senses, that's for sure. But he nods slowly.

"Remember it. Your center of gravity is different from the subjects in those graphics. So the form you need to take is likewise different."

And just like that, all too quick for his liking, you move away. Hand leaving him just like whatever depraved thought might've been running around his head.

He hesitantly looks back at you, and you gesture to his gun again. Noticing how your free hand is resting on the gun in your holster.

A Glock 19, he remembers.

"Go ahead and shoot like that now."

He does, in the same way that he's compelled to follow your voice like always–

Front sight, trigger press, follow through.

And fires three shots.

To his surprise, he manages to shoot the target's chest. Not quite centered, he admits, but its a vast improvement from his previous attempts.

"I– I did it." He feels the disbelief on his face when he looks at you again. He's expecting you to look just as shocked as he does. After all, you saw just how egregious his aim was. So it surprises him when he turns and is greeted instead with the small smile on your face.

Not the same polite smile that you usually give when you're at work, no. It was a soft, genuine smile, or so he thinks.

"I never doubted your capabilities, Dr. Reid."

He beams under your praise. Blooming like a flower under the warm radiance of the Sun. Once again subject to that brain-freezing sensation from a few weeks ago.

If he just remembers everything you told him today, which wasn't a lot, he theoretically should pass his firearm qualifications with no problem.

And maybe, just maybe, he'll get to see you smile at him again.

After all, he had always wanted for you to look at him. Actually look at him.

Maybe if he passes his test this time, you will.

----

The following day, he doesn’t pass his test.

And he is much more embarrassed now than he ever was before. 

He returns to the bullpen with his head down. Already expecting everyone to know of his failure.

He really didn't want to see if you were one of the ones that had been looking at him.

What he doesn't see is that you were.

But you weren't disappointed at all. You wanted nothing more than to reassure him. To tell him that you could always help him again, and that you didn't mind the extra work if it weren't for the stares that you had been getting back.

Seemingly turning your what-would've-been act of friendship and care into an expectation and responsibility.

"Make a wish!"

"Come on, man. Blow, baby, blow!"

"I thought you were full of hot air, Reid."

"They're trick candles, Spence, okay? They–– They're going to come back on every time."

While Spencer is glad that he’s spending his birthday with actual people, there's one in particular that he's missing.

He also feels sort of embarrassed that he's having a full-on birthday at his workplace. Though he is very thankful that his friends care about him enough to do this.

"Hope you like chocolate." JJ says with a laugh and he is only now recognizing the cake. Previously too caught up in blowing out the undying flames to even notice the festive dessert that supported them.

"Where's the cake from?" The blonde only gives him a look that he can't quite understand, but he is immediately distracted when he feels a draft from where Hotch passes by him.

He looks in the direction he came from and lo and behold, he found the very person he was missing.

He gets up, wanting to at least get a greeting from you, but he's interrupted by Gideon asking him something before he can even try.

"You having fun?"

He knows that he's asking him, but he can also see how his eyes aren't quite addressing him back. Instead, looking up a few inches above him.

He gives a tight lip smile when he realizes just what he's looking at.

God, he felt pathetic.

“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.” 

"Make a wish?" He asks another question and that’s when Spencer sees what he's doing now.

Ever since he first exhibited signs of interest in you, he knew that his mentor would be the first to clock them. He couldn't even hide it if he tried. If there was anyone on the team that he knew would figure it out this quick, it would've been him.

He expected it.

What he didn't expect was for Gideon to show disapproval for it.

For you.

Back during the Arizona case, he remembers how Gideon had interrupted you when you were explaining something. And that's when he realized you were going to have a hard time.

You were going to have a hard time because of his own rapidly growing interest.

Because he froze when you said one nice thing about him, then proceeded to wow him with your observational skills.

He didn't want Gideon to think that you were being a distraction to him, so he instead chose to show just how well the two of you had worked together. Even going as far as to double down and reiterate your statements to convince him of that.

And it seemed to have worked, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Can I take this hat off?"

He wanted nothing more than to do just that before you notice him, but his mentor just shook his head.

"I wouldn't."

He doesn't know it's because Gideon knew you found it cute.

By the time that he notices the elder doesn't really care about the conversation anymore, probably too distracted by the TV behind him, his gaze finally focuses on you.

The very person that he had intended to talk to.

The one he intended to talk the entire time before he got sidetracked.

You still hadn't turned to look at him though, or make an attempt to greet him. Not even a laugh to mock him for the huge, 'Happy Birthday' hat that sat on his head to make him look like a dunce!

Instead, you were staring at something. Or rather, someone.

He turns his head to look just where you were and there he sees his unit chief, your mentor, on the receiving end of your intense gaze.

Just like always.

He shakes his head and decides to just go talk to you, but he is once again interrupted. This time by Hotch with a solemn expression on his face.

“Sorry guys. Party’s over.”

You immediately spring into action at his words, completely missing his hand that was just about to come up to wave at you. He tightens his lips into a thin smile.

Spencer's starting to doubt Morgan and Elle's words.

–––––––––––––

The sentiment is rectified when he finally receives the one thing he had been looking forward to on his birthday, and it wasn't the gift.

Not even the greeting.

It was being able to be in your presence. Being able to spend time with you. The you that wasn't so stressed or strict about work, or the case, or your boss.

It was just him and you. You and him. And the scarf that seemed to warm him just as much as his heart warmed at the sight of your smiling face.

God, what he would do to have this with you forever.

Spencer is well aware that likes you.

Hell, even the rest of team knows it by now, but he's starting to fear that his unconscious mind is more aware of that than his conscious one.

Case and point, he had been having dreams.

Nightmares, actually.

Nightmares that he can't help but think will happen if he takes his eyes off of you for even a second.

Morgan had asked him earlier when he was making coffee if something was causing him to lose sleep. If you had been causing him to lose sleep, he had asked with a teasing smirk.

And while normally he would've flushed and stumbled at his implication that a night of you had been keeping him up, he admits to what's been plaguing his mind.

Naturally, he doesn't tell him the full nature of his night terrors. But his friend doesn't need him to. Not with the way that his eyes try to find yours every chance he gets, focus going in and out of the conversation like an adjusting lens.

Spencer fears that one day, no matter how strong or smart or clever you are, it's his negligence that'll place you on the receiving end of a killer's weapon.

And that there's nothing that he can do to stop them from landing the finishing blow.

He knows that it's not rational, but he also knows that dreams are rarely, if not never, rational. Studies show that around seventy to eighty-percent of dreams contain bizarre or irrational elements. This included unusual settings, impossible scenarios, and illogical developments to be featured in the unconscious brain.

Doesn't mean that he's alright with seeing it so often, though.

What's worse is that he knows that it can very much happen during the BAU cases. And that he can't even prepare himself for that scenario.

He's practically deadweight on the field with his still erratic aim and bambi legs, he's surprised you aren't sick of him yet.

He laughs a bit at the thought. Clutching a portion of his scarf—the only thing that has been keeping the nightmares at bay— as he promises himself that he won't leave your side.

Especially not in the confounding forest of McAllister, Virginia.

Which is why he's stuck in his current position.

“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.

“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ” 

He doesn't know what exactly you found in the abandoned house, but he knew that it wasn't wise to leave you with no one but a high schooler.

You might think he's not all that different from the kid, but he's at least trained to be an FBI agent.

“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.”

You looked dead into his eyes, yet he still didn't relent. No matter how reasonable your request was.

In any other situation, he might've thought you were cool. That you were handling the situation like a natural, and that you were very responsible for taking charge when he was there with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

But he didn't want to leave you. Not when you looked like you've just seen a ghost.

He grasped your shoulders, firmly but gently, and practically begged for you to come with him.

Stating that what you were feeling was a completely normal physiological response. That your body was sending neropinephrine to your brain to help regulate the stress and compensate for whatever was happening inside of you and that it would be safer to stay together––

But when he sees you ice him out– concealing all remaining traces of shock or fear or worry– he freezes.

His eyes raked across your features, biding his time. Committing every micro-reaction, every hair out of place, every faux-calm movement of your eyes before he had to let you go with a nod. Leaving hurriedly to find anyone that can help and constantly looking back at you to assure his consciousness that you were fine, and that you would be fine.

When he saw that the other sheriff wasn't there yet, much less anyone for that matter, he immediately went back. Running uphill fast to get to you.

To make sure that you were alright, that you were alive, and that no one was coming to hurt you.

Which is how he found himself here.

Gun held to his head by the very high schooler that, he thought, wouldn't have been of help if another dangerous person had shown up.

When you raised your hands and dropped your gun in surrender, he was scared of what would happen to you both if he didn't act quick.

But he was even more scared of what could happen to you if he doesn't talk his way out.

Fast.

So that's what he did.

––––––––––

He didn't get to check on you, he realizes.

He knew you were able to knock the kid out, he was there when he helped you distract him, but he must’ve been wheezing because he was the first one to get ushered out and checked on.

He wants to tell them to check on you. That you had landed pretty badly when the unsub was able to push you back, but he can hardly even hear his own thoughts.

The siren of the police car, the medic talking to him, the rest of the team discussing the case's outcome, and his own heart in his ears were simply too much for him.

By the time that things had settled down, he notices that you still aren't there with him. He worries and whips his head around wildly before his eyes find yours already looking at him.

Doing so with an expression of regret or grief etched onto your face.

He sighs in relief, and gives you the best smile he can give to assure you that he's okay despite having been worried sick.

He needed you to know that he was fine. That it wasn’t your fault. That he was glad you're okay too.

That he was so impressed with what you had done despite the circumstances, and that you had handled the situation way better than he knew anyone on the team ever could.

So when you seem to turn away from him, he briefly wonders if something was actually wrong.

He tries to look back on what might've happened. Wonders if there's something he didn't see when he came back, or when he was away––

And that's when he realizes something.

Could he have put you in more danger when he came back to check on you? That he had accidentally sabotaged your takedown?

He sighs. He must've looked so pathetic in front of you getting grabbed like that–– but he's not sorry.

He had been doing that for your safety and for his own peace of mind–– he wasn't going to apologize for caring about you.

He'll make it up to you somehow.

The next time you go on another case together, which you two inevitably will, he'll make it up to you.

That, he promises.

He actually doesn't get to work with you again. So he decides that he can make it up to you by narrowing down the unsub's identity.

In fact, he hasn't seen you at all since the team first arrived at the crime scene.

You had been working with Hotch and Morgan on more field operations, leaving him with Elle and Penelope doing background checks on possible suspects. And while he wasn't with you, he'd like to think that he's still enjoying the company.

Well, that's what he would like to think.

He has no problems working with Elle. She was a nice colleague that seemed to occasionally humor his rants and got the job done quickly. And Penelope was someone that the both of you really got along with. Occasionally having this back and forth unique to the three of you.

But they weren't you.

Still. What he thought about you can wait later. He still has to think about his escape route if the two break out into a fight.

Right now, the three of them had staked out one Michael Russo who they anticipated would call his hitman, the suspected Unsub. They were hoping to get a name from what they could pick up from his end of the call, and they did.

Problem was,

"Russo's got eleven associates named Vincent." Spencer raised his brows at that.

Vincent is a name of Latin origins. He shouldn't be surprised that the mob had a handful of people with that name, but it was kind of too on the nose at this point.

"Oh, make that ten. Vincent Cellito died last summer. But here's something––Vincent Sartori."

He really wants to find this guy, so he chooses to keep looking through the list. Ignoring the growing tension between the two girls.

"Currently doing six at Dannemora for racketeering."

Spencer then speaks up again, "How about this Perotta? There's not much on him."

Garcia makes quick work to pull up what seemed to be deleted records and that's where they find something interesting.

"Alcohol addiction at 14, violent outbursts, assaults,–– Once threw a Molotov cocktail at someone sitting in their car." She can't believe what she's reading.

"Several notations for aggression," He adds, but this is where he sees something truly wrong.

"He once scheduled a visit to an infirmary to gain access to a–– boy who looked at him for too long?"

He really didn't want to meet this guy.

"No fear, no remorse, quick temper. And he was smart enough to stay off the radar as an adult," Elle interprets. "Paranoid personality. Could be our guy."

And he really didn't want you to meet him either.

All the evidence is stacking up against him though, so you just might have to. He just wished that nothing bad would happen when you did.

––––––––––

While right now they weren't sure if he was the unsub, he was definitely someone who fit their profile. He saw some LEO's bring in a guy who had essentially been cuffed at every limb, accompanied by Hotch and Gideon, but he had yet to see the others.

He sees Morgan, who is walking alongside Elle (she went to see what all the commotion was about) but with who he sees next, he feels his stomach drop. Heart rate spiking in contrast to an all time high that he's practically sure he has tachycardia.

"What happened to you!?"

He got up from his seat to run over but you just shake your head.

You had come back with your clothes and hair in disarray, a bleeding nose, and a a busted lip. A complete disparity to the normally clean-cut and professional look that you had strived to maintain.

Even when you had been tackled to the ground a few cases back, the damage wasn't nearly as bad as this.

It's Derek that answers his question for him though.

"Perotta hit your girl up in the head, Reid." He chooses to ignore the joke. Too worried as he tries to check on your head but you just softly squeeze his hands to reassure him before you push them away.

Still not looking at him as you finally speak.

"It wasn't that bad. He hesitated. It could've been worse."

He doesn't like your answer.

If you had just been hit in the head and yet your nose is bleeding, that was a clear sign of a concussion. And the cut on your lip had to be from a fall. On asphalt or onto another material, it didn't matter to him since both are just as bad.

As he expresses that, you just tell him to drop it and then move away from him.

Before he can say more however, Hotch comes back into the room with his usually stern expression. A bit of worry lacing his tone, Spencer notes, as he orders you.

"Go home."

He's staring you down, but it seemed you had a lot more to say to that.

"Sir Hotchner, I would be of much more use in here. It is imperative that all available resources are focused on the retrieval of James Baker." He sighs because you're right, but that doesn't seem enough to satisfy you.

The boy-genius hates it when you use reason to get your way.

"Fine. Help Reid and the others with the evidence. We can narrow down his area of operation from there. They should be arriving soon."

You shake your head adamantly. "Sir, I can handle the interrogation--"

"No you can't!"

Spencer surprises himself with his outburst, but you don't even turn to look at him.

It's Hotch that gives him a very pointed stare though before continuing,

"Reid is right, agent. We'll handle the interrogation, so please busy yourself here." He says it with a finality that is indicative of his departure but you stop him one last time. Hand going up to rest on your mentor's collar.

He sees you gesture to your own, and Spencer hears an intention in your voice that he can't quite understand.

"Let's not give him a weapon, sir. He's pretty strong."

He sees his boss nod, and he takes off his tie. Putting the cloth into your awaiting hand, and you grip it out of instinct.

Reid zones out as he sees this interaction in disbelief. Did you normally touch the others like this?

You had completely brushed off his concern, not even looking at him. And yet when it was your unit chief that told you to do so, you had simply followed?

He thought he was starting to become an exception to you, but had he been reading the signs wrong? It could very much be a possibility as he was never good at doing so.

Even later when he had been sifting through the bags from the suspect's van, you still didn't respond to him. Even going as far as to ignoring Penelope's offer to watch the tapes they had found in Perotta's van. Shaking your head, 'no' with a faraway look in your eyes.

Just what had exactly happened while he wasn't by your side?

At this point, Spencer’s convinced that you would never like him.

If not for you having eyes on literally anyone else but him, then definitely because he had disappointed you. Desecrated the honor that came with being an FBI agent.

Just because he had been distracted.

A whirlwind of emotions had been flurrying inside him since the very beginning of this case, but he swears that he had never meant for this.

He doesn't even remember how it happened. Which baffled him, given his memory. But he thinks it's because he couldn't have cared less about the past few hours.

He had been stuck babysitting Lila only because you had told him so. Entrusted him with her because you thought that he was the best person to guard her, to comfort her.

He didn’t know it was because you had a feeling he’d be safer by her side.

And some part of him was flattered that you had said all this about him. Especially when all Lila would hear from him were endless praises of your name, of your work, and your caring nature.

But another part of him felt ignored. Pushed aside.

He doesn't know when it had happened, but Hotch had stopped pairing you together some cases ago. Saying something about you needing physical training, though he sincerely doubted that.

He thought that things were going well between you two. He had just been trying to find the perfect window where you would see him in a good enough light.

A good enough light that would make you say 'yes' to going on a date with him.

He didn't even care that the pretty blonde was interested in him. He only agreed because you stressed her safety more than any other target thus far. But the attention that she was giving him?

That was all that he wanted from you.

All he'd been wanting for months.

And when he had kissed her, all he could think about was you. How it would've felt if it was you in his arms, how you would react if it had been you that he was touching.

But then immediately after, how you would react to him kissing another girl.

God, he was pathetic.

He knew that you had been having a hard time lately. And he also knew that it had a lot to do with your work, how he did his, and his safety. That was all you ever stressed about when you were with him.

If he was safe.

You'd think he'd learn that by now, but he hasn't. Which is why even when he knew all this, his heart still ached as he sees you cry into Morgan's arms. Sobbing like no tomorrow. All because of something he did.

All because he took all your hard work, that had been focused on keeping him alive, and essentially throwing it right back at your face.

His negligence did that.

And he supposes that now, he can't do anything to get into your good graces anymore. Not when Derek Morgan seemed to better at doing his job as a federal agent, and his job as your friend.

When he finally gets changed into dry clothes and enters Lila's house, he doesn't miss the way that you turn from him. He also doesn't miss the glare the other agent was giving him. Nor the careful hand that had been rubbing up and down your arm.

Something that he wished he could've been doing instead.

––––––––––

God, he wanted to be anywhere but here, considering this is where it all went downhill.

"Did you give Lila Archer a collage?" Gideon had started the interrogation, so even if he did want to leave, he couldn't.

"What?"

"There's a photographic collage above Lila Archer's sofa. She says you gave it to her."

But the faster that they could get this done, the faster he could apologize to you.

"So? I didn't make the damn thing." Parker had laughed out, clearly not comprehending the severity of the situation.

"So you just happened to give her a work of art containing most of her life in it?" Spencer pushed but was surprised to see his ex-classmate seemingly have no recollection of the situation at all.

Something was wrong.

If it wasn't him, then who––?

"I––no, no. Look, I lied. I just wanted her to like me. I met her here, and she was a fan of art. Someone gave me the piece to give to her, but I told her it was from me."

It can't be––

"I said I found it, and I thought she'd love it."

"And who gave it to you?" Morgan had finally asked.

"Her name's Maggie Lowe. She uh––She works on Lila's show."

When Spencer hears this, he immediately goes to call you on his phone. Maggie Lowe had gone to Juilliard with Lila and was the production assistant that he swore he saw go in and out of her trailer.

If he wasn't so distracted, he would've fucking noticed that.

But his phone doesn't even ring for a few moments before the call is declined.

What the fuck was happening?

Before he could ask anyone else, he heard Derek speak up.

“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—" Spencer tries to talk to you through Morgan's phone, but is knocked off balance when the man turns around in shock.

"Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.” 

"Let me talk to her!" He practically begs, but before anyone could even understand what he was saying, the call is ended from your side.

"Reid, what the hell were you trying to do?"

He's shocked at his own actions too, but that's not what's on his mind right now.

"She dropped my call but she answered yours? And since when did you start calling her that?"

He knew it wasn't fair, especially after what he had done, but just when did you and him happen?

"Since you started being a dumbass. Get over yourself, kid."

Everyone then started making their way to the two SUV's parked outside, but Spencer took the one that Morgan was driving.

He wasn't done with this conversation.

He tries to call you again, but this time, it looks like the line is busy. What was going on, where were you? He tries Lila's phone, even though he's sure she won't pick up and nothing either.

He has half a mind to ask Morgan to call you, in case you were just being petty and ignoring him, but he feels his phone vibrate. He suddenly hears his phone ring, and he hurriedly answers without checking the caller ID.

Hoping that it would be you on the other hand as he called out your name.

"Nope, sorry hon, it's me." It was Garcia's voice, but it sounded like she was shaking. Sensing the urgency in her voice, he instinctively puts his phone on speaker.

"Reid, I need you to listen to me very carefully— I've already alerted officials in the area, but your unsub? Is in Lila Archer's house."

You can't keep doing this, he thinks. You can't keep scaring him like this, because he's starting to feel so sick.

He looks to his friend in the driver's seat and sees him nod when they make eye contact. Speeding up as they thank Penelope before she ended the call.

At this point, he could care less with how pathetic he might've looked. No longer caring about how uncool you thought he was, or whatever might've been going on between you and Morgan, or if you still had a crush on your boss— none of that.

They had left you behind with Lila and no one else.

Spencer had always feared that one day, no matter how strong or smart or clever you are, it's his negligence that'll place you on the receiving end of a killer's weapon. And that there's nothing that he can do to stop them from landing the finishing blow.

