#it's not worth my time to police something entirely outside of the content of the post I'm reblogging

[askshivanulegacy]

"If you ever see a post on XYZ be sure to check the OP"

n o

"It's a free blocklist!!!1!"

do you take me for someone who cares

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice. 

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint. 

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am. 

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later. 

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive. 

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change? 

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that. 

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him. 

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck. 

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back. 

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block. 

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.” 

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head. 

“I heard...” you croak.  

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.” 

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget. 

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory. 

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.” 

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start. 

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away. 

“You okay? Police were here earlier.” 

“They were?” You gulp. 

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?” 

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.” 

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.” 

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing. 

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past. 

“It’s work.” 

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.” 

“Sure.” 

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it. 

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters. 

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.  

“Just the paper?” You ask. 

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page. 

“Kid was eighteen.” 

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge. 

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits. 

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too. 

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically. 

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?” 

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.” 

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.  

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before. 

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!” 

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?” 

You stare and your mouth falls open. 

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?” 

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line. 

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow. 

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers. 

“I deserve it.” 

He arches a brow, “deserve what?” 

“To die. So do it, please.” 

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.” 

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind. 

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.  

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat. 

‘You owe me...’ 

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory. 

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it. 

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you. 

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.  

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him. 

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why. 

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination. 

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending. 

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes. 

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing. 

“Strip.” 

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee. 

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.  

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin. 

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs. 

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks. 

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach. 

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line. 

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer. 

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.  

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head. 

“Quiet,” he warns. 

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror. 

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter. 

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy. 

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him. 

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose. 

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears. 

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs. 

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat.  He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip. 

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand. 

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body. 

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up. 

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can. 

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out. 

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly. 

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.” 

[yandereocs]

I’m actually currently in Greece with my dad and my brother right now. c: So I thought whenever you have the time, you could do a darling wanting to travel here, or someplace else in the world with Elijah, Lucky, or Husk?

* LET'S GO, TRAVELING THE WORLD WITH THE YANDERES

Travelling with Yandere Elijah, Lucky and Husk

* CW: Implied incest, implied pedophilia, Elijah's existence in general

*Elijah-

* Yeah, he's not letting you go anywhere.

* Elijah doesn't exactly have much of a desire to leave his home. He's perfectly content with staying right where he is. Sightseeing or traveling just doesn't sound fun to him. Not to mention the fact that he had drilled into his sister's head that the outside world is bad. The idea of going any further than her front yard sends Bonnie into a panic.

* But let's say you've been REALLY good. On your best behavior! And let's say you somehow managed to convince Bonnie that it'll be fun and safe, and that she should ask her brother to take everyone on a...family trip. If this happens, Elijah will cave and allow a little vacation this one time.

* Obviously, he picks where you three are going. He doesn't want you to pick a place where you secretly have friends or family.

* He chooses a more relaxed destination. No bustling cities, no crowded subways or buses. Just a lovely little small town or something like that. Not very...eventful, but Elijah isn't going to change his mind about the location no matter how much you ask.

* Hybrids don't have cars so you're gonna have to walk until you reach a human city or town. The entire time, Elijah is staring at you and holding your hand as tight as he could, his nails digging in your skin. But, it's not like his grip on Bonnie is any better.

* Considering Elijah chose a pretty isolated place, it takes a little while to get there. But once you do, the vacation is certainly...something.

* You all share a room. Share a BED, which is pretty cramped and it's not fun seeing how tightly Elijah holds Bonnie when she sleeps. Elijah is still uptight with security and immediately finds a way to block all the doors and windows so neither you or his sister can leave.

* It's a small town. Not much to do. Elijah will take you out to eat but it's hard to enjoy it when Bonnie is freaking out the whole time because the outside world is bad, bad, bad. Not to mention that hyrbids and humans use different currency, so Elijah stole a wallet from someone. He doesn't feel bad, but you probably do.

* Elijah made sure to pick someplace with lovely scenery. Hybrids cherish nature, after all. So most of your time will probably be spent hanging out in the fields having picnics or sitting by the lake and watching as Elijah catches fish in a very...cat-like manner, as well as Bonnie trying and failing to copy him.