If the reason you were alone and held captive by some psychotic shooter was because he had pissed you off enough to even dismiss his help?

He might never forgive himself for it.

When they arrive, he immediately gets out of the car. Ready to run in and ambush Maggie by himself if he has to when Lila runs into his arms. Holding a gun in her hand as if it were a bomb.

A Glock 19 that he's seen you use since his first official cases on the team.

He notices Morgan, Elle, and Gideon were already out, but Hotch and JJ have still yet to arrive.

He knows that he should wait until further instructions. That there wasn't a protocol for this specific situation. Or maybe there was, but his IQ of 187 had always been slashed down to 60 whenever you were involved.

When he hears a gun fire from inside the house, he's the first one that starts running.

He's thankful that he wasn't alone when he did though.

By the time that Maggie had been apprehended, you were already well on your way to the nearest hospital. According to the clock from inside your room, and the news report that had been playing, a full twelve hours at the very least had passed since then.

You tried to remember what had happened. Tried to remember how you screamed for help once you had subdued her. How she shot you when you tackled her.

Probably with the intention to kill you, then herself had you not talked her out of it.

You groan as you feel the blooming pain in your side. Probably from the GSW that you're going to have to note in your action report.

And then you remembered how you realized what you felt for Spencer and the rest of the team.

You shake your head despondently.

When you look back on every situation where you had essentially put yourself on the line for his sake, you notice that you had really been doing that out of your own volition.

That you had been doing it because you didn't want him getting hurt.

You just didn't like that the the team was turning it into some sort of responsibility.

And sure. Maybe the others were complicit in pairing you up, or guilty for giving you odd looks, but they probably wouldn't have done that if it wasn't something you were already going to do.

God, you felt so pathetic.

You don't think you can handle looking at Spencer now. Not after your existential crisis, and certainly not after what you said before he left.

But luck has a way, so it seems, to constantly elude you.

You note this as you see the very man that you had been thinking of slowly opening the door and perking up when he sees your eyes on him.

Well, as perked up as he could be. Given the circumstances.

"How uh—, How are you? A-Are you...okay?"

You take in how he looks when he asks. Dark rings encircling his eyes, (he had been up all night waiting for you), usually neat hair in a mess (he had been running his hands through them nonstop), and shirt all crumpled from being hunched over for so long (a different one, because he just couldn't stand the vague scent on chlorine in his old one.)

Your heart sinks at the sight and you beckon him closer with your strong hand. Echoing his question.

"Are you okay, Dr. Reid?"

He lets out a shaky breath when he finally hears your soft voice again, slowly approaching you as he does. He was so worried that the last words he would hear from you would be your disappointment, but he persists.

"Can you please answer the question? I don't like it when you pretend like you're okay when you're obviously not."

His hand finds its way to trace little patterns on the back of yours. Occasionally looking up at to see if he was hurting you, before continuing when he sees that he isn't. Feeling too shy to do anything more.

You roll your eyes at the gesture. Flipping his hand to rest on the hospital bed and slipping yours on top of his. Giving it a soft squeeze.

"I could be better." You then squeeze his hand again. "Is this what you were trying to do?"

He thinks for a while, as if not really understanding your question, before nodding vigorously.

You smile at the sight but then feel your regret from a few hours ago come rushing back.

"I'm really sorry. For...everything." You don't think he knows what you're apologizing for, but you do it anyway.

If not now, when?

Spencer laughs a little at that but shakes his head. "Morgan told me about what you said. Back at Lila's. Well, more like he told everyone while we were waiting for you to wake up."

You nod. Suddenly feeling guilty for trying to make contact so you try to let go, but he only entangles your fingers once more. Intertwining them as much as he can since this is the closest that he can afford to have you right now.

He feels his lips tightening into a thin smile before he says what's been haunting him for the past few hours.

"I'm sorry that you had to deal with me for so long. I never meant to burden you like that or make your job harder."

"No, Spencer please," you start, rubbing the only part of his hand that you could reach with your thumb.

"You were never a burden. I was just—caught up in a bunch of things."

He doesn't miss how your usual eloquence evades you. Which gives him a bit of an idea as to how unscripted and vulnerable you were being with him right now.

And as much as he should hate this for you, he'd love it if you would learn to be a bit more vulnerable in front of him. Even if it was a departure from your usually starched blazers, pressed blouses, and clean-cut exterior.

He still thought you were cool just like this.

"Have I ever told you that I thought you were really cool?" You weakly snort at that.

"If by 'cool,' you mean constantly worrying about how everything could go wrong, then yeah. I'm super cool."

He shakes his head at that, but it looked like you weren't done.

"I think you looked cooler, though. Especially when you were next to the pool trying to dry your gun. You looked like a wet rat."

He groans at the mention but you continue to tease him.

"Hey, you were a handsome wet rat. Still a rat, but... you know. From Vegas. Arguably not as bad as the ones from New York. Now though, you're a handsome dry rat."

Now that, he just wines at. You weren't being fair.

How could you make him go through all this and then say that?

Did you know what kind of effect you have on him?

The two of you continue to sling back jokes at the other, a common thing you used to do before things went south. And just enjoying each other's presence.

Holding his hand as you absentmindedly started massaging it. He didn't even notice how his hand had been shaking since the moment you first held onto it.

He was so so glad you were alive. That you were still here, with him. And there's no place he would rather be than where you were.

"So. How about you start telling me what you've been up to while I've been knocked out, hm? What have you learned, genius?"

He's learned a quite a lot, while you were away.

He learned that he should probably encourage you to have more breaks. Learned that you should both talk to each other, and everyone, a bit more. And he learned that you two weren't so different after all.

He's also learned how much he really liked your smile, your laugh, your soft touch, and the way that his name fell from your lips.

He doesn't tell you any of this, however.

Opting to instead tell you about the numerous facts he's picked up during the case, and how much he hated Hollywood.

[a/n] And with that, this marks the end of this specific timeline! I've honestly loved writing with this reader's specific personality in mind, and I'm looking forward to how she'll mellow out when she learns to be more honest.

I have a few ideas for one shots regarding this specific dynamic, but if you enjoyed it as much as I did, please tell me what you thought about this short series! And if you have any idea on what you'd like to see next from these dumbasses, send an ask my way!

Thank you so much for liking them thus far.

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

[monstersholygrail]

A monster boyfriend would be fantastic.... Can you imagine him coming to your defense when you have a toxic parent? I'm on the obese side but very short. Last night......a parent called me lazy and fat....despite my efforts t olose weight for health reasons. Now, I feel too scared to eat.

I cried so hard, and wish I had some intimidating boyfriend that would've made my mom shut up and come to my defense. Also, I feel like monsters would not care so much about human standards of beauty. (Even at my healthiest weight, I wasn't like stick thin)

Oh, hunny, I feel you. I’m in the same boat. I’m so sorry you went through that. You are absolutely beautiful the way you are. Do what you need for your health but know that being skinny doesn’t equal being healthy. Please eat, love, because making sure you’re eating all your meals is a part of health. I know that a monster would love you no matter what and would embrace you entirely.

I’ve been through a similar experience and I know I would’ve loved to read something to comfort me so I hope this can comfort you <3

Perfection to Me

Monster bf x chubby fem!reader - tw fatphobia, toxic parent[ing], hurt/comfort, protective bf, body worshipping, multiple orgasms, creampie

You had been so excited. You had recently gotten your very first boyfriend and you were so excited to introduce him to your family and friends.

Of course, all of your friends had been a bit surprised when they first met and they were faced with a huge and intimidating monster. But in reality, your monster bf was the sweetest man you had ever met. He was protective and he cared for you more than you ever could’ve imagined.

And he proved it to you time and time again how seriously he took your courtship. How deeply he considered you already to be his mate. Not shying away from using the term regularly.

All of this just drove your excitement to the point where you couldn’t wait to introduce him to your mother. To show her you’d finally found someone.

That excitement slowly dwindled. More and more as the night went on. It had all been going so well. Your mother greeted your monster bf with delight. Clearly happy, if not surprised, by his presence. It was easily overlooked.

But then the comments started. Snide in-passing comments. Comments about your relationship, your weight, and worst of all your eats habits.

You focus on staring down at the table, trying to keep your tears at bay. Having been so used to swallowing down these comments without a retort. Luckily your monster bf isn’t.

A loud slamming of fists rattles the dinner table, causing you to look at your bf with a sharp gasp. From the corner of your eye you can see your mother do the same.

“Who do you think you are?” Your bf snaps, his hands clenched. Only barely holding back his simmering rage.

Word after word he had been tortured by your mother’s lashing tongue. He had no idea how you must be feeling. But after seeing the tears in your eyes he could no longer sit back and take it.

“Excuse me?” Your mother asks, eyes wide and partially frightened by the aura which radiated from your monster bf.

“Was I not clear?! Who do you think you are to be speaking to my mate like that?” He questions, standing up. Only making his form that much more intimidating to witness. Not willing to listen to any bullshit from your mother.

“Well, I.. I am her mother!” Your mother replies weakly, visibly shrinking back in her chair.

“I have known mothers that eat their young who are kinder than you,” your bf lashes out, claws sinking into his own skin. You wince seeing it, your worry for him growing. Not wanting him to hurt himself because of her.

“How dare you!” Your mother shrieks, hand clutching her chest.

“Baby, plea-“

“No!” Your bf snarls, head whipping to face you, and stopping the excuse from leaving your lips. His arm joining it to stop you from reaching for him.

But as his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He leans down, licking and nuzzling into your cheek in a silent apology.

“I will not stand idly by and watch as an insignificant disrespects you,” his voice rumbles into your skin as he moves down to your neck, scenting you. Marking you as his to care for now.

“Insignificant!”

Monster bf tenses hearing your mother’s voice again. Returning to his full height he glowers down at her.

“It is a mother’s job to nurture and protect,” he states simply, making his opinion of her treatment of you quite clear.

“I am protecting her! Protecting her from herself and from everyone out there,” your mother finally snaps. Standing up from the table even in the face of your bf.

Your bf bristles, needing to pause for a moment. Ensuring he doesn’t lose control of himself. After a silent beat he slowly walks around the table and towers over her.

“In this moment you are a far greater enemy to her than anything she will face out in the world…”

You watch as his words sink in. Your mother’s face growing pale and her mouth finally staying closed.

When he’s sure she won’t try and reply, your monster bf moves around her, heading back to you. He holds out his hand which you take without hesitation. Your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

It’s only when your bf immediately reaches with his free hand to wipe softly at your cheeks do you realize you had been crying.

“Come, sweet mate. I think it’s time we leave,” he says lowly as he gathers you up in his arms. You don’t even think about resisting, just letting your bf swiftly lead you out of the home.

You could tell your monster bf was angry. He was furious. And it showed in the way he ravishes you the moment you two get home.

As soon as the door closes behind you he’s plucking you up from the floor with ease and throwing your body gently down on the bed. Endless praises leave his lips, clearly setting out to replace every mean word your mother had uttered throughout the night.

He peels your clothes off slowly, despite the fact he was practically shaking with his restraint. Revealing your beautiful big body inch by inch. As soon as you are bare he pounces on you, showing how much he treasures every curve of your body.

His face nuzzles into your thick neck as he grinds his cock against your pussy lips, all while telling you how hard you make him. Not stopping until you come apart, dousing his length with your essence.

He makes sure to take care of every inch of you. Moving down to latch onto your nipples. Sucking and massaging at your supple flesh until you gush all over the sheets from the toe-curling stimulation. Your body spent but your monster bf not having finished with you, evident by the feral glint in his eye.

Taking his time, setting his own aching need aside, to slowly kiss down the curve of your stomach. His claws digging into your sides and loving how you fill up his hands.

Though his hands suddenly have a far better use as they spread your meaty thighs for him. He dives right in, stuffing his face into your fat pussy and completely smothering himself in your folds. His tongue devouring you like you’re the only thing he’ll ever want to eat again.

Fingers joining soon after, needing to fill you up even deeper as his tongue laps up your essence. His hand and mouth work in total sync till your body is shaking with the need to cum. His mouth sucks greedily at your clit while his fingers curl along your walls. As soon as he finds that sweet spot within you, you’re erupting all over his tongue. White dots briefly clouding your vision from the intensity.

Monster bf barely gives you a moment to breathe as he rises onto his knees, that look in his eyes only growing darker with each orgasm that overtakes you. His eyes rake over your limp form.

“You are perfection,” he breathes out before finally sinking into your tight cunt. You both moan as your bodies connect, your back arching as you show off that body that’s so beautiful to him.

He can’t hold back any longer as he furiously fucks his cock into you, bodies slapping together in perfect harmony. Growls and deep rumbling noises escaping him as your body brings him a pleasure he’s never otherwise experienced.

Together you two bring each other to orgasm after orgasm, never getting enough of each other. It’s not until neither of you can physically not move that you take a break.

“You hungry, love?” He asks as you two lay back on the bed, limbs completely wrapped around each other.

“Hmm, no. Not really,” you reply quietly, your appetite not quite having returned after dinner was interrupted. Monster bf senses this, his lip quivering as he visibly holds back a growl.

“Well, what if we change the venue, huh? You can eat off of me,” he suggests, a lighthearted smugness moving across his features. His free arm moving to rest behind his head while the other keeps a firm grip on you.

“Oh, well that changes things then,” you say through your laughter. Your bfs smugness grows as he shifts down and spreads out across the bed. Showing off his body to you. A body that’s goal is to give you more pleasure than you could dream of.

“Yeah, it does. You can eat a fucking feast off of me…” your bf says with a grin, all in order to bring more of that sweet laughter out of you. To have it tickle his senses. He’d do anything to make you laugh. He leans down and nibbles at your neck, causing you to giggle lightly. That’s it. “And that’s exactly what I plan to have you do.”

Monster bf doesn’t given you any time to respond before he’s back to kissing the daylights out of you.

[charmercharm3r]

doing everything together

BC

Masterlist

wc: ??

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, bf!chan x afab!reader, porn no plot, shower sex, piv, oral (f receiving), cream pie, he’s so cute i love him

definitely not proofread, entirely self indulgent lol

☆ﾟ

He was very particular about the bathroom. Chan didn't care so much about the house hold appliances when you were looking for apartments together, except for the shower. This was the one area he showed true interest in, so you let him take the reigns entirely when he said he wanted to change the shower head from the original that came with the place.

You didn't know what he had chosen, only that he mentioned how good the water pressure was with the silliest, horniest smirk you'd ever seen.

As soon as the shower head he ordered arrived and he installed it, Chan wasted no time in getting you stripped and soaked. You got lucky that there was a shower bench, which was not what had initially drew you to choosing this apartment, but it was definitely a perk.

Lips everywhere, hands roaming, taking in the warmth of his body and the steaming shower, you couldn't help but giggle at how excited Chan was to show you the reason he chose this specific shower head. You broke away from his eager kisses to glance at where it was mounted, seeing the extra cable connected to a handheld head.

"That seems great for hosing down the walls," you thought for practical uses, not looking any closer and trying to capture his lips once again. Chan redirected your kiss to his cheek and grabbed the handheld.

"Just look," he asked, to which you playfully groaned into his neck before looking. There was an extra hole in the very top and a switch on the side. Chan reached up to the mounted shower and twisted something to turn on the handheld, then made eye contact with you while wiggling his eyebrows. Just as he did, he tipped the handheld towards the ground and flipped the switch. A stronger stream shot out from the top, and it all clicked.

You didn't get a word out before he was kissing you again and blindly leading you to sit on the all-the-more convenient bench. God, you would be dripping if you weren't already wet, Chan sliding to his knees in front of you. Of all things he wanted to be involved in, this was entirely unexpected-- though, not unwelcome whatsoever. He made himself comfortable, thick lips never straying from your skin even whist spreading your knees and fingertips toeing across your thighs.

Just to hurry things along-- you were impatient now that his grand scheme had been revealed-- you scoot forward, pushing your exposed cunt towards him hoping to entice him. Chan laughed into the meaty flesh of your thigh, lightly biting wherever he could and fully appreciating your newfound enthusiasm. Not that you weren't before, just even more now that there was a new and potentially mind-blowing sensation that he could inflict onto you.

He took your hand and let the stream from the handheld hit your palm, asking, "good pressure?"

"If you don't put that between my legs right now--"

"Okay, okay," he giggled again, "needy tonight, hm?"

"Yeah, and it's your fault," you emphasized your point by hooking your knees over his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his head.

"If I had known this is all it would take to have you borderline trying to mesh bodies, I would've upgraded the shower at our old place a long time ago." His hands kneaded at your love handles to displace his own needs for now, too excited to try this almost as much as you were. The sight of his slender, pretty fingers so close to your core was maddening and you failed holding back a slight rut of your hips.

"I would love to live inside you, actually."

"I say the same thing every time I see this pretty pussy of yours, baby." Chan wasted no more time and practically fell into you, first his tongue licking a cautionary stripe up your center, then suctioning his lips around your clit when you involuntarily threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned into you, vibrations of his constant vocal pleasure making the introductory feeling even better.

This was just a warm up for him, just the prologue to the real fun he'd have when he thought you could handle the lovely pressure of the handheld shower head. Part of you wished he'd give it to you already, but another part never gets tired of how good he is with his mouth. If Chan could, he'd live between your legs and have you for all three meals of the day. And what a blessing those lips are, already having you curling your toes and tugging at his wet curls within the three minutes he'd been on his knees.

Slowly, his fingers tiptoed their way to join his mouth, spreading you wider with two fingers for more access for his lips, then gently moving to circle them around your entrance. Your head fell back against the tiled shower wall, whimpers not ceasing anytime soon.

Just as you were gonna ask him for more, he pulled away, but not without replacing what he'd stole. Chan pushed two fingers into you right when the stream grazed your clit, lightly and calculated as not to do too much. He glared up at you with concern when you slammed your head back against the wall much harder than before, Chan stammered to pull away but backtracked when you cried his name, "don't you fucking dare."

"I do love when you boss me around, darling," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his perfect lips. The teasing came with retaliated pleasure, maneuvering the stream so it hit your clit more straight on. You moaned louder, shuddering and wanting to pull away at how much more intense the feeling was than before. "If you're gonna talk like that to me, then take it like a fucking champ. Don't let me down."

Oh, it was a challenge, now. There was no backing down, you were gonna be fucking good and take whatever he wanted to give just for the sake of being able to rub it in his face later that he couldn't break you. Just don't let him see how badly you wished it was his cock in you instead-- that'd be the real tipping point.

"That's right, baby, I knew you could do it," he praised, mouthing and teething at the flesh of your thigh, slight pinching making the pain mix with the pleasure much, much too well. His fingers started to slowly move, adding the needed friction from within and it had you sob, just once. "Hm, I don't think this is enough."

Oh no, don't say it. "Maybe you need something bigger."

Fuck, he's gonna say it. "Think you can take my cock, too, baby?"

And you're gonna say yes. "Please, yes, please."

Chan pulled the stream for a second to give you a comforting, pillowy soft kiss to your clit and stood. He hung heavy, swaying and glistening and so mouth watering. Somehow, everything was just the right height for him to easily find his reddening tip at your hole and push in. The stretch, a welcome sizzling burn that soon turned into nothing but tingling euphoria, coupled with the returned stimulation of the jet stream, you were floored. It was written all over your face.

He laughed and hid his face in your neck as you adjusted to the all of the new feelings. "God, stop fucking clenching like that," he whined, sending a light slap to the outside of your thigh, which only made you clench harder. He slapped again, a little harder, then groaned when your whole body twitched. "You're killing me here."

"Then make me cum already, unless you wanna die a slow, wonderfully warm and wet death."

"I love when you talk dirty to me."

"Chris, shut up and fuck me."

He shrugged, pecking your lips lovingly and resting his hand on your hip bone to keep the stream pointed just right on your nerves. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew the spot that made you want to claw out of your skin because the pleasure was too great, and he hit it every time. Only now, he could fuck you at the same time.

And fuck you, he did. He was slow and precise, just as ever, wanting to hit the right spots that caused you to contracted hard and practically milk him, that was his favorite feeling. Getting this little appliance did half the job for him, all he had to do was hold it steady and move his hips.

The sight above you was heavenly, his wet abs right in front of your face while his soaked curls would occasionally drip onto your face and cause you to look up, then be met with his sculpted features. God-- if there is a god-- it could very well look like Chan. The way he looked at you could make you cum by that alone.

It took another four minutes, tops, of him barely rocking into you, tapping at the soft spot within you and keeping the stream satisfying the pulsing along your center. You reached up for his biceps, lightly scratching and pulling him down for a slow, sloppy kiss, mumbling against his lips how close you already were. "Whenever you want, darling," he cooed back, entirely satiated already.

Chan did what he always did when you were close, and that was rapid fire. He quickly shook his wrist to let the stream run over your clit, back and forth, the feeling getting more and more intense every split second it left and returned tenfold. Until you were clawing down his forearm and abdomen, back arching against the tile with a last cry of his name and a string of whimpers.

Another minute passed before the oxygen returned to your brain and you could think clearly again. Chan was looking down at you with his forehead leaning against the tile as well, buried as deep in you as he could go and a silly smile plastered along his lips. Oh, how you loved his lips.

"I think our water bill is gonna be incredibly high," you joked, kissing the darkening red lines along his wrist.

"Just means we'll have to shower together. Y'know, to save water."

"I won't complain about that." Chan's eyes crinkled as he came down to press a kiss to your forehead in return.

"Doing everything with you is the highlight of my day. Even washing your stinky feet," he gently slid out of you and tickled the bottoms of your feet, getting you to kick him away while trying to crawl under the shower again. Chan caught you by the waist and held you from behind, once again hiding in the crook of your neck and simply enjoying having you in his arms.

[allfearstofallto]

Always Under Skin, Even When it Gets Removed

Yandere! Childe x Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

Childe was a nuisance. Persistent. A vermin. Childe was a pest. Like an infestation of roaches, you could do everything in your power to get rid of him, but he'd still be somewhere nearby. Determination was one of his strongest traits, and he was determined to ruin you.

Being married to him was never in your cards and if you could've never met him at all, you would've been happy. Yet for almost a year, you were forced to be his doting wife. Only managing to steal yourself away after months of planning and a few close calls. The taste of free air, even if it was the air of Snezhnaya, was the best thing on your tongue, better than even your favorite food cooked to perfection.

You didn't think you'd live the life of a nomad, but it seemed easier. Paranoia was second nature to you now, and staying in one place seemed dangerous. He could be anywhere, around any corner, close by, but not showing himself until he knew it would fuck you over. Was living life on the road considered freedom? You didn't know, but anything would be better than another day with Childe.

“How far will this take me?” You held up a good ring to a carriage driver, making sure to keep your face covered beneath your hood. You took a lot when you left, mostly jewelry, things that were small and expensive.

He eyes the ring over before dropping it back into the palm of your hand, “It'll get you pretty far, but where are you even trying to go?”

“Anywhere is fine,” you said quickly.

The man helped you up into the back of his wagon, where he kept his wares. Mostly agricultural things, fresh produce and hay. It wasn't the best place you'd ridden before, but it was far from being the worst.

You understood why people were weary of you. You weren't making much of an effort to not come off as strange, but you weren't out to make friends. The wagon swayed as the sun began to set over the horizon, he didn't tell you how long he'd be driving and quite honestly, you didn't care. At the next port, you'd stow yourself away onto some other vehicle, never stopping, not even for a breath.

You let your head rest back against the hard wooden wall, you let your arms fall to your side, you let the movement of the wagon sway you to sleep. Morning would come and you'd be awoken by the well-known feeling of the carriage lurching to a stop and sunlight beaming through the cracks in the wall. Outside sounded like a bustling city, although you didn't know where, quite honestly it didn't matter.

“It's back here, sir,” you heard the voice of the carriage driver say as you watched shadows fall over the doorway. You can recognize Childe. Recognize his smell, his voice, a strand of his hair if you were to find one, and most importantly, you could recognize his footsteps. Slow, drawn out, and precise. Your blood went cold, noticing that the driver wasn't walking alone.

The door was slammed open and before you could even make a break for it, cold metal was pressed to your neck. Sharp enough to slice your head right off your body if you made any sudden moves, you could already feel the steel biting into your skin.

“Already running away again?” You didn't even want to look at him, but he used the tip of his blade to tilt your head up. Still wearing a smile as he looked down upon you, “I will admit, I'm proud of you. You managed to stay away longer than I expected,” the blade pushed a lot harder into your neck, “I missed you, my angel.”

You could say nothing as he took you by the hand, pulling you from the cart and onto the ground. You weren't treated gently, not when he was angry. His anger was a menace to deal with. The bigger the smile, the words his rage, and he looked practically elated to see you.

“You took everything, but this,” he tossed your wedding band down, it fell onto your body and landed on your thighs. The ring was warm, like he'd been clutching it in his hand. Knowing him, he probably hadn't let it go since he discovered you were gone.

Without much of an argument, you slipped the ring back on your finger. The small band felt more like a shackle, than something meant to adorn your body. With it, your taste of delicious, true freedom was ripped from your mouth almost as quickly as you'd gotten it. But you'd never get to taste it again.

Childe was all smiles and laughter as he helped you into his own carriage. That smile not reaching his dead, hollow eyes. The ride to Snezhnaya would be a long one, you wonder how long he could contain his anger till then?

[oepionie]

INTERRUPTED MAKE-OUT SESSION.octatrio

Synopsis: The octotrio don't really take kindly to having their alone time with you interrupted.

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech , Floyd Leech x GN! Reader

Tags: Suggestive because oh wow that's a lot of kissing, Azul forms a Crowley hate club, Crewel being an overprotective dad in Jade's part, Floyd annoys you (lovingly)

Word Count: 2k+ | 💌Masterlist

A.A | AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

Azul seldom had days off; he was usually dedicated to his office, checking work and finalizing deeds he'd made over the week. Like now, he's busier than ever, especially with the holiday season approaching. You usually would've helped him out if it weren't for Crowley…

The headmaster, ever so generous and kind, was making you run errands for him more than usual. Both of you were so swamped with work that you hadn't seen one other in weeks.

Deciding to take things into their own hands, Jade and Floyd approached you, trying to garner your pity by telling you how 'pathetic' and 'antsy' their boss had gotten during your absence. Floyd amped up the theatrical performance by throwing himself over your shoulder and sobbing crocodile tears over the 'inhumane work conditions' he's been put through. (Azul made him work 10 minutes longer).

To the eel's delight, their terrible acting actually worked and it convinced you to check up on your poor unfortunate little octopus.

You entered Azul's office, carrying a platter of pastries and tea. He was slouched against his chair, reading paperwork in a position that was bound to strain his neck and back.

"Oh, Angelfish?" As you set the tray on a coffee table, Azul stands to greet you. You don't miss how his face lights up when you walk towards him.

"How are you?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his waist while his hands reach up to cup your cheeks. The leather of gloves felt cool against your skin and you sighed happily, closing your eyes.

"Busy, as usual…" Azul muttered and let you guide him to one of the couches in his office. He plopped down onto the chair and groaned in exhaustion, sinking into the velvet plush cushions. "If I have to read another one of those pathetic deals from these Savanaclaw students, I think I'm gonna have a stroke."

Azul's eyes bore into yours, his lips curling into a bitter frown. "It's been nearly a month since we last saw each other…"

"I know. Crowley's been making me work my ass off these days." You smiled apologetically, moving in to press a fleeting kiss against his temple. Azul grumbled, his eyes briefly glancing over the pile of deals atop his desk. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he looked up at you.

"Angelfish. You know I can easily fix that problem for you, no?" Azul spoke lowly, adjusting his gloves with a dark look on his face. Immediately, you shook your head. "No making deals with Crowley."

"Alright, no deals…but say the word and I'll gladly take care of it." Azul muttered, crossing his arms and pushing his glasses up. You chuckled and bent forward to peck his lips in thanks.

However, it seems that Azul missed you more than you thought. You should've known that someone as greedy as Azul wasn't going to be satiated by a small kiss like that. Before you could back away his hand clasped over your waist, pulling you back in. Gasping, you slid into his lap and he immediately fused his lips against yours.

"Stay." He mouths against your lips as both his hands move to grip your waist. Azul kisses you again and again, only giving you a few seconds to recover. Feeling lightheaded, you pulled away trying to catch your breath.

"Azu-" Before you could even get a word out, he kisses you again, this time with more passion. The ferocity of it all causes your head to spin as your hands become entangled in his white hair. It was almost as if he hadn't kissed you in ages, as if it was his first time seeing you in years. His tongue darts across your bottom lip, prompting you to part your lips.

"Knock Knock." Floyd's voice echoed through the closed door, and Azul jolted. He pulled away from you, his gaze moving to the tweels who were most likely standing behind the door.

"Oi Azul, there's some guy out there lookin' for ya. He's calling you 'Mr Ashengrotto'. What a weirdo."

"Floyd. Doesn't saying 'knock knock' defeat the purpose of knocking?" Jade's muffled voice spoke.

"Didn't ask. Don't care."

You watch Azul glare at the door, cursing under his breath, clearly irritated that his private time with you had been disturbed. He considered just directing the client to return another day. However, it seems that you've decided to make that decision for him.

"You heard them." Pulling him up, you fixed the collar to his uniform and combed his hair back into place. Teasingly, you ran your thumb over his lips.

"Don't keep them waiting, Mr Ashengrotto."

J.L | JADE LEECH:

Wiping the table down, you made sure to get every small spec of dust off of the metal surface. It was late at night and you were helping Jade close the lounge up for his shift.

You were concentrated and hard at work, determined to finish the job properly. Jade, on the other hand, found himself marvelling at the unusual sight of you in his dorm's uniform.

Azul had given you an Octavinelle dorm uniform that was tailored and custom-made specifically for you.But of course, nothing ever came for free when it involved the capitalist octopus.

It was intended to be used for promotional purposes. You were Ramshackle's prefect and the magicless human trapped in a mage school, it's no question that you had a lot of attention thrown your way. It was only natural that his boss would exploit such popularity.

Such a stark difference from your normal outfit. You were usually seen wearing the school uniform issued specially for your shabby dorm, paired with the expensive high-end designer fur coat Crewel gifted you.

To put it short, you appeared much more lovely than usual.

So, was it really his fault when he drew you behind the bar and began kissing you silly? Oh darling pearl, of course not.

"Jade-" You gasp against his lips when his weight starts to push on you. Your back collides with one of the stools, leaving you with little choice but to settle down atop the bar counter.

He swiftly hoists you up over the table, allowing you to sit snugly as you wrap your legs around his hips; he does all this without ever pulling his lips away.

“J-Jade we have a job to finish." You panted but Jade had no intention to stop. He steps back to assess your reaction, a sadistic grin spread across his face.

The eel was gentle when he manoeuvred you to lay down against the table, but the look and gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

"Oya, I fear something much more interesting has taken my attention." He nips at your lips, recapturing them with hardly a second to breathe between each one, his hands sliding up your hips to hold you in place.

"How could I not indulge myself when the most exquisite shining pearl is within my grasp?" Jade whispers.

The merman starts pulling his gloves off and loosening his tie. He returned for another open-mouthed kiss. It seemed as though he just couldn't get enough of you. Every breathy kiss he drew from you felt like waves pulling him under, luring him to continue and drown himself in your love again and again.

Sadly, all wonderful things must come to an end.

"Leech. Hands off my pup." You nearly slipped off the counter when you heard a familiar stern voice call out for you. You spun around, gasping, to discover Crewel standing by the door. His face distorted into an unsightly sneer as he peered at Jade.

"Pup. I believe you forgot but we have a shopping appointment today." Embarrassed, you quickly bowed your head and kept your head down. Why. Why on earth couldn't the ground just swallow you whole right now?

All suave and smooth, Jade took a step back and picked you up. Yelping, you held onto his biceps, head spinning from the sudden movement. Jade merely chuckled and lowered you back down onto the ground.

Crewel storms up to you, your fur coat in hand. He drapes the coat over your torso, fussing over your unkempt appearance. The man turns to throw Jade another scathing look, silently cursing the eel under his breath.

Despite your embarrassed and mortified state, Jade crouches down and whispers to you. "I'll get back to you later, my pearl."

F.L | FLOYD LEECH:

Huffing, you stormed out of the classroom with a towering eel hot on your trail. Before you could even round the corner, Floyd threw his arms over your shoulders and leaned his entire body against yours.

"Floyd! Get off! I'm still upset at you after that stunt you performed earlier!" You grumbled, your knees wobbling from trying to withstand his weight.

Floyd doesn't say anything and just slithers his arm around your waist, his teeth affectionately nibbling the exposed flesh of your neck. His annoyingly handsome face was plastered with a smug smile. He knew he was a menace, and he was proud of it.

Professor Trein's lectures were absurdly long, and you can imagine how bored the eel gets during his classes. The issue is that he's decided to turn you into his new source of entertainment. He kept poking you with a pencil, handing you tiny messages on crumpled notebook paper, and kicking you with his foot. The eel had even sneakily placed his hand on your thigh at one point, drawing patterns and words with his fingertips while pretending to listen to the lecture.

You squirmed and tried to shake your way out of his grasp. Your lover snorted at your pitiful escape attempts and tightened his grip on you.

"Neh~ Shrimpy, this hallway isn't my vibe at all. Let's go somewhere else!" Floyd pulls you into an empty classroom, kicking the door shut. He pushed you against a desk, slamming his hands on either side of you.

All of a sudden, his mood changes. The eel leans down to murmur into your ear, his breathy voice sending shivers up and down your spine.

“That class was so boringg. I can't help it that shrimpy's squirming is much more entertaining~” Floyd laughs, nudging his head against your cheek.

That little nudge was all that it took to get you to lower your guard, allowing him to strike and press his lips on yours.

Floyd's hands raked themselves up your back, his thumb rubbing circles onto the nape of your neck. He gave you one final kiss while grinning before stepping back to give you some room to breathe.

“Hm~? I thought you were still mad at me.” Floyd says as you lean in to chase his lips. You clicked your tongue and grabbed his collar, pulling him close to your face. This time, you take the lead and Floyd eagerly follows suit with a giddy smile on his face.

The loving moment between you two lasts for a few minutes before the door to the classroom slams open.

"Floyd! I've been calling your phone for the last hour!" Both Azul and Jade appeared. Azul looked as if he just ran a marathon, his flushed skin having a faint red tint to it. Jade was as composed as ever and stood behind the octoboss, sending you and his brother a knowing look.

“So what?” Floyd blinks, indifferent to Azul's anger. He just truly doesn’t find anything wrong about skipping his job and showering you with some love and affection.

"What do you mean 'so what'!? You promised me you would take the morning shift! We agreed on this!" Azul scolded, banging his fist against the door. But with his face twisted up like he'd just swallowed a lemon, it was hard to take him seriously.

"I don't want to gooo…" Floyd wailed as he sat down with you on the floor. He collapsed on the ground and drew you into his arms, ignoring Azul's shouts. You cuddled against him, sighing, for there was no way out.

This was your fate.

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

[yeahspider]

goodnight n go ❄️

a/n- finally finished this draft from 11 months ago. (yeah I suck ik) but then I didn't really finish it bc the ending is a tad abrupt. but that's just kinda how I am. this is a cute lil angst/comfort fic featuring felix (my beloved) very sfw and gn reader. enjoy and feel free to stop by my inbox with requests!! happy reading beloveds <3

Long distance was never easy. You both knew this when you started dating. But Felix was convinced you could make it work.

You met him accidentally. Spending a semester in Korea was turning out to be a more lonely experience than you ever could’ve imagined. You often found yourself counting down the days until you could leave. But then you met Felix, and all of a sudden, you wanted to stop the clock.

But unfortunately, freezing time wasn’t a skill you possessed. So as you packed your final items in your bag you thought about the first time you met him.

It was a warm day. Sun was shining occasionally through the clouds as you leaned your head against the cafe window. Today was going terribly. You were late to your classes because you overslept and then your professor was kind enough to let you know that you were one bad grade away from falling the semester. Not even your favorite green tea latte could brighten your day. Until he asked to sit with you. And all of a sudden you didn’t need the sun . he shined brighter than it ever could. Smile sparkling in the light of the cafe. He was gorgeous, so of course you said yes.

Laptop open you tried to concentrate on your lecture notes but the way he smelt was distracting. Consuming your inner monologue, oranges, and vanilla swirl together in a strikingly pleasant way.

His fingers waved in front of your face snatching your attention. Apparently, he had been talking to you for the past five minutes while you were absorbed in your thoughts about him. Laughing when you gave him a confused look. You had no idea what he had just said. It didn't seem to bother him too much. Restating himself with a smile on his face. His teeth were perfectly white and straight. Did he not own a single flaw?

But that was five months ago. In those months you fell in love with everything that was Lee Felix. You had never known a love so warm and positive. With his help you fixed your grades, even making the dean's list. He took you around Seoul showing you sites you never would've visited on your own. Meeting his friends who welcomed you with open arms. You felt so accepted. You weren't alone anymore.

Zipping up your last suitcase you had five minutes to say goodbye to your apartment that held so many memories for you. The kitchen where you shred your first kiss. That same day you burnt a batch of cookies together. More your fault than anything, but Felix didn't make you feel bad for it. Even taking a bite out of one to make the smile return to your face. The door you crossed so many times with him in tow. Body on body as you fumbled your way to the couch. Laughing when he tripped on the rug.

It was all over, for the foreseeable future at least. Your visa expiring forced you to leave behind the only love you've ever known. Felix wasn't even able to see you off at the airport. He had a strict schedule he couldn't stray from, not that you would let him. He had already done so much for you. You wouldn't risk his job just so you could have a few more moments of comfort. You weren't that selfish.

Stepping on the plane and finding your seat you wondered what would happen if you had never met. Would you be spared from the pain squeezing your heart with every breath? No. You don't regret him. You couldn't, not after all the kindness he showed you. Not after all the love

Closing your eyes, you lay your head back on the seat. The window blinds were closed so the sunlight wouldn't touch you. It reminded you too much of your own sun. Seats all around you filled up, but the two next to you remained empty, just reminding you of how lonely you were becoming again.

Suddenly you felt a dip in the seat beside you. Causing you to jolt up, ready to make room for the newcomer. When you looked you saw the familiar blonde that warmed your days.

"is that seat taken?" Felix asked with the biggest grin on his face. You quickly pulled him down into the seat and hugged him as tight as you could. Not believing it was really him. gently wiping tears from your cheek you didn't even realize were falling. He hushed your cries as he pulled you close.

"I convinced the company to let me work from home. So I can follow you anywhere. You didn't think I was seriously going to let you leave without me were you?"

[ethansluvbot]

Hey can you do Jack Champion x Actress!Reader, Where Jack has a crush on her and he like dms her?

FLAWLESS | JACK CHAMPION

summary: jacks had a crush on you for a while now. she's a great actress that he admires. one night he decides its time to finally message her.

warnings: none just fluff :)

an: sorry this is so so so short. i’m so sick so i’ll get to the request and write extra today!! i hope this is how you expected it :)

liked by jennaortega, baileybliss, jackchampion, and others

yourusername: sending kisses from thailand!

view all comments

fan01 you’re so gorgeous, i can’t wait to see the movie!!

yourusername thank you so much!!

jackchampion are you having a good time? the view looks amazing :)

yourusername i love it, thank you!

baileybliss trying to steal my girl?

masongooding my boys trying to make a move?

fan02 you’re so stunning

fan03 THE PASTA YUM

it wasn't unnoticeable that jack has a huge crush on y/n. he was always commenting, liking and reposting her post. he watched all of the movies that she started in and rewatched the shows. he even tried to get jenna to set you two up.

he would've made a move earlier but he was afraid of rejection. maybe it was the fact that he had alcohol in his system that he messaged you.

all he said was a simple hey, "really?" he thought to himself. he should've said something to intrigue her more. he threw his phone and ran away acting like a little girl. it was probably about ten minutes later that he finally decided to check his phone.

y/n scrolled through her messages until she saw his name pop up. all he said was a simple greeting, but you still was amused by it. she tapped the message quickly thinking of the best thing to send back.

hi :)

it shocked him that he even got a reply back. he tried his best to understand what just happened to him. (he’d probably start kicking his feet like a little girl)

i’m going to be honest, i don’t know what to say because i’m still in shock

that was the only thing that could come out after 20 minutes of thinking. she replied pretty quickly to him.

ill give you time to process this ;) i’m going out to lunch, maybe you can join me?

hell yes :)

jack spent at least a half an hour trying to pick a outfit. after he still didn’t figure it out he resorted to calling his mom. which she helped him pick out a outfit quickly.

it was a understatement to say jack was nervous. this is all he wanted. he wanted her. he got into the car and drove to the panera. to be honest he wasn't the biggest fan of panera, but he did it all for her. he would do anything for her.

she sat there waiting with a fresh bowl of soup. he was at least 30 minutes late to their "date". the sound of the bell from the door made her meet the eyes of jack. she smiled waving him over to her.

"hey! sorry i'm late, i couldn't pick out an outfit to wear." she nodded to him. why did she make him that nervous? it's not like they never interacted before. maybe only one or two times.

"i promise i'm friendly," she said brushing her hand against him. that didn't calm any of his nerves. he would just have to be himself and hope she would accept him.

an hour later they finally began to laugh together. it was almost like they had known each other for a long time. he wondered if she actually thought about him more than a friend.

"i really do like you, no matter what i'll wait for you." jack said. you both finished up your lunch and were getting ready to leave. you looked up to him meeting his puppy dog eyes. no one could say no to that.

you looked at his lips and then directly into his eyes. leaning up you attached yourself to his lips. your arm reaching up to curl in his hair.