* It's not the most fun vacation. Pretty boring and not worth the journey. But it at least gave you a chance to get out of the house and actually be near other people that weren't your captor and his abuse victim. But after this vacation, Elijah will never take you on another on. It's not something he enjoys and Bonnie was distressed pretty much the entire time.

* Lucky-

* Lucky always wants to do nice things for you but he's the stereotypical broke college student. So when you bring up the idea of traveling somewhere else for a little, he immediately feels bad that he can't take you straight away.

* He saves up money but he's overthinking the entire time. What if this is all a plot for you to escape? What if you get lost? What if you slip away from him and call the police? What if people see you two and just KNOW that he kidnapped you?

* Even after he's saved up enough money, he probably won't take you. Not for a while, at least. He has to make sure you won't try to escape or get him arrested! So he tests you, even though it makes his general anxiety WAY worse. He purposefully leaves chances for you to escape to see if you take the bait or even THINK about it.

* But you don't! So Lucky tries to calm his spiked nerves and announced that the two of you are going on a trip!! Nothing super expensive like Vegas or anything, but anything is better than the shitty neighborhood he lives in.

* He'll try to pick a place that has fun stuff to do. Like a beach or one of those pop-up carnivals. They're not the kind of things he enjoys, but he wants you to have fun! And it's not too expensive. So hopefully you enjoy those sorts of things, because Lucky will feel really bad if the two of you don't do the common 'fun' stuff.

* Surprisingly, Lucky is pretty good at carnival games. He's a very smart guy and he knows that they're rigged, so I think he would somehow come up with some way to win the games. He doesn't particularly care for the prizes, he just wants to give them to you. And if you two go to the beach, he'll definitely get flustered seeing you in your swimwear. Even if it's just something like a t-shirt and shorts. It doesn't matter what it is you're wearing, just the fact that you two are on a beach on a vacation like a normal couple sends his heart racing.

* The hotel he chooses isn't the best, but it's much nicer than the apartment, that's for sure. Lucky will try and overcompensate for his shortcomings, constantly offering to buy you snacks or get room service or something along the lines. Does he have the funds for that? Most likely not. But he's trying.

* His paranoia is off the charts the entire time. He's constantly thinking worst case scenarios, the same ones he thought before the trip even happened. So he brought some extra...safety precautions. Handcuffing you to the bed, an extra way to lock the door...things like that.

* It's not very fun for him. He's trying to enjoy his time with you, but you can see the way he's shivering and the way his eyes dart around frantically when you're outside. But he never says anything, always putting on a smile for you so that you can have fun.

* He'll try and keep his temper under control. This is your vacation! He doesn't want to ruin it! Of course, with Lucky being Lucky, he'll definitely get pissed off about something. But he'll try his hardest not to take it out on you. Besides, if you two went outside and you have a huge bruise on your face, it'd be pretty obvious what happened and THAT would definitely get him in trouble.

* Overall, it's an...okay vacation. Not the best, of course, but it was a nice change from the apartment and it was pretty fun at times. Now, would Lucky ever take you on another? Maybe, but it'll be a LONG time before the next vacation.

* Husk-

* Husk loves all things human, so the idea of a vacation was interesting to him.

* He's never been on one, so he doesn't exactly know what it entails. But after you explain what it is, he'd be happy to take you! After all, he wants the two of you to be like a lovely human couple! And this is a great step!

* Instead of picking the location himself, he'll ask for your help. The vacation location doesn't matter to him. He just want to be with you. Funds aren't an issue is what Husk tells you. You don't know if that means he's secretly rich or he has his own methods of getting what you want.

* Despite this, I think Husk would lean towards more relaxed vacation. He doesn't mind either way, but he does have a small preference. He'll also want to go somewhere that has a lot of sights to see and human history.

* On your vacation he'd definitely be spending more time learning about human culture than actually doing fun stuff. He's definitely the type to go to those guided tours. Of course, he'll make time to do whatever it is you want to.

* Husk is fine with any kind of activity you want to do. Want to go to some festival? Sure, he wanted to see how human festivals were like anyway. You just want to have a more relaxed vacation and chill out? That's fine with him, he doesn't care much for high-energy things anyway.

* The two of you probably get stares. Husk looks pretty normal, but that doesn't change the fact that he literally wears a full face mask EVERYWHERE. Husk doesn't like the stares. It makes him self-conscious and although he's not the paranoid type, he is worried someone will recognize you from the missing persons report.

* Which means that if someone who's been staring approaches for any reason at all, they're going to be eaten. Husk won't make you watch, that would be cruel! But you obviously know what happens when he drags someone off to a secluded area and returns back alone. Husk can't take any risks! You two are so close to being like a real couple, after all! Or, that's what he likes to believe.

* Husk isn't all that paranoid about you escaping or leaving. He's very confident in his ability to track you down if it comes to it. So, just like home, the hotel you two are staying at doesn't have any extra security to prevent you from leaving. He could easily catch you in a few minutes. Besides, you're not even sure if he actually sleeps, or if he's just pretending.

* Although Husk believes you won't escape, he still carries his gun. It's hidden, so you wouldn't know, but he has it just in case you decide to test your luck and make a run for it.

* The vacation was pretty good, considering it was with the weird monster who literally kidnapped you. Husk was sweet enough and he did let you pick most of the activities. He would absolutely take you on another vacation if you asked.

[gguksgalaxy]

Stranded | JJK | E2L

Jungkook’s offer to help you study for your exam is unwelcome. His entire presence is unwelcome. You don’t want help from the guy who passes all his classes without even trying. It’s annoying — he is annoying. From the way he grins whenever he catches you staring at him, to the way his eyes shine whenever he smiles at you. Oh, and let’s not forget the way his tattoos shift when he stretches or the way his jawline sharpens when he’s focused. Nope, you definitely can’t stand him.

›› AU: Enemies to lovers, fuck/badboy!Jungkook ›› Genre: Fluff / Smut / Angst ›› Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual content, 18+) ›› Pairing: JJK x Reader ›› Word Count: 13k ›› Jungkook Snuggle Drabbles. Warnings Include: A lot of swearing, heavy themes of miscommunication and strong judgements, Jungkook sleeps around a lot, university related stress, brief mention of past underage drinking, emotional and romantic angst, argument, the desecration of a mug.  Sexual content: Protected sex, blowjob, cunnilingus, face sitting/riding.

A/N: This one's for you @fallinforkoo I hope that you like it!! This is not something I would usually write but the idea popped up when seeing the request so here she is! A little cliché but I hope it's original enough. Let me know what you guys think!

“As your best friend,” Taehyung says sheepishly over the phone, “I really need you to do me a favour.”

You groan, leaning your head over the edge of the bed. “I don’t like where this is going.”

He hums. He doesn’t even laugh. There’s just a brief silence before he asks you the impossible. “I need you to invite Jungkook for the get-together on Friday.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you spit. “Taehyung, my best friend, the platonic love of my life. I will do anything for you. Literally anything. I would suck your toes if you asked me, but I won’t do that.”

Now he laughs, loud and deep. It only makes you sulk more. Inviting Jeon Jungkook into your humble abode? To have him walk around with that smug—and delectably gorgeous—grin on his face as he finds something to make fun of? Not over your dead body. Not in a million years.

“Please, do it for me.”

You vigorously shake your head. “I don’t see how I would be doing you a favour by inviting him. You don’t even like him!”

“I mean...I really don’t mind him. But I like Jimin, a lot, and I feel bad for excluding his friend all the time, it’s starting to get weird. Can’t you just invite him over? I promise you won’t have to talk to him.”

Oh, but you do. Because Jungkook always manages to weasel under your skin and get you worked up to a point where you just have to say something. It’s not your fault that he’s such an ass. He just rubs you all the wrong ways. “I am in a constant state of wanting to rip his head off. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jungkook is just so...You really cannot stand him. First of all, he doesn’t study. All he does is party and sleep around with random girls. Yet, he still somehow manages to be at the top of the class. Secondly, he’s a dick. He has no respect for both his elders and you. Any chance he gets he will make fun of you or blatantly insult you. And lastly, he looks too good and he knows it. Walking around campus just basking in the attention from all the girls, and guys, who want him despite his reputation.

Taehyung snorts. “If I were you, I would be more worried that you’re in a constant state of wanting to suck his dick.”