"i'll text you later stranger," she gave him once last kiss on the lips. she never met someone like her. someone that she could spend her life laughing with. she wondered if something would actually happen between them.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

pairing: javi p x reader

cws/tags: angst, p in v, oral, idk? drinking? canon death mention? javi pov

summary: reader, a dea agent, arrives in medellin (season 2 time) and quickly forms a bond w javi. are they just friends or is it something more?

a/n: there is a part 2 which will give the full picture (hopefully)

wc: 8.6k

taglist:

@gothcsz @onlyasimp4-2dbitches

There was Helena, and then, Gabriela, before that, Vanessa, and certainly some others here and there, but with all of them, Javi had his expectations set upfront. Or at least, he thought he did, he tried to, but he'd be lying if he said Helena only came to mind when he was lonely in the middle of the night, naked and unable to sleep. 

Elisa was a mistake, an unfair mistake that was dropped off at his doorstep before he could tell himself that this doesn't mean anything. There must've been some self-preservation instincts in him that held him back from begging her for more, from moping around after she left. He risked a lot for her, but he would've risked more if she'd let him.

Prostitutes and wanted communists are one thing, but you are something else. Javi can't quite put his finger on what that something else is yet, and it’s too late once he figures it out. 

In the beginning, Javi was skeptical of you, mostly because you came to Medellin with Messina and crew, and he falsely assumed that being her subordinate meant you would take her side if there were ever to be conflict between her and Javi – and there was from their very first conversation.

More than skeptical, he was intrigued. Being sent to Colombia to participate in the fight against Escobar was usually reserved for higher-ups with a much longer tenure, or fresh meat for the front-lines. As a newcomer, that meant that you were either a highly-skilled agent in the field of investigation or you volunteered yourself – likely unknowingly – to be slaughtered. You might be a fast runner or a sharpshooter, but young girls aren’t known to fare well on the battlefield.

Once he’s determined that you’re not a threat, you’re a coworker. You keep to yourself. You don’t seem shy, just focused, and for that Javi is grateful. Considering the fact that he’s forced to work with the people he deems to be ‘RIP’ and a fuckton of bureaucracy, you make his life easier. 

Obviously, you’re gorgeous. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or whatever but he sees the way others look at you. He notices because he is also looking. You walk with confidence, but not arrogance. You traverse the halls with purpose, but not urgency. You rarely stop to mingle with Colleen and only exchange cordial glances with men who would melt if you gave them any more attention than that. 

His first interaction with you aside from your initial greeting, begins with a headache. It’s the phone ringing, then the keys clicking on the typewriter, even the tick of the clock gets to him. He groans - somewhat dramatically - and puts his head in his hands. 

“Agent Peña,” you pipe up from beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. I’ll recover.”

“Do you want Advil? I have some in my purse.”

“Yes, please.”

You dig through a sizable bag until you find a small bottle. You carefully shake two caplets out and pour the excess back inside their container, closing the cap tightly before putting it back in your purse. 

“Hold out your hand unless you want me to feed them to you,” you say jokingly. 

He opens his palm and takes the offering, greedily swallowing the pills dry. 

“You should really take those with water,” you say. 

“Does coffee work?” He presents the near-empty mug on his desk to you, swirling the contents. 

“Here,” you say, giving up your water bottle. 

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that?” he says, before taking a gulp of your water, tasting the chapstick on the rim. Cherry. It leaves a pink stain that matches the color of your nails.  

When he returns the bottle to you, you seem oddly flustered. He meant angel as in miracle worker not as in divinely gorgeous woman, though both could be used to describe you. You should know that, he thinks. 

“Not really,” you say with a breathy laugh. “I’m just prepared for any surprise Aunt Flo could bring me.”

“Huh?” Javi’s a man without sisters, daughters, or a wife, he’s never heard the expression. 

“My period.” 

Honestly, he’s impressed at how plainly you say it, shameless as you should be. 

“Ah.”

“She makes me more of a demon than anything, but it means I’ve got a whole pharmacy in here.”

“Got anything fun?”

“Not unless you find enjoyment in a handful of tampons and a spare pair of underwear.”

Depends on the underwear, he thinks. They’re probably modest, but you’d look good in fuckin’ granny panties. By the end of the day, he’s imagined you in just about everything.

At the time, Javi's not interested in flirting with you. It's not a conscious effort not to get involved, he's just so caught up in everything else that there's little time to think about romancing you. 

Even the night he and Steve first invite you for drinks, it's sheerly for the sake of camaraderie. In fact, it was Steve's idea, not his. Murphy thought you looked lonely – in retrospect, Javi thinks it might've been projection. Javi agreed to invite you out of pure interest in what you'd be like outside of the office.

Nice. That's the best way he could describe it. Likable.

You all get drunk. Javi watches your professional facade slip as you’re swaying in your seat to the rhythm of the current hits on the radio. Your skin, dewy with summer sweat, makes you glow like an angel in the dim light of the bar.

It takes Steve a drink and a half to bring up his marriage problems. Javi, stupidly, has forgotten that you're not privy to any of this, so you endure 25 minutes of conversation time before asking, "Who's Connie?"

"Steve's wife," Javi says.

"Where is she?"

"Miami."

"I've never heard you talk about her before."

"Because he's in hot water," Javi, again, is the one to answer.

"I can answer for myself, thank you." Steve insists.

And so Javi lets Steve talk - he's probably heard it all before - and he lets himself have a break. Just a little break, no one will notice if he lets his mind wander for a second. Really, he's mostly listening, he thinks.

"Javi." Murphy's voice from across the table is oddly stern.

"What?" Javi mirrors his tone.

"What do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"Connie."

"I don't know."

"Were you even listening?"

"Yeah, of course." 

It takes one long stare to get him to break. "Okay, fine. I was not listening. Tell me one more time."

You excuse yourself from the table to use the restroom, and it feels like you've fed him to the wolves – rightfully so.

"You like her." It's not a question. It's a statement, whispered as if Murphy cares about the confidentiality of Javi's love life or lack thereof.

"It's not like that." But Javi can't meet his eyes.

"I know sleeping around usually works for you, but I don't want you to fuck this up. Not right now when we're so close."

What he means is: do not fuck her. It should be simple – and to Steve's credit, he's right. But the thing is that Javi doesn't just want to fuck you. It's not like that.

"What do you think I am? An animal?" Javi asks.

Yes, he absolutely does. To him, Javi is a tiger, waiting to pounce on whatever prey he can get his hands on. Really, Javi's a mopey zoo lion if anything.

When he notices you making your way across the room, he changes the subject. "Anyway, I think you should call Connie, and tell her how you feel. Just be honest."

"That's what I said," you beam with pride, as if you've gotten the answer right.

Looking into Murphy’s bloodshot eyes, he adds, "But you've gotta sober up first."

"I agree," you say, and Javi only notices now how you slur your words.

He convinces you both to go home with the promise of a second hangout next week. It's an empty promise – he just needs to get you home safe. He assumes you won't remember in the morning. But come next Friday, you approach him, and ask if you're going to the same bar you went to the weekend prior.

It was an empty promise, but one he decides to keep.

It becomes a weekly thing. The three of you. You all get along perfectly well, but if this were any other circumstance, if you were any other beautiful woman, Javi would've pulled Steve to the side and told him to pound sand. But there is a mutual knowledge and acceptance that Steve is cock-blocking Javi. It's for everyone's benefit.

Your group hangouts typically begin and end at the same bar down the street.

The friend group arrangement works until it doesn't. Until Murphy has plans.

"How the fuck do you have plans? Your wife is in another country," Javi asks bitterly.

"Unlike you, my life isn't centered around women I want to sleep with," Steve says with less bite because he knows he's won the conversation.

Fuck Murphy. Javi was tired of hearing him bitch about Connie anyway. But you. He could never get tired of you.

"We can still go out, right, Javi?" you ask, and he's fairly sure it's the first time you've ever called him by his first name.

He doesn't have time to find an excuse to say no when he's pushing away every knee-jerk flirtation in his mind.

"Yeah," he says, "of course we can."

It takes only one word to seal his fate, but he gives you five.

That evening he sits across from you rather than next to you, so he can't put his arm around the back of your seat and you can't lean on him when you start to feel tipsy. Instead, he has to try to pay attention while you're looking him in the eyes, smiling at him and no one else.

When you decide to call it a night, and you stumble on your way out the door, Javi grabs hold of your arm, steadying you.

"I'm gonna walk you home," he says. Not an offer, a statement of fact.

"I got it," you say, patting him on the chest in thanks.

"No, you don't." He sighs as he leads you against your will, trying not to let your stupid grin get to him.

As you walk past the lit-up buildings filled with young singles dancing with their bodies pressed up against each other covered in sweat and spilled drinks – the nightlife of Medellin, a song escapes one nightclub that you recognize, and you begin to sing along. Your tune isn't bad, but your lyrics are far from correct.

Javi laughs heartily, unable to hold it in.

"What? You don't like it?"

"No, I love it – it's original. I love the way you've completely changed the lyrics."

"You're so mean, Javier!" You playfully shove him – or attempt to, but you end up falling into his arms.

He takes your hands in his, holding you upright. 

“It’s ‘hold me closer, tiny dancer’, not ‘hold me closer, Tony Danza’,” he says. 

“Okay, fine,” you say, hands still clasped in his, swaying a bit, coaxing him into dancing with you slowly. 

Halfway through the song, he’s leading you, step-by-step, twirling you like a ballerina because he loves the way you laugh when he does it. 

Though you’re the one that needs help standing, you keep him on his toes too. The words are no longer ‘Tony Danza’, nor ‘tiny dancer’ - it becomes ‘hold me closer, Javi Peña’. 

For the rest of the walk, he keeps his hands – respectfully, protectively, friendly – on you. Just an arm around your shoulder, or your hand in his at most scandalous.

It takes you a moment to unlock your door as you fiddle with the keys – their clinking metal being the only sound echoing through the halls of the apartment building. Anticipatory silence. He won't come into your apartment, he knows that. You're too drunk to consent to anything. You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, and he hopes that it means less to you than it does to him.

“It’s kinda like Cheers when you think of it,” you note off-handedly.

“In what way?” Javi asks like he’s challenging you.

“Well, we’re always at the same bar.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Where everybody knows your name’? The bartender still calls you ‘señorita’.”

“He calls me ‘gringo’,” Steve mumbles into his glass.

As it turns out, the bartender does know your name, and just as Sam Malone would, he makes out with you in a room marked ‘employee’s only’.

Watching you get whisked away by the bartender, Javi sighs a little too loudly, prompting Murphy to inquire, “you jealous?”

“No. I’m gonna go… mingle,” he says, turning towards the area that has become a dancefloor over the course of the night.

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Fuck off. We agreed that I’m not sleeping with her – I did not take a vow of celibacy.”

Murphy doesn’t stay to watch Javi find an eligible woman to suck him off in the women’s room. Instead, he closes his tab and asks the bartender – the one not making his way from second to third base with you - to relay a message to Javi when he inevitably comes looking. 

“What do you want me to tell him?” The man – unamused, but bored enough to entertain him - asks.

“Tell him I left to fuck his wife.”

The bartender seems to think it’s funny enough, especially when he already harbors certain negative feelings towards Javi for reasons that may or may not be justifiable, depending on who you ask. 

Javi learns of this later when he closes out his own tab, but before he does so, he has a mission to see through. 

Barely concealed by a stall door that could use a new coat of paint and some WD-40 on the hinges, Javi is about to tell this woman - whose name he’s already forgotten - not to leave any marks above his collar, but then, he remembers you, and says nothing, only groans when her teeth scrape the skin on his neck.

He brushes this need to ‘conquer’ off as a typical rivalry between friends. When your friend exits the room to go hook up with someone, it’s your duty as a man to find a mate of equal social stature to theirs, and engage in at least some heavy petting by the end of the night. Or at least, that’s how it worked back in college – which, come to think of it, was about a lifetime ago for Javi. Looking back, he realizes that those nights taught him the infinitely valuable skill of bullshitting his way in and out of situations.

Though, he tells you the absolute truth of who, what, where, and how it all went down for him that night on your walk home. He only omits the why.

“Are we going back to the same place next week?”

“I thought we already established that we go there every week, just like they do in Cheers,” he says.

“Can we go somewhere else next time?”

“Why? It seemed like you were having a good time back there,” Javi teases.

“I guess…” you mumble, kicking gravel aimlessly down the sidewalk. “But he wants to see me again.”

Javi hums as if he understands.

“I just don’t wanna get caught up in anything serious, you know?”

“Oh, but I’m the asshole when I say I’m not good at commitment?”

“That was Steve, not me, and to his credit, you said you left someone at the altar. You committed and then you backed out. You broke a promise – that’s why you’re an asshole.”

“Then, she dodged a bullet by not marrying an asshole like me.”

The rest of the walk home is silent. Tense, and not the good kind. 

This is not the climax of the movie where Javi pushes you up against the wall next to your apartment door, and you engage in the steamiest makeout session allowed on cable television – the kind where you pull away panting, take one look into each other’s eyes and realize you’ve been in love all along. 

You keep your eyes pointed at your feet and he keeps his hands by his sides. It feels like you’re strangers who happen to be walking at the same pace, to the same destination. There’s nothing more to say. 

Until you reach your apartment, and when the two of you part ways, you say to him, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“It’s okay.” I’m used to it, he thinks. “People have said a lot worse about me.”

With Connie and Olivia back in Miami, Steve has a spacious apartment to himself, which is where the three of you decide to congregate after your little hook-up with the bartender the week prior.

Buying a case of beer from the convenience store is much more cost-efficient, and Steve can easily talk to his wife on the phone when he gets a little too drunk and misses her, leaving you and Javi in his living room together.

Briefly, you both listen to him murmur into the handset, cradling it like a baby. If it were someone else, you might gossip, at least speculate, but there’s nothing salacious about it, and despite the fact that Steve will one day return home to his loving wife, beating all of the odds currently stacked against them, it’s not a tale of epic romance. Not that Javi knows anything about romance anyway. 

You and Javi sit in the living room, chatting about nothing important, mostly bitching about work and how there’s never anything good on TV anymore. But then, out of nowhere, as if it’s nothing special, you mention a man – a colleague, but the DEA is a large organization, so Javi is unfamiliar with him.

“He asked me out.”

“Did you accept?”

“Yeah, I figured, why not? You know? I feel like I should get to know more people. I really only hang out with you and Murphy.”

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you? I’m offended,” Javi says, sarcastically, but there’s a grain of truth deep down.

“You know you’ll always be my favorite, Javi.” You lean your head on him and he hadn’t realized how close you were sitting until now.

“Yeah, yeah.” Javi nudges you with his elbow, pushing you away despite himself. “Now, tell me about this guy you’re going out with.”

“He’s really sweet, and like super polite… a gentleman,” you decide.

“Oh, so you like a ‘nice guy’? Someone you can bring home, someone who holds the door open for you…”

“I guess. He’s pretty handsome, too. He’s got brown hair, and pretty brown eyes – kinda like yours.”

You smile, so he smiles. But, how can you say that with such levity?

Because he’s just a friend to you.

You've truly formed a bond with Javi by the time you step into the dating scene in Colombia. So much so that you ask Javi for his opinions on what you should wear for your third date – just as you did for your first and second.

"Either you're great with fashion advice or you're my good luck charm," you say. "So, I need you to tell me which looks best."

"Okay. Go put on outfit number one before I get bored and fall asleep on your couch."

"I'll be quick, I'll be quick. You can pour yourself a drink if it'll keep you awake."

He's never been one to turn down a drink, but what keeps him awake is your 'fashion show'.

"This is outfit number one," you say, smiling in your classic little black dress.

"Beautiful," he says honestly.

"And then," you say as you begin to unzip your dress.

"Whoa-"

"What?"

"Why are you getting undressed?"

For the first time, he's nervous to see a woman naked.

"Each outfit has a matching set of lingerie, so you have to see that too in order to accurately judge."

He gestures for you to continue and tries to keep his expression neutral. And his dick soft.

It's torturous to see you stress so much when he knows the guy doesn't deserve the sight of you like this. Neither does he, for that matter.

"You really like him?" He asks.

"I mean, yeah sure, he's nice, and he's good-looking"

"But you're not over the moon about him." He can hear it in your voice. You don't deserve to settle.

"No, but you can have sex with someone you're not over the moon about - you, especially would know that, Peña."

"Yeah, but I don't dress up all fancy just to have sex."

He has the tendency to get attached even in the most casual of situations, so he’d never dare make an occasion out of sex.  

You sigh. "I guess I do, or else I wasted a shit ton of money on lingerie."

"Fuck the money. Do you actually wanna fuck this guy? 'Cause you know you don't have to. It's not a written rule."

Javi surprises himself with how much of his dedication to making sure you're making the right decision is out of genuine platonic care for you and not jealousy for the man who might get the chance to sleep with you.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to, and I want to look good for him because I want to make a good impression."

He shrugs, dissatisfied. You don't get it, you'll make a good impression no matter what you wear. Any guy would be lucky to get the opportunity to sleep with you, he could say, but it would come off wrong.

His silence allows you time for thought, for worry. Seemingly, apropos of nothing, you ask him if he's ever had sex with a woman who was 'bad in bed'.

"Sort of, not really. Nothing really bad, but I've had times where we're both pretty drunk and it's just… not great. One time I hit my head on the wall." He smiles at the stupidity and you laugh.

"Sorry. I'm sure it hurt."

"It hurt like hell, but it wasn't totally her fault. Another time, a girl's phone would not stop ringing, and she eventually picked it up and it was her mom telling her that her grandma died."

"Did she kick you out or did you stay to comfort her?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'comfort'."

"You did not continue fucking her."

"I did. But, as you can imagine, the mood was kind of ruined."

"Luckily both of my grandmas are already dead, so that won't be an issue."

"See? There you go. Just don't drink too much, make sure he doesn't hit his head and maybe take your phone off the hook."

But you continue to spiral through worries, telling Javi each and every one of them while he sits at the foot of your bed.

Will you bring your date back here? Is the only worry in his own mind. 

Eventually, he asks you, "do you like him? Yes or no. And I mean really like."

"Yes."

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't not trust him."

"That's not the question I asked."

"It's hard to make a blanket statement saying that I trust someone. Trust him with what? To save my place in line, a briefcase holding a million dollars, my life?"

"Let me ask you this way then, who do you trust?"

"My mom, my sister, Murphy, you…"

"When you say you trust me, what does that mean for you?"

"I've trusted you with my life many times before and I'd do it again. But in our jobs we have to put our lives on the line."

"If he had my job would you trust him like you trust me?"

"Not as much as I trust you."

And somehow Javi is stupid enough to think that this means you'll skip the date, maybe even schedule one with him, but you go as you planned to – if he were able to look at you dressed in lingerie and keep his opinions completely detached and as objective as possible, he would say you should go with the red set because it looked the best. But he hopes, selfishly, that you saved it for his eyes only.

As most relationships do, that one ends. The man - whose name Javi rid his mind of - breaks up with you. You lament over it for about a week and then move on.

Javi lets you cry it out with your face buried in his t-shirt, staining the fabric with mascara tears. It was his favorite, but he rubs your back and holds you closer instead of telling you to stop using him as a tissue.

“It’s his loss,” he says along with all the typical phrases one expects to hear after a devastating breakup.

But what makes you feel better is when Javi suggests you watch the episode of Cheers he’d taped earlier that week.

“Can I lie down while we watch?” you ask.

“Yeah. How do you want me?” he asks because the couch is the only piece of furniture facing the TV, which means you’ll have to share it. 

“You wanna lie down behind me? You could be the big spoon.”

He nods, lying down on his side, leaving space for you to curl up beside him.

He wraps his arm around you lazily, resisting the urge to run his hands down the side of your body, to touch you everywhere.

“Can you see from back there?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm,” he lies. He’s already seen the episode, he’d much rather fall asleep with his body pressed up against yours. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you.

Javi has practiced the art of keeping himself hidden. It's a useful trait as both an agent and a reluctant hopeless romantic. He never gets too drunk, not like you and Steve. He never reveals what lies below the facade of a grouchy, sometimes disobedient but wholly dedicated agent on your Friday night hangouts. He disguises himself as a womanizer, an asshole, until he can't anymore.

You find him in desperation. Post-tragedy, a traumatic incident that he can't quite shake. It makes him vulnerable. He does the right thing the first time – he calls up Gabriela and fucks her like he hates her, tips her real well afterwards. The second time is when he makes the mistake of seeing you, not just looking at you when you cross paths, but seeing you.

He knew things were bad after seeing Murphy teary-eyed for the first time. It brought the first incident to the forefront of his mind again. A cigarette and some fresh air would help, he thought. But when he steps outside, he finds you.

"It's late," he says. 

"Why are you out here?"

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

You won't look at him. Why won't you look at him?