“I’d rather snap his dick in half.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re friends with Taehyung. After all, he’s the one who told Jimin to bring along his friend. Now, you’re regularly exposed to Jeon Jungkook’s incessant flirting with anything that breathes, constant whining about just about everything, and complete lack of personal space. Taehyung had been certain that if you got to know Jungkook outside of class, it would make you more amicable towards each other. However, it’s only made it worse.

“You know, sometimes people lie about something so often that they start to feel like it’s the truth.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up on the bed. It’s noon already. You really should be studying for your Psychology of Law exam. Also known as the course from hell. As a law student, you really can’t make sense of the material. All the mumbling about internal thought processes and stressors has your mind logging off. You’re chapters behind. You don’t even know where to start. Because unlike a certain someone, you actually have to study. Even with all-nighters, thorough summaries, and flashcards, you’ve still managed to fail quite a few classes. The future of your law degree literally balances on this one class. If you fail, you lose your scholarship.

“Are you still with me?”  Taehyung asks.

“Yeah, I’m just considering defenestrating myself. Anything better than studying for psych.”

“Even inviting Jungkook?”

“Anything but that.”  It’s not like Taehyung is completely wrong. Jungkook looks like a model when he actually decides to groom himself instead of showing up to class in sweats and uncombed hair. You’re way too aware that he works out five days a week. Or that he’s got tats lining his arm, intricate designs that—No. You’re not falling down this hole today.

Taehyung’s typing something up, probably studying for his own exams. “I will let you study then. Just please, invite him over. I will forever be in your debt. Be the better person.”

The sweet lining to Taehyung’s plea actually manages to work for once. He’s your best friend, after all. He would probably do the same thing for you. It’s just not that fun to be around Jungkook when part of you—as much as you may deny it—feels some type of way about him.

“I will consider it.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Don’t make me change it back to a no, Kim.”

He chuckles. “Someday, you will thank me. That day being the one when you finally come to terms with your feelings.”

“Bye, Taehyung,” you grumble, ending the call and throwing the phone down on the duvet.

So yes, maybe you do have a thing for Jungkook. Doesn’t make him any less annoying. If anything, it makes him even more insufferable. Why did you have to develop a weird crush on a guy you can’t even stand? The world doesn’t have to be cruel like that. But here you are. Not that it matters. Jungkook would sleep with just about any girl but you. Which says more about them.

Reluctantly, you get up and grab your books from your desk. Studying is easier in the living room, away from distractions.

Your peace doesn’t last long. Not even halfway through your first coffee, your doorbell rings.

Groaning, you get up and prepare your best ‘no I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling’ face. Upon unlocking the door, that face falters.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you spit out the moment you see Jungkook’s big doe eyes. He’s standing on your doorstep like he’s supposed to be here. With his backpack nonchalantly slung over one shoulder.

He looks past you, into your apartment. “Oh, you started studying for psych?”

Your living room is a mess. “Well, I was trying to start, but I’ve been rudely interrupted by someone who has no invitation to be here.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m here to make sure that you don’t fail another class and have to drop out.” Like he owns the place, he pushes past you and waltzes inside. He drops his backpack and readjusts his baseball cap, showing off his forehead and chocolate brown hair. It’s really starting to get long.

“I don’t need your help.” There’s no way he’s here just to help you study. And even if he was, he’s just going to distract you. You’re not friends. He must have some ulterior motive for being here. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t study, let alone help people study. Not to your knowledge at least. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

He grabs his laptop from his bag. “What part of ‘having to drop out if you fail another class’ did you not understand?” He puts the device down and gets comfortable on your couch. As if he’s done it before.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Who told you about that?”

He shrugs. “Jimin mentioned it, he must have it from Taehyung. Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” you sneer. “I didn’t ask you to be here. I don’t want you to be here. There’s no way I’m going to get anything done with you around. Get the fuck out.” You point a finger at the door, waiting for him to leave. “Do you not hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you. I’m just waiting for you to get over yourself and realise that you actually need my help.”

“I don’t.”

“Can you tell me the difference between compliance and suggestion in the context of a police hearing?” he questions, leaning back and propping his clunky boot-clad feet onto the table.

You press your lips together in a thin line, thinking about a possible answer.

He grins. “Any idea what the Reid Technique is and why it is or isn’t ethical?”

“No,” you grumble.

“You know what the pros and cons are of an Oslo style eyewitness lineup?”

You shake your head, dropping your arms in defeat. He’s got you. You don’t know anything. Maybe you do need his help. As long as he tries to be nice, you can give him the benefit of the doubt. Another year of your degree is definitely worth it.

Jungkook pats the spot on the couch beside him. “Let’s get started, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we want to get you a good grade.”

And so you get to work. Jungkook makes himself a little too comfortable in your home. Aside from pulling out his flashcards, multiple summaries and annotated materials, he actually slips into the kitchen to make tea. He raids your pantry for snacks and pulls out your blanket from under the table.

“What?” He says, mouth stuffed with gummy bears while he unfolds the blanket. “I’m sorry, but your apartment is really fucking cold. Since you’re dressed as if you’re going to the North Pole, I assumed the radiator must be broken.”

“It has been almost a week now. My landlord is being an ass about it. Also, I’m wearing normal clothes that normal people wear when it’s cold outside. Unlike you, with your short-sleeves and thin coat.”

“It’s October.”

“It’s nine degrees outside. You’re insane.”

“No,” he says, sitting back down with the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m just hot.”

A reluctant smile pulls at your lips. Why must you betray yourself?

He leans in close, inspecting your face. “I can’t believe I lived to see the day. You actually smiled at one of my jokes.”

If he’s good at one thing, it’s definitely proving that he’s an annoying shit. “I’m laughing at how pathetic you are.”

“At least I’m not the one who tried to hide her smile.”

“And I’m not the one who forced his way into this apartment. I’d watch out, some people might start to think you actually like being around me.” You turn back towards his laptop, scrolling through the document to the next topic. Police hearings.

Jungkook puts his hand down behind you so he can get closer—too close—and look over your shoulder. “Maybe,” he whispers, “I do like spending time with you.”

You whip your head around so fast you nearly knock heads with him. He doesn’t move. Both your noses basically touching. At this proximity you can see all the fine details in his skin. The flecks of lighter brown in his eyes that really do shine. The moles on his nose, the scar on his cheek.

“Nah.” He pulls away. “I’m just messing with you. I still don’t like you.”

What on earth did you do to make him come over here? If he dislikes you so much, he shouldn’t have bothered. You’re not a charity case. “If you’d just let me fail, you wouldn’t have to put up with me again.”

He tuts. “Where’s the fun in that? I’d honestly miss your bad comebacks and petty remarks.”

“Excuse me, my comebacks are not bad?”

“They’re mediocre at best, ma’am,” he laughs, grin showing the fullness of his cheeks that make him look deceptively cute.

You shiver at the thought. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not cute. Yes, he’s probably a good guy deep down, but he’s not cute. Jeon Jungkook is and always will be an annoying, self-entitled, arrogant brat. Nothing is going to change your mind. Not even the way your heart beats faster from just having him so close.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” you bite.

“I’m not even going to give you any points for that. You didn’t even try!” He makes an exasperated gesture as he grabs another handful of gummies.

‘Childish’ should be added to the list. “Are you here to help me study or not?”

Jungkook nods, sitting cross-legged. “Just so I get to bother you for another year.”

The two of you get back to work. He takes you through a very detailed and too dramatic explanation of the Reid technique. You find yourself captivated by how passionate he seems. He sure does know a lot about the subject.

Jungkook turns out to be a very active talker. He makes very detailed descriptions and uses his hands to explain things. It’s easy to understand him, but it’s way harder to memorise it. As the material gets more complicated, he gets more serious and you start to lose track. His frown deepens, dimple-like creases appearing in his cheek that make him look sharper and older. You can’t help but stare.

He’s so handsome. The tattoos that circle around his left arm shift as he speaks. The same way that his earrings dangle as he moves. You get caught up in him, the way he talks, the passion that rolls off him in waves.

“Are you gawking at me?”  He says, stopping his movements mid-air.

Cheeks flushed, you try to come up with a smart reply. “I was thinking whether your head has always looked this big.”

His lips pull into a straight line. “I’m here trying to do my best to explain to you what the difference is between an Oslo confrontation and a sequential lineup, and you’re worried about the size of my fucking head?”