"I heard what happened today."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it. What I'm saying is, I know what you're feeling."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do, and you know it. We were both there when-"

"I don't wanna talk about that either."

"Good. I don't either. We should go inside. It's not safe for you to be out here right now."

"I'm not a fucking baby."

"You know what I mean. I'm trying to help you, okay?"

You ask him to stay with you – that's what will help, you say. He shouldn't, but he's too weak to say 'no'. You make him weaker.

"I need to forget," you tell him, and he knows exactly what that means.

It means sex. It means throwing away the future he could've had with you. Not the romantic kind – that was already gone, that's been gone since before you came into his life. He won't have a white-picket-fence-two-and-a-half-kids-in-the-suburbs kind of future with anyone. But he could've had a friendship, he could've gotten the gift of existing near you without any tension, something light and untouched even if it meant keeping himself at a distance.

But, you need this. You're begging him to fuck you, and if he chooses not to, it'll only make things worse – you'd withdraw from him entirely in embarrassment from his rejection because there's no way he can tell you that it's not because he doesn't want to have sex with you. God, no – he wants to have sex with you. In his ideal scenario, you get drunk once – on a business trip, at Steve and Connie's house, at the celebration of Escobar's demise – and you make the "stupid mistake" of sleeping with each other, and it becomes an inside joke between the two of you.

In his dreams, you get married on the beach or at city hall or even at a church if that's what you wanted. But dreams are dreams for a reason. They're distinctly different from reality. They don't come true.

In reality, Javi says the best thing he can, which is "okay", and he lets his lips collide with yours.

When your frantic hands begin to strip him of his clothes, he wants to tell you "it's okay, we have all night" because he wants to take it slow. He knows he won't last long when he gets inside you.

He tries to balance eagerness with gentleness when he takes off your clothes. He wants to be close to you.

"Let's go to your bedroom," he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You don't bother to pick up your clothes, which are strewn near the doorway, so Javi doesn't either. He can tell you're impressed when he undoes your bra with one hand, and it makes him laugh, a little proud too, despite the fact that it's no more than a party trick (if you consider sex a party).

But his need to be the best you've ever had has him dropping to his knees in the hallway, and it's milliseconds before his hands are gripping your thighs and his nose meets the fabric of your panties.

He looks up, and asks, "can I take these off?"

"Yeah," you say, assisting him by slipping them down your own thighs.

With how quiet you are in the office, he expected you to be the same in the bedroom but you're not. The moan you let out when his tongue meets your clit is loud and unashamed – his favorite kind. It spurs him on.

"Javi, Javi, Javi - wait - I'm - hold on-"

So, he stops. "What's wrong?" He massages your thighs while he speaks, soft and sweet.

"I'm gonna cum."

"I know. That's the goal."

"But I'm gonna fall over."

"You're not, baby. I'm gonna hold onto you. But, if you want, we can finish this in bed." He doesn't wait for an answer before lifting you over his shoulder.

It makes you gasp, just like his lips did moments ago, but this time it makes him laugh. Only you could make him smile on a night like this one.

He doesn't tease you, he dives back in, lapping at your folds, more desperate for your orgasm than you are. If Javi is one thing, it's dedicated, and the bedroom is no exception.

You're still panting when you ask him to fuck you. It might be the first time you've said 'fuck' in front of him. "Fuck me" is Javi's line.

Utterly captivated by the sight of you disheveled beneath him, he agrees.

The second time you say 'fuck' is when Javi tells you he'll go grab a condom from his wallet – which is in his jeans, which are somewhere near the front door – and you say 'fuck it'.

And, utterly captivated by the sight of you, he agrees.

"How do you want me?" he asks.

"Rough," you say. "Make me forget."

You say it with such conviction that he sighs and says, "Okay. Turn over."

He buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust and since Javi can't see your face, he can't tell if the moan you let out is pleasure or pain, so he leans in and whispers into your ear, "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"I want you to hurt me."

I don't want to hurt you. 

Something holds him back from saying it. He's not one to disappoint, especially in this facet of life. So, he saves the kiss he wants to place on your cheek for later. Instead, he drags his teeth along your soft skin and bites the flesh.

He fucks you hard, the way you want him to – holding onto the headboard, hips slamming into yours from the back at a merciless pace, and maybe if you weren't you, he'd feel different about this. But, instead of staring into your eyes and trying to cover up the immense fondness he feels for you, he looks at the pictures that hang on your wall, held up by clothespins on a string–you're smiling with your friends, blowing out birthday candles, laying on a beach towel in a bikini. He is in none of these photos. Why would he be? You've never taken a photo together. He's not a part of your life like that.

All the while, he keeps an iron grip on your hips and keeps a steady rhythm. Your moans turn into sobs, and he doesn't know how much longer he can take. Both because hearing your cries makes him feel conflicted about everything and because your walls are so tight around him, you're soaking wet and your legs are trembling. It's not long before he feels your pussy spasms and your whole body jolts – you have the sense to scream into your pillow, but he can still hear it.

Finally, he pulls out and jerks himself off, letting his release spill onto your ass, and once he's let go of you, you promptly flop down fully onto the mattress.

With the room finally quieter, you hear banging on the front door. You're about to get up but Javi stops you. "Stay there. I'll deal with it."

He slips on his boxers and flings open the door, and it's the person he least wants to see. Steve. Not because he hates Steve, but because Steve will bring this up.

He doesn't even have to say anything.

"Sorry. We'll keep it down," Javi says.

"Good" is the only word he says, though it's clearly not 'good' because Steve looks more pissed off than he's ever seen him.

He tells you it was a neighbor, but doesn't specify which one. He cleans you up, and prepares himself to leave. That's how this goes, right?

"Stay," you say, tugging him by the hand, so he falls back into bed.

He falls asleep with his bare skin flush against yours but this time it's gentle. He gives you a kiss on the temple before you turn out the light. You're silent but you smile.

The hurt comes the next morning. For you, it's physical, but can you really complain? For him, it's deeper than that. You're deeper inside him than he ever was inside you.

He wakes up beside you, feeling hungover despite not having any alcohol the night before. It's the vague sense of guilt and confusion, the way he feels more awake than the night before but less awake than he should after a full night's rest.

He retracts his hand from your body, hoping he can slip away before you notice but you turn to him, fully-awake.

If life were different – kinder, he would smile at you and you would try to kiss him.

"Mm-mm. I have morning breath," he'd say.

"I don't care," you'd say, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him towards you.

He'd pull back, just to argue because he likes the way you pout and the way he falls for it every time. You'd settle for a kiss on the forehead with the promise for something more after Javi brushes his teeth.

The quest for better breath would all be for nothing since he'd have coffee and a cigarette for breakfast (you'd tell him to eat more, of course), but you'd kiss him anyway.

His eyes linger on you for too long while he fantasizes, long enough for you to notice – for you to begin to see him for who he is.

Murphy brings it up at work when you're out of the room. Javi can see it in his eyes before he says anything.

"Sorry for keeping you up," Javi mutters, straight-faced and honest.

"Nothin' else to say?" Murphy probes. He seems more curious than angry. 

"Nope. Is there something you think I should say?"

"You fucked her," he whispers.

"Yes," Javi whispers back.

"How? Did it just happen? Or have you guys been a thing for awhile now and I just haven't noticed?"

"We're not a thing."

"You're not not a thing."

Javi doesn't have to admit to Steve that he's right because you walk into the room.

He is forced to silently admit what you are to him when he fails to hold back a rare smile upon seeing your face.

He sees Gabriela again, and though he's slept with her more times than he's slept with you, it still feels like he's cheating.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks while he stands by the window with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Work."

"Bullshit." She exhales a breathy laugh.

"Yeah."

"It's not something, it's someone. Isn't it?"

He turns, silently.

"I could tell you were thinking about her when you were fucking me - I thought it was just a sexual fantasy, but you're still fantasizing… and we're not fucking anymore."

"You'd be a great shrink, you know? In case this doesn't work out for you."

"It's working out fine." She flashes him the wad of cash he handed her before they got in bed together.

"Right."

"Maybe I'm supposed to be offended, but you were sweet this time - gentle. If you keep fucking me like that, I don't give a fuck who're you're thinking about."

"You liked it?" He asks with a flirtatious glint in his eye, opting for indulgence as distraction.

"I did. In fact, I think you could get a second round. On the house."

His cock springs to life and he slips out of his jeans. He fucks her slow, pressing kisses down her spine. She cums twice and he feels like a god.

But not like a lover, not like her lover.

You sleep together again, but you don't have sex. You're tipsy off whiskey in his apartment one night, trying to shake off the past week.

The DEA, being of the USA, only knows violence as conflict resolution, so you and Javi aren't trained to solve any problem that comes after the fighting is over. Distraction is the best you can do and alcohol is often one of the greatest methods.

"I wish we had something stronger than whiskey," Javi remarks.

"When in Medellin…" you say, swiping a finger under your nose.

"I think the amount of coffee I've had today is probably equal to a gram."

Doubtful, considering Javi is dozing off in his chair.

"Javi," you say, snapping your fingers to get his attention.

Startled, his body jolts awake. "What?" he asks, frantically.

"Nothing. You're just falling asleep."

"Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."

"I figured. Everyday for the past week, you've looked like you're going to keel over. Are you okay?"

He takes a deep breath. Shakes the magic eight ball in his mind. Try again later. "I've just been having a lot of nightmares recently. It hasn't been like this since I was a kid."

"Well, how'd you get them to stop back then?"

"My mom used to sleep in my room with me."

He smiles at the thought of his mother. He doesn't often think of her because the funeral comes to mind. But sometimes, when he's lucky, she'll come back to him in memory - now, he sees her through a childlike lens, her face bright despite the bags under her eyes. The love he felt for her was so simple and pure.

His love for you is the most complicated kind.

"I'm not your mom, but if you want, I can sleep over."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you."

You say it so flippantly that Javi barely has time to process it. It's better that way.

Finally, he gets a good night's sleep. But that only makes him need you more.

You both go on pretending things are the same until Carrillo dies. He was always the catalyst.

"I don't do funerals," Javi tells you.

You nod, pursed lips, accepting his decision. Giving in easily, which is unlike you.

"I'm thinking about leaving," you announce abruptly.

"You should go home, get some rest, especially if you're going tomorrow." To the funeral. Javi can't stand the word either.

"No, I'm thinking about leaving."

"Leaving where?" He already knows.

"Colombia."

"Are they reassigning you?"

"No, I'm quitting."

"Have you told Messina?"

"No. You're the first person I've told."

He nods and takes a deep breath. "Is that what you want to do? Quit?"

"I don't know. I wanted your advice."

"It's your choice, not mine." I'll miss you.

"I just can't do it anymore." You reveal yourself. You shatter.

"Hey." He places a hand on your shoulder, but you fall into his arms. "That's not true. You're strong. You know that you're strong."

I need you, he means.

So, you stay.

There is something about the grief that fuels you both to fight harder. You're no longer just fighting for justice, you're fighting for vengeance. It makes you both colder, more numb to the cruelty.

But physically, neither of you are much stronger. You overestimate yourselves, run through the streets with handguns after blood-hungry sicarios.

In his pursuit of one of the men, Javi fails to see a shooter on the roof with a gun aimed right at him. You see it, and shove Javi out of the way.

The bullet only grazes you, and Javi leaves with a few scrapes and dirty clothes. And guilt.

A shopkeeper who seems all too used to crisis situations grabs a first aid kit while Javi sits with you.

"You're not gonna call for backup?" you ask.

"No use. They got away. Let's just focus on this right now, okay?"

"This" means the wound on your side.

"It's not a big deal," you say, though you're clearly on the verge of tears.

"You got shot. The number one priority is making sure you're safe."

"Didn't you say that we can't focus on the casualties? That Escobar wins if we waste time mourning our dead?"

"Neither of us are dead."

You'll need more than the basic first aid that Javi can give you, nevertheless, he uses an antiseptic to clean the wound.

You break down in tears at the burning sensation.

"You're doing so well," he tells you, "I'll be done in just a moment."

When the ambulance arrives, he insists on accompanying you to the hospital.

They ask him who he is and he flashes his DEA badge, knowing that "friend" doesn't mean anything in this case.

Friend isn't enough.

You don't need surgery, just stitches – and some pretty decent pain pills. The kind that makes you sleepy.

Once the two of you are alone, after the doctors have finished with you, Javi tells you - finally, "Thank you, by the way, for saving my life."

"Who's to say it would've been a fatal shot?"

"Still." He leans down and kisses you on the cheek in lieu of saying anything else, knowing how badly he could fuck this up if he lets himself say everything he's really thinking – if there are even words for his feelings.

Luckily, there might not be.

"Javi," you whisper.

"Yes, hermosa?"

He rarely calls you nicknames, so it seems to fluster you a bit.

"Can you kiss me for real?"

"How much of those drugs did they give you?"

You look like you're holding back a batch of giggles and Javi can't help his stupid grin.

Before his cheeks hurt from smiling the most he has in a while, he leans in and kisses you – for real.

Breathless, you pull back and ask him, "do you think we could get away with doing it here?"

"Are you serious?" There's no way you are, he thinks, and yet he considers the option. "No, cariño, we shouldn't risk it."

He does take you home with him, but again, you don't have sex.

In the morning, you tell him confidently, "I'm leaving."

And he knows you don't just mean his apartment.

"I just can't do this anymore – the constant fear of dying was bad enough, but now…" you point to the bandages covering your stitches.

"I know." It doesn't matter what he says. You're going to leave anyway.

And, he feels guilty for convincing you to stay anyway. You should've left before this, but he was selfish and wanted to keep you a little longer.

He doesn't say goodbye in the way he wants to. He lets you go with a kiss on the forehead after waiting with you until you're called to board.

"Goodbye, Javier," you say.

He can't say anything back or he'll cry. The kiss is all he can give.

You call periodically at first, but the calls get more sporadic until they disappear entirely.

Javier is used to falling in love. So much so that he expects to feel the same way about the next woman he sleeps with. He gets attached to one woman, and then moves onto the next, loving her the same way as the last. The process of forgetting involves ending up in the same mess, feeling the same thing for someone who is blonde instead of brunette, or brown-eyed instead of blue, maybe a cup size larger in the bust. Something old, something new. There is more to the phrase, but the idea of commitment began and ended with Lorraine back in Texas.

Texas. After all is said and done in Colombia, he goes home. Like you, he can't do it anymore. His mind is already rattled with nightmares and his body is worn out.

There's an airport in Laredo, but he can't get a flight there until Monday, so he decides San Antonio is close enough.

The airport bars tend to be filled with people waiting to depart, not passengers who have already arrived. But, Javi decides to have a drink before calling a cab. There isn't any rhyme or reason to it. His feet lead him there, not his brain.

There are two open barstools, one on each side of a woman he can only see from the back. He chooses the one to her right. She looks like you, he thinks, just a slightly different haircut.

He barely glances at you before trying to wave down the bartender.

"Javier?" It's your voice from next to him.

He turns his head so quickly he swears he might've given himself whiplash. He's speechless, but smiling.

"What are you doing here?"

"On my way home. To Laredo."

"You left Colombia?"

"Yeah, I quit."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

It's been years since we talked, he thinks. The last conversation was about you leaving.

"Are you on your way home or…?"

"Yeah, I will be, once my boyfriend gets our bags."

Boyfriend. Boyfriend who gets her bags. Boyfriend who sits next to her on the plane. Boyfriend whose spot is beside her.

"Oh."

"I feel like I've been sitting here forever."

"It's hectic down at baggage claim."

"Yeah, there's a million suitcases and none of them are mine. I really hope it's not lost. My favorite necklace was in there."

"The gold one… with the pearl?"

"Yeah, that one." You grin, excited yet surprised. "You remember that?"

I remember seeing it on your bedside table. I remember you taking it off with everything else. The one thing you didn't tear off, the one moment you slowed down.

"Yeah, you wore it all the time."

"And you stared at my tits a lot, so…" You wink, sipping your drink.

"I did not… not all the time."

A man walks up behind you, lugging two suitcases.

"Hey, babe," he says, kissing your cheek.

"Oh!" You beam at him. "This is Javier. My coworker from back when I worked at the DEA."

Coworker. Not even friend.

'Eric' – as he introduces himself, extends his hand to shake Javi's, and it feels like he's making a deal with the devil. Promising your love – something he doesn't even have – to this man for nothing in exchange.

"I'll see you around," you say.

And he thinks it's just politeness, an everyday lie, but you call.

You invite him to your housewarming party.

“Eric and I just got our own place,” you tell him.

Javi congratulates you, and it’s an empty platitude. He says it because he has to – why else would he be here if not to celebrate you and your new home? He knows why. 

He shouldn’t have come at all, but he had no excuse that he could give you. The reason why wants to see you and the reason why he shouldn’t see you coincide, but after years of knowing you, and years being apart, he still can’t admit that reason. 

You were right to call him a coworker – it’s an undeniable truth. You might have been friends too at some point back in Colombia. To make the best out of the situation, Javi brings a bottle of wine – that’s what a friend would do. It’s a nice red blend, something too expensive for Javi to buy for himself. He managed to save money by not buying you a bouquet of roses. It’d be too romantic a gesture coming from a friend, let alone a coworker. 

The party is an intimate affair. Everyone he speaks to is friendly, even your boyfriend, and while he wants to be happy for you, he can’t help the fact that it irritates him more than anything else. He is no better than this man – in fact, he’s worse. 

Over the course of the evening, he meets coworkers and friends of yours. “I love you all,” you tell them, “but Javi’s my favorite.”

Everyone tells him he’s a hero for taking down Escobar, including you. He feels like a fraud, but accepts their thanks humbly because it’s easier not to talk about it.

He’s happy when the attention is taken off of him. Eric makes a toast. It’s to you, to your future.

A wave of nausea hits Javi as he watches your boyfriend become your fiance.

He shouldn’t drink anymore, so he goes outside for a cigarette. You appear by his side and the sweetness of your voice pains him.

“I thought I lost you,” you say.

“You could never lose me,” he lies.

When you show him the ring, he takes your hand in his, gently, pretending to care deeply about the shiny new diamond, but it’s just a rock, an obstruction, something hard covering your soft skin. 

It’s beautiful, it suits you.

You linger on the balcony with him. You show him the ring, you let him touch it.

You must know that the goodbye hug you give him will be the last time you’ll touch him.

Despite the ring on your finger, you kiss Javi on the cheek one final time. Your fiance won’t mind. Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Javi doesn’t kiss you on the cheek. Because kissing you would mean something. It always has.

[thechaoticplayer]

academic rival Ver x reader

Author's note: BAM SLAM IMAGINE BEING AN ACADEMIC RIVAL WITH VER? NAUR... COULDNT BE ME, IM NOT THE TOP OF MY CLASS my ass would get annihilated (lmao)

Summary: me blabbing about being fucked by Ver Vermillion but in bullet points and a bit of paragraphs

Contains: nsfw, academic rivalry, might be ooc, x fem reader, dry humping, Ver using you to get himself off, extremely short sorry I'm yet again writing this at 4 am

None of my works are proofread

Ver Vermillion and you were at the top of your class, always going above the standard

And of course, you became academic rivals.

it was like a flip switched in Ver, he known to be quiet and level headed

but with you? You somehow know where to pluck his nerves

It was always a competition with Ver with tests, quizzes, unit tests, etc to see who would get higher than the other

Lately, both of you have been getting tied scores

Throwing jabs at each other under a veiled smile, you bet that you were going to get the higher score

Unfortunately... you didnt :[ he got one point higher than u

And you said you were willing to bet ANYTHING... yk...

"in a classroom? You're insane," you whisper shout at VER VERMILLION who traps you in between his arms on his desk.

"The door's locked, I'm not stupid," Ver retorts.

"People can still hear genius."

"Well..." Ver places his hand on your mouth and leans close. "You're going to have to be quiet then, right?"

You exhale hard through your nose, obviously protesting against this. You were in the middle of thinking about biting him when he lifts the skirt around your hips, his breaths tickling your ear. You can feel your heart rate spike up, a mixture of anxiety and excitement pumping in your veins.

A harsh jerk brings your hips to Ver's, and a muffled squeak rips from you. Something hard bumps your inner thigh, and you flush hard at the sight of it.

Ver hums at the look on your face, noting the swirl of anticipation and desire. "Who would've thought Miss Top Of The Class could be so naughty."

You narrow your eyes at him because this was his idea! Ver was the one who suggested this, not you! What on earth is he-

Ver grinds his clothed erection against your own clothed cunt and you stifle a moan. He does this ever so slowly, his hard cock pressing against your clit between two thin pieces of fabric. Ver spreads your legs wide for him, looming over you as he ruts against your core.

Your arousal seeps through your panties and it shows on his pants. Ver chuckles shakily, swallowing down moans himself. His eyes watch as your own flutter open and shut and you unknowingly, grinding yourself against him as well. Ver's cock is so painfully hard, and grinding against you offered some sort of relief. But it wasnt enough for him.