“I mean, it’s awfully big, no?”  You poke his forehead.

He grabs your wrist in return, pulling your body towards him. “Can you at least try to appreciate my effort?”

“I’m listening!”

Wetting his lips, he arches an eyebrow. “Explain the difference to me.”

Well, you weren’t listening that intently. “Uh, a sequential lineup has a lower chance of causing false positives.”

“That’s the last sentence I said, you can do better.” He lets go of you so you can lean back. For a second, he actually seems pissed off. Maybe you should try, he’s doing his best after all. It’s just hard when he’s here looking this good.

“Oslo confrontations feature the suspects in a lineup at the same time, whereas a sequential lineup shows them one by one.” That’s all you got.

“Well,” he says, throwing you a gummy from the bag. “You got one point out of five.”

Treat halfway to your mouth, you stop. “One?!”

He nods. “And I’m being generous with you. First of all, you cannot call them suspects, they’re candidates or possible suspects. There’s usually only one suspect and the rest are actors who look like the suspect. You also missed the part where, during the sequential lineup, the witness doesn’t get to see all the suspects. Once they pick the one they think is the perpetrator, they will not get to see the additional candidates.”  Why does this sound so hot when he says it?

God, you’re going insane. “Well, I’ll try to remember that and the seven-hundred other things you said. All the blabbering you do makes it really hard.”  It comes out harsher than you intended. From the way Jungkook stays silent, you know it must’ve hit home.

He gets up, making your heart sink. “I think it’s time for a break. You’re getting frustrated. Do you want to order pizza?”

“I don’t recall asking you to stay over for dinner.”

Jungkook takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes. You can feel the anger build up. “Listen, I’m here to help you. The least you can do is fucking appreciate it. Be stubborn all you want, but you need this. You want a shot at this degree. I’m here, because as much as I can’t stand you, I won’t enjoy watching you get kicked off the entire program because you’re struggling with the material.”  There’s a heavy pause. You let his words sink in. The level of concern is surprising. It’s sweet. “So do you want to order pizza or not? Because I’m starving.”

You nod. “Pizza sounds good.”

The tension ebs away after that. Jungkook goes into the kitchen and comes back with a mug filled with milk, of all things. You bite your tongue.

“I want pineapple on my pizza,” he says.

Pausing, you raise your eyebrows. “You cannot be serious.”

“Depends. How much do you hate pineapple?” His shit eating grin returned like it was never gone. It gives him away.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you speak; “So, double pineapple for you?”

Suddenly, his face falters. “Whoa, you can’t actually do that to me.”

“You’re the one who said he likes pineapple!”

“It was a joke. No person in their right mind would put fruit on their pizza.”  He sits next to you, taking another sip of his milk. “I’m really not picky though, but the one with the jalapenos is good. Or the chili chicken.”  Jungkook scoots closer so he can scroll through the menu on your phone, hand brushing against yours.

This way, you get a clear view of the rose tattoo on his hand. It’s beautiful, detailed but still in a traditional style. It suits him, as do his other tattoos. Though this one has always stood out to you.

“I’m just going to get pepperoni,” you say after a while.

Jungkook sighs, then turns his head to whisper in your ear; “Boring.”

Startled, you shove him so hard he falls onto his back. “Don’t be such a child. I’m not going to make you eat it.”

When he sits back up, his shirt rises and reveals the edge of a narrow, toned waist. You look away, focusing on actually ordering the pizza. Jungkook really doesn’t have to be so casually attractive. He’s not even trying and you can’t keep your eyes off him, noticing something new every minute. A good reason to not spend any more time with him after this.

“Gimme.” He plucks your phone out of your hands so he can order his own pizza. With the utmost concentration, he scrolls and types in some things. No doubt using your pre-set credit card to pay for it. “Wait,” he says, sitting up straight. “Whoa, you’re friends with Yoongi? As in Min Yoongi? The guy who won this year’s mock court?”

Gasping, you dart over to grab the phone from him. “Don’t go through my messages!” With one hand on your chest, he manages to keep the device out of your reach. “Jungkook!”

His eyes move over the screen, reading your messages with the third year law student. “Why didn’t you just ask him for help, huh? He seems to like you, and that’s something. I don’t think Yoongi likes anybody.”