Ver tears your panties, causing you to squeal. His hand tightens on your jaw in warning, giving you a quick glare of warning. You glare back at him, breathing hard.

He slides his length in between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick coating him. "You're so wet for me. And to think you actually despised me. I guess I was wrong."

You were definitely gonna bite this guy when the head of his dick circles your sensitive bud, causing a low moan in your throat. His girth nearly slips in but never does, Ver teasing you with just the tip. It was embarrassing how soaking wet you are for your rival.

"You don't deserve my cock," Ver whispers hotly in your ear, making you shudder. "So I'll just use you until I'm done."

So that's what he does, cock sliding between your folds to get himself off, teasing your entrance, only allowing a centimeter by centimeter in you. Your hands grasp his shoulders, begging Ver to fuck you with your eyes as his length bumps against your clit for the umpteenth time. But Ver isn't listening, watching the way it seems like more and more arousal cover his cock and drip onto the desk and floors. His pace quickens as well as his breathing, his cock pulsing with the need to spill like your own.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, pleasure shooting up your back and causing you to arch. Toes curled as Ver used you for his own selfish pleasure. His groans nearly fill the room, but he knows to keep quiet.

Hot liquid spurts out his cock, spreading all over your core as you release with a drawn out moan. Both releases mix together on your bare cunt, and Ver observes with a low laugh.

"You should see how your face looks right now. I didn't even put my cock in you and you came," Ver notes with a innocent smile. You shove his hand off your face with a scoff, chest quivering.

"You're the one who enjoyed it the most," you snap back shakily.

Ver gets close to your face. "Perhaps I did, but I didn't show it as much as you did."

Heat floods your face and gestures to your cheeks. You hop down from the desk, nearly falling but catching yourself before you do so. You stare at the ripped panties on the floor and Ver tosses a roll of napkins at you, which you catch easily.

"Clean yourself up and the desks," Ver calls as he approaches the door of the classroom. A grin on his lips. "You are the loser of this bet today. Would love to have more bets with you in the future."

A quiet click of the door and he's gone. But next week, just as predicted, there would be another bet.

[baldval]

idk if u like writing him so if u don’t feel free to ignore!! but picture this, adam with a higher up reader with high authority that kinda acts like beelzebub?? like adam sees them for the first time and expects them to be all wholesome and kind but she’s actually just a hardcore party gal! which kinda matches his frat boy persona too🌚 and maybe she even resembles bee a bit? UP TO U! i just love ur writing and thought of this

-🎞️ anon

ALTITUDE!₊˚⊹♡

characters: adam x gn!reader

wc: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, mentions of one night stands

A/N: i'm sorry if i failed you in the whole party-fun!reader aspect i just went on a different direction and when i realised i like this a bit too much. hope you like it too anon!!!!! 🫶

You weren’t ever too sure about Adam. He just seemed a bit problematic, loud, interruptive, and he never took things seriously. Not that you were the chillest person on heaven, quite the opposite, but still, there was something about Adam that threw you off. You felt like that was all a faced. You knew that, when he wanted to, he could be kind, and was actually very enthusiastic regarding his job at heaven. Not that he would ever knowingly admit it. So when Sera partnered you two for a, quite important job, you didn’t know what to expect, or how to feel. At first you thought he might try to run the shop by not letting you contribute any of your ideas. He thought you were a tightass that would try to make everything boring (exactly what he said to Lute).

However, both of you were surprised once time went on, and you got to know each-other better. He realised you were actually quite fun, he might even say careless. He found himself in shock, and partially offended, when he realised you actually hosted parties every few weeks. You found out that he was deeply misunderstood. And actually really cute and charming. And you also promised to invite him to your next party, once you had finished the long task Sera had appointed you.

"Adam? Will you read that to me again?" You sat cross legged on the carpeted floor of Adam’s basement, chewing on the end of your click pen. Adam was too busy trying (and failing) to get basketballs on a net at the top of his wall to notice you’d called out to him. Dropping the pencil down on your notebook, you let out a frustrated sigh, standing to get his attention.

"Adam!"

Startled, he stopped short, turning towards you with his eyes wide in surprise.

"Yeah? You alright?" He asked, putting down the basketball and appearing in front of you.

"Yes Adam, I just wanted to get this part done," you explained, rolling your eyes in annoyance. “Besides, why do I have to work? I would also love to be able to play with that fucking basketball." It wasn't that Adam didn't work, he just got distracted easily.

"Ha! As if you could play." You felt deeply offended even though you knew you did NOT know how to play basketball.

"Wow. Just wow. I thought you would've known about my years in the angel's basketball team. I used to be one of the bests." You lied, trying to defend your dignity.

"As if! I was on the angel's basketball team. Never saw you there." "It must've been waaaay before you got in. I've been here for longer, you know."

"Alright then, prove it."

"Prove what?"

"Prove you can play." He handed you the ball and you held it.

"I'm a bit rusty." You smiled at him as you saw him grin. He could see right through you and your lies, what he didn't figure out was that you could also see right through him. So instead of shooting towards the net, you hit Adam with the basketball right on top of his head. Watching it bounce on it only to later hit the floor.

"Ouch! What the fuck was that for?" he ran his hand through his hair.

"Get to work or I'll hit you again."

"Hey! That's toxic workplace behaviour, I'm gonna have to report you now." You groaned in annoyance. "What will it take for you to work on this with me for an hour? Do we have to make a deal?" You joke with a light chuckle. Adam jumped at the opportunity to compromise, knowing that he could work if he really wanted to, and that the deal would then be in his favour.

"A deal hey?" He asks, resting his chin in his hands, looking up at you with sparkling eyes.

"Yes, whatever you want for 1 hour of your precious time," you scoff, picking up your pen again to work. As a higher ranking angel, you knew better than to be stubborn. You didn't mind having to sacrifice a little something. Besides, the end was in sight, meaning you wouldn’t have to deal with him for much longer - however, you struggled to admit to yourself that it would actually make you sad not hanging out with Adam as much as you were right now, worrying you would go back to the stranger treatment you had with each other before.

"I’m not gonna tell you until the hour is up," Adam teases, retrieving a book full of sinners' names for your work from the couch and opening it to a dog-eared page.

"Okay read it again for me, and this time slowly," you emphasise on the word “slowly”, watching him let out a small laugh, shifting on the floor to get comfortable.

"Okay, ready?"

"Yes, Adam."

"Okay," Adam takes a deep breath before beginning, you’re skimming over your notes, making sure all of them make sense. Adam tries to memorise some of the names before you write them, wanting rather to watch you work than have his eyes glued to the book.

Adam rests his hands in his lap, noticing the way your lips part and your tongue juts out only slightly when you concentrate. He notices you fiddling with the edge of your notebook, your fingertips grazing the spiral as it winds to bound the book. He notices how effortlessly pretty you are, and how committed you’ve been to this assignment. He thought it was so funny that you were so oblivious to his blatant staring. He suddenly lets out the breath he didn’t notice he was holding in.

"Adam?" You ask, the same annoyance bubbling inside you from when he didn’t pay attention before.

"Right," Adam shakes his head from his thoughts and returns to reciting the book.

You hadn’t noticed you’d leaned slightly into Adam, your shoulders brushing. Adam suddenly feels warm, his shoulder tingling where you were touching him. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as he licked his lips, readying himself to read the next part.

He thought of how cunning his side of the deal was, and how much more tempting it got the longer you touched him. It was a gamble, but it was one he was willing to take.

Adam rested his hand on his thigh, inching his fingers closer to your joined knees.

You look up at him, finally noticing how close the two of you had gotten, but doing nothing about the close proximity. Something felt different, the air was harder to breathe, and your stomach felt like it was housed by a million butterflies. His eyes shun as they looked into yours, your faces inching closer and closer.

Adam finished reading and silence filled the room, accompanied by the small pants of your breathing, you pulled your body away, sitting up straighter and looking more alert.

"Good reading Adam," you let out a small cough to cover the awkwardness that had just washed over you. Fuck, you were so close to kissing him, and you didn’t know why. You scowled at yourself for being so cliche, and put down your notebook. Adam bit his lip in a smile as your cheeks blushed red because he knew you’d felt that too.

"Okay, deal time?"

You know you asked for an hour, but a break right now didn’t seem so bad.

"Okay," you say, as he scoots his bottom across the floor to face you.

"One kiss," he says finally, your jaw swinging open in shock. A kiss? Was he serious? Did you hear that right?

"A kiss?" You repeat, chuckling. At first you thought it was a prank - classic Adam. However, his face was dead serious, as serious as you had ever seen him. You hadn’t read that Adam felt anything for you, the same way you hid having a big fat crush on him by being sort of mean.

"Come on, you know you want to." He teases suddenly changing his behaviour and body language as he realised he had been perhaps a bit too vulnerable for his liking. But you has already seen him. You knew his true intentions when he asked that and you knew they matched what you wantes, so why weren't you kissing him?

Your lips form a tight straight line as you contemplate your choices. Give up the tough guy act now and cave to your feelings, or don’t. It was like Adam was giving you the perfect opportunity to do what you always thought of doing.

"Okay, only one," you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a curt nod.

“Of course, whatever the lady wants,” he sends a wink on your direction and you can't help blushing as you try to hide the redness with a laugh.

You lean forward, securing a small kiss on his cheek, almost too close to the corner of his mouth as it curled into a small smile. Your lips linger there for a moment, before you pull away, just slightly, your face still so close to Adam’s. You contemplate whether you should just go for it. But before you could decide what you wanted to do, Adam does it for you, connecting your lips in a soft, passionate kiss.

It takes you aback, but you compose yourself quickly, cupping his cheeks in your hands, as his secure to your hips. He pulls you closer, until you’re practically in his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs. His tongue prods at your lower lip, and without another thought, you open your mouth, letting his tongue explore where no one else has. The feeling was magical, and after all those nights you lay awake thinking of this moment, it finally came in full force.

You had to pull away with a gasp when Adam’s hand started to cup your bare ass under your shorts, your hands resting comfortably on his shoulders as you stared at each other.

"Fuck I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-"

"No! It’s fine, I just, I... I kinda like you? Adam... And I mean, I don't care if you want to just fuck or whatever. But... I guess I just don't want that." you let out a nervous laugh, wanting so badly to crawl into a hole and die from your confession. "It's not you! Well, I guess it is you? I don't mind one-night stands, I just..." Adam interrupts you by letting a small laugh, the back of his hand coming up to caress your cheek.

"I get why you assumed that. I mean, I am THE Adam, THE original dick, why would I settle down?" You roll your eyes at his cockiness and his expression softens. "But I do like you. I like you just in the way that you said it, truly."

"Really?" You ask him, your voice only just louder than a whisper.

"Yeah! I mean- you’re so smart and pretty, and we’ve spent a lot of time together, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, wouldn't mind getting to know you better. The whole of you" he moves his hand towards your waist.

“I’ve felt the same way,” you reply, pulling Adam in for a hug, resting your head in the crook of his neck. He holds you close, before you sit back down on the floor across from him.

“So… you think I’m pretty?” He asks, shooting you a cheeky wink. You roll your eyes again, letting out a small laugh.

[beoneofus]

first person | gender neutral! reader

++

“ I don't do relationships, dollface. ”

that was the first thing he had told me when I met him. I was a boring stranger in a run down pizza shop on the boardwalk; an employee who worked there, just taking their late break that was three hours past due. him? he just so happened to be a customer that was tired of waiting for his food, and decided to take a seat next to me.

for a moment, I didn't even register the fact that he sat down. you would've thought, since the old Red booths squeaked like hell under any weight — or, maybe even the fact that the boots he wore counted heavily under his feet. but no, no. I was way too occupied thumbing at the craft I had in my hand. just a cute little box I was making out of a piece of paper I found in the back office. there wasn't much to do with thirty minutes, when you were on the boardwalk.

literally, it'd take forty just to beat a line at the rollercoaster.

so that left me to find my own shit to do. why not make it interesting, huh?

but I guess he wanted to make conversation. people must've jumped at his feet, though, because what he really said had caught me off guard.

I remember lifting my head, tongue still stuck out in concentration, and looking at him up through thw loose hairs that fell into my line of sight. in a workplace like this, everything about you tends to get messy, so I wasn't surprised my hair was a wreck.

“ what? ” I asked, rather confused. the scrunch of skin between my brows was felt a great amount, so there's no doubt I looked lost as hell.

the blonde in front of me leaned forward, a small grin quirking up onto his lips, which I momentarily flickered down to look at. it was just out of instinct, but it wasn't a surprise he took it otherwise. the fact that he grinned wider told me so. “ I said, I don't do relationships. now can we have a nice chat, or are you gonna’ jump my bones just like everyone else? ”

I tilted my head to the side in thought once it finally registered what he had said. the cogs turned, and before I could even think, words were spitting out of my mouth. “ no offense, but who says you're even that attractive? only a man with a head up his ass has the gaul to say that to a complete stranger who they approach. ”

I was known for having an over active mouth. It's what got me in trouble most of the time — even with my boss.

my guess is that he took a liking to it though. his eyebrows drew upwards in a look of surprise, at first, but then I could see a look of interest fill his eyes. silence surrounded us for a moment in time, it left me nervous actually, because I had realized what I said. but, then he soothed my anxieties by the laugh he let out.

It was a small one at first, and then he leaned back in his chair and blew out full on, booming spouts of laughter. it actually made my mouth drop open. I thought I was going to get my ass handed to me, but here this hot guy, who approached me, was laughing at the fact that I just smart mouthed him.

it amazed me.

“ marko. ”

“ huh? ” I had blinked, shaking my head to rid the confusion from myself. I didn't realize he was introducing himself, because I was still blown over from the enormous surprise I was given just a minute ago.

“ I'm marko. ” he spoke calmer now, the chuckles dying out, until just a boyish smile was left on his face. “ who do I owe the pleasure, beautiful?”

I eyed him for a moment, kind of suspicious that he was now making a new approach. again, the whole introduction was random and... uneasy, really. but I didn't want to be rude. although I tended to come off that way, I really wasn't.

“ y/n. ”

“ pleasure to meet you. ” he lifted his elbow over the table as he purred out the words. a hand outstretched to me, and I once more eyed him; or his palm, more like it.

“ what? ” he snickered, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “ I don't bite. ” I could feel something else creeping up... and, I nearly said something, but he beat me to it. “ unless you want me to, of course. ”

letting out a huff, I learned back in my own seat and crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. the dim lighting in the pizza shop gave him an abnormal shaped hallow over the crown of his curly hair, which I squinted at, but paid no mind to; instead, shooting a reply back at the male. “ I'll pass. ”

my answer was bland, but I guess he expected that, by the way he lowered his hand and placed the upper side of it face down onto the table top. calm expression on his face, settled in with a cheeky smile. It's like he read me like a book, just in mere minutes. “ how unfortunate... ” he let out what seemed to me, to be a faux sigh of disappointment, before scooting to the edge of the booth's seat. “ well, I have to get going. my order is finally ready. ”

upon him saying that, his head was thrown into the direction of where my coworker stood, with an annoyed expression on her face. two pizza boxes in hand, along with a smaller one, that possibly held our famous gyros or just regular old bread sticks. but, just know she didn't look happy.

my gaze flickered back onto him. “ I'll see you around, y/n. ” marko flashed me a smile at that, one that was more... weird. but dazzling, than the others.

I frowned at that and said nothing, just watched him wave, before standing and winking at me. he turned, and walked rather lazily up to rebecca.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I actually would see him again, and it spooked me.

and guess what?

I did see him again. and it left me breathless.

(unedited)

[cherry-jamm]

Okay so like I desperately need a butcher one fr, I don’t know anyone anyone else that could execute this, but once again I’m asking for one there butcher and the reader have a one night stand even thought they hate each other and then are very confused in the morning, and butcher is kind of conflicted bc he just lost becca and he refuses to confront the situation bc he leaves in the morning like nothing happened

It was worth it, I would do it again

・❥・description: after a one night stand, Billy has to face himself and his feelings for you. It's awkward.

・❥・word count: 1.3k

・❥・warnings: title based off ‘Awkward’ by Sza, angst with an unhappy ending, reader was not made for hookup culture (me either girl 😭), references to smut, plot devices that don't really make sense but it all works out

・❥・sorry I made you wait so long booboo bear I just couldn't get this right. But thanks for the request, you know how I love writing about my tragic situationships (I'm projecting)

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been staring at him. Billy Butcher in your bed is a sight you intended on enjoying for as long as possible. He had one arm resting on his stomach, while the other served as a pillow to you. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. He looked so relaxed, his deep frown lines were gone from his face.

You ached to reach out and brush your fingers across his perfectly serene face, but you feared disturbing him, so you were content to just watch. You watched as the light turned from silver moonshine to the soft pinks and oranges of sunrise. His warmth enveloped you.

"I think I love you." You whispered to his sleeping form. You hated him ever since you first met him. It's easier to hate him, it's work to love him. Before tonight he'd never had known it, but over time you took on the burden of loving him. Slowly, but surely he'd won your heart and soul. He doesn't respond to your confession, but his brow twitched a miniscule amount. You felt yourself surrender back to sleep with a smile.

You didn't know what time it was when you woke up. You were greeted with the sight of his scarred back as he sat on the edge of the bed. You didn't say anything as you looked at his tense body sleepily. He sighs loudly and looks over his shoulder at you. You're compelled to pretend to stay asleep, just to see what he does. You feel his calloused hand brush your cheek before withdrawing quickly as if your skin had seared him.

He sighs again and his weight leaves the bed. You hear his heavy footsteps leave the apartment. You open your eyes and look at your ceiling. You felt as if he had just gutted you. Your lips formed a deep frown. Had he really just left? Without even saying anything?

Pitifully you pulled yourself out of bed and walked to your shower. Even after you two had cleaned up last night, you couldn't help feeling dirty after his wordless departure. As you walked your entire body felt sore, something you would've laughed at on any other occasion. You turned on the hot water and scrubbed your body until your skin felt raw.

Your bathroom was filled with steam and the scent of your soap by the time you were finished. You couldn't help regret last night as you wrapped a towel around yourself. You wiped the condensation off your mirror to be greeted by a dark purple bruise on the side of your neck. You fixed your face into scowl.

"Whatever." You huffed to yourself. And grabbed a bottle of lotion as you stepped out of the bathroom. You rubbed the lotion over your sore skin in silence. Clouds had passed over the sun. You went through the motions of a self care day.

You made yourself breakfast, got dressed in comfy clothes, and sat on your couch and watched the first movie you could find. It only served to make you feel more used as the man guided the main character on a romantic walk down the street. You rolled your eyes at the screen.

There came a hesitant knock at your door. You groaned as you got up to open the door.

"Hi (y/n)." Hughie greeted you. He raised his hand to an awkward wave. M.M stood behind him with his arms crossed, but he smiled politely at you. Frenchie had an arm around Hughie with Kimiko standing at his side. Butcher stood off to the side, you had to stick your head out of your door in order to see him. It made you sick.

"Hi Hughie." You said deadpan. "Why are you guys here?" You raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Mind if we come in?" Frenchie offered. You narrowed your eyes but allowed them in regardless. You felt the urge to slam the door in Butcher's face. You didn't, but you got a kick out of thinking about it.

"So? What's with the reunion?" You crossed your arms, only slightly embarrassed at being seen in your pajamas.

"Have you watched the news recently?" M.M asked pointedly, seeming very upset at something. You glance over at the TV.

"-But I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever. You and me everyday."

"Obviously not."

"The Notebook, eh?" Frenchie smiles.

"What's on the news and why does that matter?" For the first time it dawns on you that this could mean serious trouble. Especially with the way Butcher is standing at your counter completely silent and brooding.

"Our hideout was found. We weren't there at the time, but uh... we need a new place to stay." Hughie says. Your shoulders drop as your relax a bit.

"So none of us are in immediate danger?"

"Shouldn't be." Hughie replies.

"And you all decided to come to my studio apartment? I have two rooms total." You frown.

"It's just for a night or two, until everything settles down." Hughie tries to reason with you. It seems everyone else has already made themselves comfortable in your home. Frenchie sits on your couch and watches your movie while Kimiko sits on the floor in front of him. M.M holds a small trinket in his hands and looks at it curiosity. Butcher still stands awkwardly in your kitchen.

"You got yourselves caught in your last place, how can I trust you won't get busted here?" You asked.

"Just one night. Please." He said. You sigh.

"One night." You take the trinket out of M.M's hands and set it back down. You send a glare in Butcher's direction. He looks at the floor regretfully. You feel almost satisfied at the idea of him feeling bad for leaving you, almost.

A silence falls over the room as everyone settles in. You step into the kitchen. "We need to talk." You hissed to the tall man.

"'Bout what?" He says distractedly.

"Not funny." You grab hold of his jacket and pull him towards the bathroom, the only private room in your studio. You bring him in and lock the door behind you. "What the fuck?" You start. Suddenly the bathroom seems cramped. He doesn't say anything. You lean on the shower door to put some space between the two of you. "No seriously, what the fuck? I trusted you last night, you know how much stuff like that matters to me and you just left?" You felt vulnerable and exposed but continued to wait for an answer.

"What do you want me to say?" He starts gruffly. "You want me to say sorry?"

"Yes, Billy. That's exactly what I want you to say." You say, exasperatedly. "An explanation would be nice too." You cross your arms over your chest.

"I don't owe you shit." He huffs. He wants to say something else, if he didn't he would've already left. "Especially not an explanation."

"Billy-" You start.

"You reminded me of Becca." He confides. He might as well have punched you in the gut.

"What?"

"I said you reminded me of Becca." He really didn't need to say it twice, you're sure it would keep you up at night for the rest of your life. "Waking up next to you, just seeing you-" His voice cracks. "I couldn't do it." You looked at the floor. He looked into your mirror.

"So that's all it was? Just a way to pretend I was her?" You ask softly. He doesn't respond, and that's answer enough. "Okay." You whisper and move towards the door to unlock it. He caught your wrist before you did.

"You're more than that." He says but doesn't elaborate further. He unlocks the door and walks out.

[skeleton-mischief]

always have been a big fan when people write the reader as something else instead of a human, like an avian or a ghost.

can we get a siren reader? Like perhaps the skele’s house is near a huge lake or ocean and one day they hear a sirens song in the distance (Please add killer sans, he’s my bbg)

OOOOH I LOVE WHEN THEY DO THAT TOO!! I imagined Killer being with a Ghost reader because I'm honestly just a sucker for that vibe. However!!! Per request I shall indeed write a siren reader x killer just for you with the sweet treat of it being a pirate version 🫶

Please enjoy my awful attempt at it :-)

CW: a storm causes him to nearly drown, so I just wanted to give a heads up

It's terrible and quite embarrassing, honestly. He lives in the middle of the damn ocean yet he never learned how to swim? Killer knows how stupid it sounds, but acknowledging it while drowning makes him feel even worse.

A storm, quick and sudden ravaged the ship as waves crashed against the deck and licked at the edges like a hungry beast. The others had attempted to control the ship while others had gone inside to hide from the rain and sea, but he just had to go and attempt to save one of his fellow crew mates. He has always sworn up and down that he doesn't care for the others, too apathetic for their feelings and too careless for consideration. And yet, there he went, proving the others and even himself wrong.

He had just managed to haul them up from the side, pulling his weight in order to sloppily yank them back on board. Of course though, the sea demanded a meal, lapping it's cold and harsh tongue against the rim and pulling him backwards as the ship swayed to the side. He barely had time to take a breath, squeezing his eye sockets shut as his weight was yanked from beneath him.

If he managed to survive this, which was unlikely, of course, then he would never hear the end of it. Hah, he had to admit that sounded much better than this though...

His ability to hear anything up above was severed as soon as his body started to sink, black ink pooling from his eyes as his sockets burned with involuntary tears. He did his best to look up, the dark blue and green waves swishing his body like he was going to be nothing but backwash. He could feel his chest tightening with a desire to breathe, but he knew better than to gasp for air. He did, yes, but his body still caused him to almost involuntarily inhale sharply as salty and disgusting sea water filled his mouth.

He hacked back coughing, and only then did he start to struggle as he could see through the dark current that his eyelight was glowing as he was bombarded with panic. He thrashed and kicked, screaming as he didn't know what else to do other than exhaust his own body like a fool. That's what he was best known to be, after all, a fucking fool.

If he had bothered to look anywhere other than up, maybe down perhaps, then he would've seen the glowing eyes watching him with outstretched claws. But alas, the waves tired his body out twice as quickly since he had already swallowed down so much water, and his consciousness was climbing desperately to remain. Kick your legs forward, push your body beneath your hands, use the tides to your advantage to go up for air, do somethi-!

.....

______________________________________________

He wasn't conscious for long, a ragdoll tugged down by those clawed hands just as quickly as his consciousness was swept away and the ink from his eyes blurred his face like watercolor too wet until the paper tore from below.

You, of course, watched the ordeal and witnessed it without much thought. This happens often, you thought, but never before have you seen a living skeleton. How fascinating! His body worked similar to a human too, how peculiar. Sadly, he was about to flat out die from drowning by the time your arms pulled his body close.

You let out a low, clicking sound as one of your clawed fingers traced an outline along the corner of his socket and down his cheek. What a strange creature, oozing with ink that reminded you of a squid when he was a skeleton. Then again, seeing such odd things always piqued your curiosity. You didn't want him to die.

A small hum escaped you as you aggressively dug your hand into your satchel that you always carried with you. Pulling a small, blue pearl like orb between your fingers, you shoved it down unceremoniously down his jaw, thumb pressing it down to pop it inside and promptly shutting his mouth shut to keep the substance down. Sure this was less elegant than you would've preferred, but if you didn't act quickly he'd genuinely drown.

You heard the sounds of sparkling inside of him and with a satisfied coo, you wrapped your arms around his chest and pushed hard into his bones until you saw his eye sockets shoot open and cough out water. He seemed to still be disoriented, but now he had that water out of his system thankfully. You kept him wrapped up in your arms as you swam with ease, diving down low as you saw his consciousness blinking in and out with his eye lights.

They were pretty, bright....

Dismissing that, you decided that you like this strange skeleton enough to keep him, so you would wait until the waves calmed down before putting him back up. You only had a limited amount of pearls, after all. However, this was going to be a struggle by how his eyes happened to find yours before shrinking. Quick, maybe a smile will help?

______________________________________________

What is the strange taste in his mouth? Why is he awake? What has a hold of him? Oh my stars it's fucking huge! Oh it's genuinely so big and long this isn't a shark or a fish??? And and and it has an upper body of a human-esque figure and oh they're kind of pretty and scary with such bright and glowing eyes despite the sharp teeth and wait actually it's still terrifying just fucking great. He's struggling and the creature won't let go and it's dragging him somewhere oh stars it just bared its teeth at him-! There goes his consciousness again.

______________________________________________

By the time he woke up again, he felt something heavy laying on top of him. He felt sand beneath his bones as it irritably found its way into the cracks of his bones and he had to blink away the blue of his vision as he saw that the sun was just barely rising along the ocean waves. It must be dawn, he concluded dumbly, or maybe sunset? He can't tell.

What he can tell, however, is that the weight on his body has shifted and he's now face to face with....oh.

You were...scary. Kind of?

What lay on top of him was a curled up sea creature lazily draped over his body, large and strong. Tied to an upper body that resembled almost a humanoid figure was a long, thick tail as it flicked partially in the water as the tides rose and fell along the beach line.

Your flesh wasn't made of scales, per say, and by the coloring he could see how it blended right into your upper body. Dark hues of blue with a hint of green undertones blended together to a sort of tabby style of pattern down the center of your tail. Your hands looked to be dipped in the same gradient with their own webbing and fins along your elbows, and as he looked at you, those same hands seemed to be caressing his cheek as your eyes watched the glow of his soul that promptly seemed to be unsteady as it visibly trembled on his chest.

A siren.

He stared at you, saw your pupils dilating as you made a low, repetitive trill. You haven't eaten him yet, and you seemed happy to see that he was awake. Where was he?? Why haven't you killed him?? Where was his crew? Your jaw opened to show sharpened teeth, but what came out was what resembled a melodic chime of....delight?

He couldn't understand you, and as he sat up, your body slowly moved back along the water as you dipped down for what he assumed was some air before you rose back up, splashing some water over your tail and upper body. You pointed to him before chirping again, but he could only cock his head to the side.

"H-haaah-....I'm sorry, I can't understand you. Did you....save me?" It couldn't hurt for him to try and speak to you, sirens could understand the common language, right? You seemed to perk up at his words, a gambled sound of speech blurting out of you. He winced at the sound, which only made you falter. "Ah-...sorry, I didn't mean to offend you by that." He was quick to apologize, a smile plastered on his face as he tried to save face. He didn't want to offend his savior, especially if you were capable of eating him.

"Y-yEs." You tried again. Better. Okay! Okay he was getting somewhere! "Do you know what happened to my ship??" "F- F-...LoaT." "Float? So they're okay?" You nodded your head, grinning widely. He promptly fell back on the sand in relief, sighing as he grasped his chest. "Okay....oh thank the stars..."

He laughed, and he didn't particularly understand why. Maybe he was relieved to the point of laughter, even if he already wanted to know how he could get back to them. But right now, he felt exhausted. Maybe though, maybe you would help him get back? Unless you intended to keep him, which wasn't ideal. Killing him would just suck, and killing you would leave him stranded and alone. He could think about that later though. He was a guy that needed a break from too much stress, even now in such a serious situation.

Never the less, he felt your hand resting on his arm as you hesitantly cooed at him, tilting your head at him curiously. He looked at you again, then back down at his soaked and torn attire. His white blouse was torn, pulled out from his black silk pants and one of his leather boots missing. His sword was gone too, which sucked tremendously. Any jewels he wore must be gone somewhere deep in the blue sea, and all that really remained somehow was the ring he wore on his phalanges. Thank the stars for that.

It was a custom ring that glinted bright, a sigil decorated by the captain himself. If he were to lose that? Well...he doesn't want to think about that. He felt a tugging on his shirt, flinching slightly with a wavering smile when he turned his head to the side. You were staring at him, faces near inches away from his own. He tried not to freak out, but instead he just adjusted his head back a little with a small laugh.

"What?"

You just stared, not saying anything, before you smiled. "...hAppy?" "Happy? Am I happy?" You nodded your head. "Well, I guess...I want to go back home to the others though; back to my crew, y'know?" He answered honestly, rolling his sleeves up as he rolled over on his side before rubbing his skull. You offered a reassuring pay on his back, running your fingers along his spine as you nodded your head. Maybe you would help him? "Let's not think about that now! Actually...let me check somethin'...."

Without looking at you, he patted himself down, trying to check if he had lost anything else. Maybe his sword was gone, but what about-.... "Ah- Hahaha-! Yes!" He cursed, cackling, before abruptly jerking his head towards you. He saw your confusion, but he simply grinned even wider, pulling the very small and intricate blade from his tucked in and hidden pocket. Hey, you never know when you need an extra blade, right?

"I found my knife," He promptly stated, proud of himself for keeping something he liked so much. You sort of just- blinked at him. However, you offered a confused, sort of disoriented sound of acknowledgement, so that was something.

He looked around his surroundings once more, and with great effort, he stood up finally. You stared up at him, your tail flicking once more. He, openly deciding to ignore his problems, finally clapped his hands together and spoke with confidence. "Why don't we get something to eat, hm? Does that sound good to you, pearl?"

______________________________________________

Closing Notes: I've been busy with stuff and I kinda didn't know how to end things, so I apologize if it's kinda bland or at least notttt my best writing. I hope you enjoyed it @alexsorsis 🫶

[shinyrhinestones]

Taxi.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader.

Warnings: Making out.

Genre: Fluff, but a little heated.

Category: Oneshot.

Summary: Spencer and Readers attraction towards each other give in, when they have to share a Taxi home.

English isn't my mother tongue, so there will probably be some mistakes.

———————————————————————-

You and Spencer had left the others behind at the pub, the others had insisted on going to. Your eyelids were heavy, and you were walking slowly along the sidewalk. Spencer was walking next to you, on the side that where the road was by. He was holding onto his light brown satchel. You had left the pub, due to being extremely exhausted from such a long day. Spencer wasn't the biggest fan of bar, pub and clubs. They were unhygenic and loud. You walked lazily, while Spencer walked the same pace as you to keep you company. When you announced that you were gonna go home, Spencer decided that he didn't want to stay either. He had opened the door for you, and held it open for you to go first. There wasn't really many cars on the road at the moment. The only thing lighting up the streets were the stars and the lampposts. You could hear the sound of Spencers shoes landing on the concrete everytime he took a step. The cold wind would brush against your face softly, as you walked down the street with your coworker. The coworker who was a very intelligent and friendly person. He always managed to impress people with his intelligence without trying. And he was always surprised when a woman was interested in him. Which was cute, but honestly you could see why ladies found him attractive. He was beautiful. Its actually not common to find a boy/man who's actually physically attractive.

Neither of you really said much. But you were getting too tired, that you had started walking very slow. So slow that Spencer himself got confused and worried.

"Are you okay?" He suddenly asked, his voice being very light. You stopped walking completely at his words and turned to look at him. Spencer had his eyebrows furrowed and eyes studying your face, not being able to read you completely. But your tired eyes and slouched figure, should've told everything for you. You nodded tiredly and lazily at him. "I'm okay. I'm just really tired."

You had honestly planned on walking home, since you didn't have enough money on you to pay for one. But you might aswell just have collapsed on the empty street, due to how tired you actually were. Spencer could see just how much, now that you were looking at each other completely. His eyebrows stopped scrunching together, as his eyes softened. His hands let go of his satchel, as his head whipped around to look around the road, you were standing by. "Okay, let's get a taxi then" He said, and started to walk ahead of him. You looked over at Spencer, who had started walking again. You didn't move. For a moment you just stood there admiring the tall, slim figure walking down the street to get a Taxi somewhere. You scoffed, but not in a mean way. It was more like: Is this boy really going to do that for me so late? Way.

And knowing Spencer as well as you did, you should've known he would've done it. And he did. 'Cause when you had just been standing there in amusement, Spencer had gotten a taxi pulled over. He looked over at your direction, when he didn't hear or feel your presence by him. He scrunched up his face in confusion, as he waved you over, holding the door open for you. You hurried up, not wanting the chauffeur to get irritated by you. You let out a short laugh, when you almost tripped on your way over there. The adrenaline running through you curtly at the shock. Spencer almost hurried over to your side when he saw it, but it was over so quickly, that he didn't get to play the hero on this night. You smiled at Spencer, when you had reached his side. He had grabbed onto your arm softly, to ask you: "Are you ok?" Once again. You replied with a delicate yes, looking into his brown doe eyes.

You turned away from him again, to enter the cab. You hugged your jacket close to yourself, before you put on the seat belt on your side. The car was warm, warming your previous cold hands up quickly. Spencer crawled in after you. You rested your body and head up against the side of the car, where the window was. You stared out through the window, before blinking your eyes slowly. The you turned your body in the direction of Spencer, but still leaning against the cars side. He had been playing with the handle of his satchel, when he saw you staring at him. When you made eye contact, you sat up again, closer to Spencer. His heart was beating faster, as you sat closer. His cheeks heating up aswell. Your belly started creating a tickling feeling. Spencer had always been a pretty boy. Which is why it made sense that Derek always called him pretty boy. But he so much more handsome, as the lights of the city brushed against his face. The lights painted his face red, green, blue and all kinds of colors from street lamps, ads, traffic lights and all kinds of city things. Spencer dropped his hands from his satchel to the seat he was sitting in. You studied his face. His eyebrows, hks shining brown eyes, cute button nose, sharp jawline and his pink lips. Your eyes were falling from his eyebrows, to his eyes, nose and just everywhere you could admire him. Spencer blushed a bright pink, when you kept looking at him. He shuffled against his seat, and gave you an awkward smile. You looked away from him noticing what you were doing. You didn't want him to get any more uncomfortable than he already seemed. You sighed, and ran your hand through your hair, to put it behind your ears. That gave Spencer the opportunity to see your face more clear. I mean, Yes he could see it before, but now that it wasn't dropping down around your face, he could see it more. Now it was his turn to study your face and admiring it in secret. He hadn't noticed how he himself had leaned in closer to feel the heat of your body. You leaned back into the car seat, sitting a little to the side. "Are you tired?" You asked, looking at him sweetly. Spencer was a little startled by your sudden words, but he didn't let it show. He smiled a little, as his eyes fell down before speaking. "Not really" He stated barely audible. You nodded, too tired to give a verbal answer. Spencer did the same as you, and leaned down into the seat, sitting to the side slightly aswell. This made eye contact much easier. Your faces were much closer. You could see the emotion behind his eyes, as he swallowed unconsciously. You were pretty sure eyes were filled with yearning. Being alone with Spencer made excitement rush through your body. Spencer looked down at your lips, before licking his lips with out realizing. You smiled, letting your teeth show.

You raised your hand to touch some of Spencers hair, that had draped over one of his eyebrows and his right eye. And right when you had touched him, you were afraid that maybe you had triggered him. After some time of working with Spencer, you learned how he didn't like touch and was a germaphobe.

You pushed his dark hair to the side, and as you were about to bring your hair down again, he grabbed it softly. He held it, as he examined your hand. Then with both his hands he started playing with your fingers almost massaging them. Its funny how you both just went along with the flow, not really saying much. Spencer kissed your hand, like you were a princess in a fairytale. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, before he asked you a shocking but interesting question.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was almost a small whisper, as looked at your features.

You didn't smile brightly, but you could definitely feel the warm feeling spreading through your body, it felt like you were flying. Your heart was beating so quickly you thought it might've exploded. You nodded again, replying to his question: "Yes, you can" You replied in the same tone and delicacy. He let out a small breath at the positive response, as he leaned closer to your body.

As soon as your lips met, they were glued together. Feeling his lips and tongue like that was something you never would've guessed would've happen this night. Your noses bumped against each other every once in a while, making your lips turn upwards, before going back to kissing him. His hands travelled up your thigh, and your hands ran all over his neck and chest. And even when you pulled away for air, you still found your way back to the other again. You ran your hands up to his cheeks, holding his face.

You could feel the turns the car made, and the other cars on the street.

You had completely forgotten where you were, that when you were reminded you pulled away from Spencer. Spencer assumed you just needed some air, but when he tried to lean in again, and you pulled away, he felt his blood run cold. He was absolutely frightened that he had made you uncomfortable and ruined everything. He froze. He just sat there staring at you, with puppy dog eyes hoping everything was okay. You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, looking at it, before meeting his eyes again. You looked at the driver, and then at the cute boy infront of you. "Everythings fine" You said low but light. You could smell the sweet scent of old books and coffee coming off of Spencer. He rested his head on your shoulder, as you held his large hands in yours on your lap. You leaned your own head on top of his, feeling his muffled and gentle hair on your cheek. You felt like the luckiesg person in the world, after kissing Spencer like that. Not knowing Spencer felt the same exact way.

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[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twelve

Master List of Series

I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to @sunny-boy-06 . They've been someone whose name is always in my notifs. You've been a lurker on this account, but I see you! You always like every post I make, whether it's regarding this story or not, and I just want to let you know your support doesn't go unnoticed. Thank you. <3

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I hope y'all like this chapter. It's quite the eventful one. I apologize if it's information overload. If it is too much or you have any comments or questions, don't hesitate to ask! It always makes me smile having interactions with everyone. It's one of the reasons I love writing so much on platforms like these. 

Translation Guide: Lykemās: easy, be quiet. 

Chapter Warnings: Description of urination, Angsty girl with unresolved trauma, Violence, Sweet baby girl Aegon.

A cloaked figure stumbled through the alleyways of Kings Landing, bumping into townsfolk and mumbling as the stench of alcohol radiated off his body. Men and children alike turned their heads at the hunched man, their faces covered in disgust as they avoided him. Another poor drunkard from Flea Bottom, they thought, paying him no mind.

A woman, clearly a harlot by the bleached streak of dye in her hair, was speaking to a merchant, stroking vibrantly colored fabric in a suggestive way as the hobbled figure passed. A strand of white caught her eye, hearing the familiar ramblings in her ear. Quickly, she forgot her current mission, slinking away as she ran to her Mistress's home.

The crowned Prince Aegon wandered mindlessly on the merchant Streets of Kings Landing, searching for his next drink in all the wrong places. How low he had become these past few years, moaning and groaning about how unhappy he was and how unfair his life is. He had only wanted one thing in his existence, which was always out of reach.

Love.

Love from his mother, father, brother, sister, you-- from anyone he met.

Aegon did not know why he starved for it or went through the streets at night searching for love. Perhaps during his conception, the Gods decided he would never know what it felt like for someone to stare at him with stars in their eyes, kissing his woes away as they whispered those three words.

"I love you..."

But perhaps not. The most likely reason Aegon never experienced that warm feeling from someone was most evident at this very moment as he felt liquid pool below his stomach.

"Fuck," he mumbled, turning down a corner with far fewer people as he unlaced his soiled trousers between a cluster of wooden crates and barrels.

He could hear those who regrettably crossed his stream shouting in disgust as his piss covered their shoes. How lucky, Aegon justified, they have royal piss on their clothes, not just some common one.

Suddenly, the bright autumn sun disappeared, eclipsing the surrounding area in darkness. Aegon quickly looked up with his eyes squinted and mouth agape, stuffing himself back into his pants. In a flash, the sun was back again, the outline of what could only be a tail soaring above him and out of view.

"Aemond," he snorted, "arrogant prick."

His brother must have taken Vhagar out for a morning stroll. He ignored it, accustomed to his brother's theatrics. Aemond had the largest dragon the world had ever seen. Aegon would've boasted too.

The elder Prince sniffled as if dismissing the thought as he walked into nowhere. If he traveled long enough; eventually, the sweet nectar of Arbor Red would appear in his hands. He would find that taste, no matter that he was actually passed out in the same spot for the past two sun positions.

***

Common folk in the town's square stared at you in awe as you descended the rope ladder down Cannibal's enormous back. You were sure they had never seen a dragon so close before, your Targaryen brethren keeping the beasts deep inside Rhaenys's hill and only letting them soar the skies.

One person, a young boy, stepped closer to your dragon, his curious nature getting the best of him as Cannibal snapped his jaws with a snarl. The boy stumbled backward as Cannibal recoiled, separating you and the townsfolk with his enormous body.

The formerly wild dragon still held the same spirit as before, unwelcoming to the presence of so many people. He could not be around any of your family's dragons, sticking to his den on the eastern side of Dragonmont. After several months of you and Cannibal's partnership, Luke had convinced you to take your dragons out for riding. The Keepers warned against it, but you did it anyways, and the young Arrax nearly paid his life for it when Cannibal lunged, his teeth flaring at the poor juvenile.

"Lykemās, Cannibal," you soothed, stroking your hand along his large snout, his obsidian scales reflecting the midday sun. He took a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he released you from the protective embrace.

The young boy stood frozen in place, watching your mighty dragon with wonder in his eyes. That would have been you standing there if not for those fateful days in the past, mesmerized by the shiny black skin of Cannibal. A half-hearted smile rose onto your face at the memories, painful and bittersweet.

"Ten Golden Dragons should be enough for you to buy my companion your protection and some pork loins, yes?" you asked the boy absentmindedly as you searched your purse for some coins.

"Ye-yes, ma'am," the child nodded, his voice shaky.

"Good," you acknowledged, handing him the money, and you turned back to your dragon. "I shant be long boy. Be good now, Cannibal. This kind ser right here has promised to watch after you." Cannibal moved his head, and you couldn't help but feel he was mocking you.

Yes, your sweet, temperamental cannibalistic dragon did not need protection, but it was not for his safety but more for the dozens of ordinary folk beginning to crowd around him.

"Do not let people get so close to him. I cannot be sure that he would not eat a houseful of them in one bite," you whispered to the child, surveying the onlookers. He nodded enthusiastically at your words, taking the coins as he stepped closer to Cannibal as any curious child would. "Oh, and," you paused, remembering another critical piece of information, "do not pet him. The last time someone attempted that, they got their arm ripped out."

You offered him a small smile as he quickly backed up, fear clouding his puggish face.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your wrinkled riding clothes as you went to Flea Bottom, your home.

***

Even in the cooler autumn breeze, it smelled like curdled milk and feces. Though your nose scrunched in disgust, everything brought a nostalgic feeling to your heart. You had remembered the rushed layout of the place, watching the residents walk up their chipped sandstone staircases to their houses, clothes in mere tatters. You remembered running through these same alleyways as a child, dodging drunkards and Gold Cloaks with your pockets and satchels full of trinkets and fruits.

Everything was far less severe then. There were no courtly manners to worry about, no special dresses to wear at certain times, no obligation to train or speak a certain way, and no worries of succession.

It was simple, and you missed it, but in the same breath, you wouldn't change your life for anything.

How many people could say they tame the wildest dragon in the world? A dragon that sent others of its species cowering in fear. A dragon that ate other dragons for breakfast. Not even Aemond Targaryen could say that. Largest dragon be damned.

Ma's place was still the same. The only different thing was a carved wooden sign stating the name of her business, and the steps were more worn than you remembered—a victim of time, just like you.

Father had forbidden you to write to her, demeaning her a traitor of the crown for keeping you hidden, but Rhaenyra, ever the tender-hearted mother, could not bear to keep you from the only person in your old life. She had lost her mother just as you had, in the birthing bed. It was one of the reasons you had become close. She could not bear being a willing participant in your lack of communication with the woman who was the maternal figure in your early life. She would send the letters with her royal seal, her husband never knowing of your secret correspondence.

Your knock was barely audible on the door, fading into the background of the bustling streets of Flea Bottom. It flung open anyways, the person no doubt waiting for your arrival as you were crushed in a flurry of skirts and limbs. You could barely breathe as the person crushed you in their embrace, rocking you back and forth as they mumbled excitedly.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet little girl, how I've missed you," Madam squealed into your shoulder. You had nearly grown a full head taller than her in your time away and couldn't help but hug her back. "You're so strong," she said, releasing you and squeezing your biceps, "and tall! Dear Mother, you have grown! They must bee feeding you well! I should hope so," she chortled, "considering the taxes they're making us pay now." Ma shook her head, her hands on her hips as you stood awkwardly.

"Never mind that!" She swatted the subject of your family's taxation away with her hand, pulling you in by the wrist. "Come! Come sit, I've made your favorite, or at least I hope it is still your favorite," she added, a sad look glossing over her deep-set eyes.

"What is it, Ma?" You asked, hoping to reel her mind back into the present instead of wherever it went.

"Apple Muse," she chirped, her face bright once more. "Though, I am sure it is not nearly as good as the ones on Dragonstone. I recall how much you adored them in your letters."

You felt terrible at the evident insecurities Ma had, afraid that you had grown into a more refined palette. You had, but Apple Muse was something easy and quick they made in the kitchens with few ingredients. It was peasant food, and you liked it because it reminded you of the life you once had.

"I will adore yours just as well," you grinned at her. "It is the purpose and memories around the food for which I like it. I always think of you when I eat it."

"Wonderful! I wasn't sure when you would arrive, so I've had it simmering in the pot. It just needs a moment to cool, and then I can pour it." You nodded, your eyes drifting around the kitchen where you had many of your first meals.

The pot Ma was cooking in was still the same, a sturdy iron built for years of use, and the fireplace it sat inside was blackened with soot. The wood looked lighter from sun damage through the window. A few cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and you had to hold back the urge to knock them down with your sword.

"Ma? Could I," you paused, tucking your lower lip in to bite it as she turned. "Is it possible for me to see my old room? If it is not in use," you quickly added, realizing that much time had passed and she was still a businesswoman.

"Yes," she answered, wiping her palms on her brown apron and plucking the circle of keys from her hip. "I... I could not bear to let anyone use it, even after all of these years." You regarded her with a soft smile, picking out the key to your old bedroom as you hugged her.

You knew it was painful. The near-decade spent without the child you raised across the sea, missing so much of her life. It was agony for Madam at times, waiting for that measly scrap of parchment with a wax seal, her only communication with someone she regarded as her own. It still pained her greatly to think about when you were upset, seeking comfort in the arms of people who did not know you. Not like she did. Madam laid the foundation of you, but the Targaryens built upon it. She would despise them for eternity because of that, no matter how handsomely Aegon paid her girls.

The staircase you stomped up as a child creaked loudly, running your hand along the railing as more memories flashed across your eyes. You recalled Lyra chasing you down these stairs with a mouse between her fingers, squealing and giggling as she dangled it by its tail until Madam put her foot down. She had caught it scampering out of a room one day, no doubt the culprit for all the holes in the girls' shoes that had been plaguing them for weeks.

You begged Lyra not to kill the poor creature, something so small and innocent doing what it needed to survive. She compromised, having you follow her to a stable house, releasing the tiny thing into the haystacks. It would be free to roam and bother the farmers instead of the whores. The memory pained you now.

You reached your door, struggling to unlock the stiff handle. It was hidden around a corner at the end of the hall. Someone would have to know precisely where they went inside the brothel to find the room. You never fully understood why. Only when it was too late.

Finally, the knob jiggled, and you shoved once, twice, before it opened, stirring up the undamaged items in an explosion of dust. Your small cot was neatly made, unlike how you left it on that fateful day.

The few dresses you had as a child were still untouched, except for the few holes that littered the skirts and arms from moths. You stroked the fabric, rough and scratchy, unlike the smooth, tailored clothes you wear now.

You sat on your bed, the straw mattress unforgiving with your weight as it snapped and cracked. You knew it would not break. It could fit you and Aunt Lyra in the small space as she tickled and teased your writhing form. A sigh escaped your mouth, your shoulders deflating as you looked at the abandoned area, a hollow, empty feeling enveloping your chest.

What would your life have been like if Daemon had never found out you existed? Would you still be sleeping in this same room? In the same tiny bed, you rested in as a child, or would you be in a different one? In a place fit for a girl of your size. Would you be a working girl or training to one day take Ma's place as the owner of this establishment?

One thing you knew for sure was that Lyra would be alive. You half expected her head to pop through the doorway, her blue eyes bright with contagious excitement as she invited you on a new adventure. The feeling was fleeting, your grief attempting to trick you into a reality that would never be.

Madam called to you over the symphony of moans you had drowned out, letting you know the food was ready. You stood, walking silently over to your door, shutting it and locking the knob, leaving everything as it once was.

***

"Lookie what we haves here," a man with a thick northern accent said in the darkness, kicking Aegon out of his slumber.

The sun had long set, and the nightlife was in full swing. Where had the time gone? Aegon looked around perplexed, his body forcing him to stop at the pounding of his head.

"This one 'ill be easy," another man out of the group commented, "He's already passed out drunk."

"Oi! Had more ale than you can handle," he shouted into Aegon's face, the man's breath indicating the same applied to him.

The Northern Man crouched down to his level, grabbing him by his chin and slapping him on the cheek for good measure. The dingy cloak that had hidden his white hair fell, revealing his identity.

"Aye. He's a Targaryen," a third man that Aegon overlooked said, a short dagger glinting in his hand.

"So?" The Northern Man questioned, not seeing the problem with his victim's identity. "We're only gonna mug 'em and send 'em on his merry way."

"He's seen our faces," the second thug expressed worriedly.

Aegon, in fact, had not seen their faces. His eyes were blurry, and the alley was too dark for him to see, but you had seen, watching the interaction behind them, as silent as a mouse. It had surprised you how easily the Prince's location had fallen into your lap. One of Madam's girls had interrupted your meal, out of breath as she told Ma what she saw.

It had turned out, in your years away, Madam had created quite the network of spies rivaling that of the White Worm. Her reach traveled all through Westeros and even across the Narrow Sea. It should not have been a shock how much her hands extended, ever the entrepreneur.

The leader, you could only assume, waved his grimy hand in front of Aegon, and when he made no reaction, he gestured to his conspirators. They reluctantly followed his actions, picking poor helpless Aegon up as one delivered a blow to his gut. Both you and Aegon winced but couldn't help the smile that made its way onto your lips. You would let them have their fun. He deserved it, after all.

After a brutal punch to the Prince's nose, blood gushing down his chin, did you finally intervene.

You unsheathed your sword quietly, still not wanting your presence to be known, as you stepped behind the man with the dagger. He posed the most threat until your steel blade sliced his hand clean off his wrist.

The man screamed in agony, clutching his dismembered arm as blood spurted from his wound, soaking the weathered stone below. The other two turned in your direction, your riding cloak keeping your figure in the darkness. The crimson dots shining on your sword gave them an indication of where you might be, pausing for a moment as they thought of their actions.

Quickly and with shaking hands, both Aegon's attackers drew their knives, mere toothpicks compared to your weapon. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped as you saw them step closer to you, their metal sticks trembling in their grasp.

The more dim-witted of the two lunged forward, swiping his blade where he assumed your torso was, but missing by an arm's length as you swiftly parried, knocking his knife to the ground and kicking it behind you. He froze in place, his partner attempting to do the same tactic but getting closer as you dodged.

Still, with a smile, you moved out of reach, slinking behind the pair, the fabric of your cloak flapping with your movements. They came at you simultaneously, but your arms were faster, deeply cutting across the abdomen of one, jumping out of the other's path as his inebriated body smacked against a stone wall. You did not stifle your laugh this time, letting it vibrate your chest as he fell flat on his back, his head smacking the hard ground.

"That was easier than anticipated," you said aloud. The two men, still clinging to consciousness as their blood leaked from their bodies, stared at you wide-eyed, stunned to hear a woman's voice.

You ignored them, pushing your hood off and rushing to Aegon as you lifted him upright. Other than his bloodied nose and a cut to his cheek, he was fine, albeit still a bit hungover. You hadn't realized how worried you had become as you watched the men from earlier beat him, your hands shaking as you stroked his greasy hair away from his face.

"Aegon," you said softly, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. "Are you alright?" You knew the question was asinine, he was not, but the sound of your racing heart inside your ears made you simple.

He groaned softly, still not quite back into reality as he lazily pushed your hand away. "My Prince, it is me," you paused, wiping the blood from his upper lip with your cloak. "It is your cousin." You said your name, his brows raising and glazed violet eyes opening.

"Little one," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "You are here?"

"Yes. I am here," you nodded, putting his dirtied hands on the sides of your face, attempting to ground him into the moment. All past animosity had left your mind, focusing solely on his face, more squared than you remembered.

"I have missed you, little one," Aegon said, his words slurring together. "I dreamed this day would come when you-"

Aegon's words were lost in the night air as someone yanked your long braid, pulling you to the ground. The man you had cut in the stomach flung himself over top of you, slamming your shoulders into the weathered stone streets, wrapping his slick hands around your throat.

You were stunned, momentarily caught off guard as he squeezed tighter, vengeance in his beady eyes. You blinked rapidly, collecting your thoughts as blood pooled on your face and air leaving your body.

The memories of your training surfaced in your mind, searching for any weak point you could use to free yourself. Luckily, all these men were idiots as you realized he had left your arms free.

You took the dagger Daemon had gifted you off your belt, shoving it into the man's side repeatedly, his blood spurting onto your hand and riding clothes. His grip loosened, and you brought your knee up, pushing him to the ground in the same position he had you, only wholly subdued.

He had no chance to beg for his life as you stabbed him in the chest, over and over and over again, until nothing but his body's subconscious twitches controlled him.

Aegon smiled as he watched you rise from the man's now mutilated corpse, your shoulders heaving as a warm feeling gathered in his chest. He reached out to you like a child asking their parent to carry them, and you accepted, saying something he did not hear as that feeling numbed his senses.

This was love, he thought as he noticed his attacker's blood splattered on your soft cheeks. The kisses and the touches of one special someone were love, yes, but not real love-- not true love. True love was death. It was the fear of loss and showing yourself raw and bare, even with the fear of rejection hammering at your insides. It was protecting the kin of someone who had hurt you in immeasurable ways.

Aegon was in love with you, he realized at that moment, as you shifted his weight onto your shoulder, using the opportunity to steal a whiff of your scent—lavender and dragon with a hint of smoke from your years on Dragonstone. You must have loved him, too, for not just anyone would kill three people for a single man.

***

It was an eternity before the Red Keep came into view, trying to picture the maps you studied of the layout as you helped Aegon's limp body up the hills. You had half a mind to drag him by his arms, uncaring if his porcelain skin was scratched with pebbles. Sacks of sand and grain were nothing compared to a full-grown man, and at this point, the fire that raged within you as you attacked those men was dwindling.

Aegon's loose leg caught on a stray rock, causing you and him to fall onto the stone street, his face buried in your chest. You huffed, attempting to push his enervated body off you with no success.

"Where are we going, little one," he asked, his violet eyes shining in the light of the street torches.

"Do not call me that," you grimaced, trying to roll him off again. "We are going home."

"Dragonstone? I have to say, dearest, that this is going to be a long haul for both of us. Why do we not just get some rest here, at the nearest inn," he questioned, tilting his head to one of the many buildings.

"No, not my home, you imbecile. Yours. Why would you ever think we would be going to Dragonstone," you said exasperated, unwedging your arm out from under him.

"I do not want to go there," he whined, sticking his lip out. "Let us just sleep at an inn," Aegon offered again, "I seem to recall a much enjoyable night spent between the two of us in one of these establishments."

A sound of disgust came from your throat, finally gaining enough strength to push him off. "Your skin is covered and dirt, your hair greasy, and you reek of piss. You are repulsive, Aegon, and I would rather be tarred and feathered for all of Kings Landing to see rather than spend one more moment with you."

Aegon's face contorted in hurt, his pink lips pouting as he stared at you with glassy eyes. His hair covered the sides of his square face looking years younger than he was—a heartbroken little boy in a man's body.

In his moments of need, you had forgotten the years worth of anger and resentment toward him and his family. Crucial aspects of your training were wiped from your mind when you saw his battered form. Your thoughts were only filled with heart-wrenching desperation as the blood dripped from his nose. He had made you weak, and that was something you would never allow yourself to be ever again.

"B-but..." he stammered, chin quivering, "I thought?"

"You thought wrong. The acts we committed as children were just that. It means nothing, meant nothing to me." The words spat like venom from your tongue, cutting Aegon to the quick. His eyes danced around the many alleyways, the thought of fleeing evident on his face. "Now, we only have a little longer on foot, and then we will arrive at the gates."

Aegon's feet shuffled as if to get comfortable, but you knew better. Judging by the letter the Queen had sent you, he was a flighty man, and you expected as much. You grabbed his arm before he could think, staring at his bedraggled face.

"And if you think of fleeing, know that I am not like the Kingsguard or the Watchman. There is not a whore house, cellar, or pub where I cannot find you. It would do you well to remember that." You yanked Aegon along with you, dragging him uphill toward the Red Keep, everything much easier this time. You were sure veins were protruding from your neck as you spoke to him, the area sore from where the man had attacked you.

He didn't fight. All thoughts of running were stopped and replaced with melancholy and defeat as bumbled behind you. Where had his little girl gone? Who had stolen your sweet words and gentle gestures, you had shown him not too long ago?

Aegon told himself this was not you. You were frustrated and angry with him for being cheeky when you were not in the mood. Most likely tired from the long ride from Dragonstone. That was why you lashed out, he reassured, not because you meant what you said. Mayhaps you have not remembered the tender moments you shared many years ago. Time and words from your father and mother could have contorted your memories into what you believed they were now. 

But in the end, he knew you were his, and buried deep down, rooted in the aspects of your soul you refused to avow, he was yours.

***

During the hour of the owl, you finally reached the front gate of the Keep. Aegon had completely sobered, seeming refreshed and ripe to begin a few hours of debauchery, but you, on the other hand, were not accustomed to forgoing hours of sleep.

You heard armor clanking as several guards appeared over the red stone wall, hands on their swords and spears.

"It is the Prince," one shouted as a stampede of metal footsteps echoed in the night, the large wooden gates opening.

A handful of guards went to you and Aegon, pausing momentarily as they finally noticed you. The silver accents on your clothes glinted in the moonlight, your braids loose from the hours of scouring the streets and hauling a certain princeling.

"Woman. Move from the Prince at once," a knight commanded as you glared at Aegon. "Wench! I command thee, move ten paces away from His Grace, or you will be moved."

Aegon refused to help you. For once, during this entire night, he kept his moronic mouth shut. Revenge for how you spoke to him earlier, you supposed. You looked at him in astoundment, your lip curling incredulously as you looked at the men. Indeed, they recognized you. You were not someone who could exactly be forgotten, the white streak in your hair.

"Cease!" A voice from behind the knights shouted. The guards moved out of his way, clearing a path for the man in pristine white armor. "This is the daughter of His Grace, Prince Daemon Targaryen! Have you men so semblance of intelligence to recognize the kin of the crown?"

You had to hide your shock as Ser Arryk Cargyll stood between you and the group of guards. His brother followed closely behind. He had grown further into the position of a Kingsguard. His light brown hair, you had remembered loose at his shoulder, was now slicked on the sides of his head into a knot, his beard longer with a slight curl to the collection of whiskers over his lip.

"Come, Princess," he said, gesturing with his hand, "I thank you for returning Prince Aegon without harm to the Red Keep. We will escort him to his chambers. I am certain the King and Queen will be pleased with both of your arrivals."

Aegon eyed Ser Ayyrk suspiciously. To everyone, even you, his words appeared respectful, but Aegon knew of the compassion Arryk extended to you during a vulnerable moment, soiling his love with the kind words of a simple knight.

"There is no need, Ser Arryk. I will return him," you replied, grabbing Aegon harshly on his upper arm. "I am expected an audience with the Queen upon my arrival with her son. Will you please alert her to my presence?"

"Yes, My Lady," he nodded curtly, his forearm over his breastplate as he turned.

You exhaled in relief once his back was turned, releasing Aegon's bicep, and rested your hands on your knees, preparing for what was to come. 

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I was today years old when I realized I'd been writing Aegon's title wrong. Please, bear with me while I change everything that includes his name. Why is she so mean to him? :( Like our sweet baby boy did nothing wrong other than get Lyra and Sara killed. I hope she doesn't find out because judging how this first encounter went, I don't think she'll be very forgiving.

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