You try harder to grab your phone from his hands. It must look insane, your body bent over his, him trying to find ways to hold you off and keep the phone out of your reach. Somehow, you end up squashed between his—way too strong—thighs.

“Jungkook give me my phone back!” you whine.

Something on the screen makes him raise his eyebrows. “Are you two like—you know? Cuz I’ve heard some stuff and—”  

You shake your head, getting uneasy with the fact that he’s really reading your personal messages. “I don’t like Yoongi like that.”

Jungkook lifts his leg, using his knee to push you back. He’s got way too much strength in his body. “Okay, but I’m not sure that he knows that. He’s not a nice guy, you should steer clear of him.”

“Oh, and you would know how? It’s not like you’re such a gentleman.” Again, you try to jump for your phone, but he stops you in time by grabbing your wrist.

Face serious, he holds your gaze. “I’m not kidding. We run in the same circles. He’s a total asshole, you don’t want to get involved with him. You can do better.”

That sure is a way to silence you. You frown, settling back into your seat as Jungkook keeps scrolling through the chat. “I’m not into him, but he’s been texting me for a while. I was in his group for mock court.” Finally, you get your phone back, but your stomach feels uneasy looking at it. Perhaps Yoongi’s messages are a bit forward.

“I don’t know Yoongi well enough to be able to say for sure, but I know enough to tell you that he doesn’t talk to girls like you because he wants to be friends,” Jungkook says with a hand lingering on your thigh.

Way to make you feel good about yourself, Jeon. “What does that mean, girls like me?”

His face changes, eyes wide.

“What are you trying to say?” you press.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leans forward onto his knees. “All I’m saying is that you don’t deserve to get played by some asshole who’s just trying to get into your pants.”

“Oh.” Is he being for real? He’s looking out for you? This is not how this is supposed to go. Jungkook shouldn’t be nice to you. He shouldn’t be helping you, or care about your wellbeing. He’s a dick and the two of you squabble and yell at each other. Yet, your chest warms at his words. Even if you weren’t looking to get together with Yoongi, it’s good to know he might have alternative motives. “Thank you.”

All he does is nod, before he grabs his laptop to resume where you guys left off. The awkwardness slowly dissipates as he takes you through the entire lineup thing again, just so you’ve got it down. After that you move onto the remaining subjects.

Today sure is strange. You never expected things to be so comfortable with Jungkook. Despite his exasperating personality and your on and off bickering, his presence is pleasant. It doesn’t take long for you to sink into the couch, drinking your third large cup of coffee.

Completely focussed on his monologue, you ask questions very sparingly, enraptured by him. You knew he was smart, he passes his classes with grades of 80% or higher for a reason. However, it’s different to see it in action.

Pizza arrives a little late, much to Jungkook’s dismay. Turns out he’s quite cranky when he gets hungry. He devours his pizza way faster than you can get through half of yours, and he’s quick to inch towards a slice from your box. You smack his hand away, reminding him of how he slandered you for your topping choice. He can have your leftovers from yesterday

“You call this pasta?” he questions in a disgusted tone, crouched down by the fridge

“Take it or starve. Your choice.”

He gets up, nose scrunched. “I’d rather starve, thanks. What exactly do you excel at? Since it’s not school, wit, or cooking.”

“Aim,” you spit, flicking a piece of pepperoni at him. It hits him straight in the cheek and you burst out into a fit of laughter. He stares at you in utter disbelief, removing the greasy piece of meat from his face. Tongue pressed to his cheek, he fights off his own smile—or an insult.

Eventually, he sits back down and goes over the remaining material while you eat. The end comes faster than you expected, his eyes darting to the clock.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go home.”

“What?” You pout. “How can you leave me to my own devices like this?!”

“Because I did what I could. I took you through all the material, now it’s up to you to try and memorise it. I’ve sent you my summaries and I’ll leave my flashcards here.” He grabs his things, meticulously stuffing them back into his backpack. With a heavy heart, you hand him his cap that had fallen to the floor.

Jungkook pushes his hair back, putting his cap on. He looks as nonchalant as he did when he came in. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hand shoved into his pocket. “Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad my presence was enjoyed.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I only endured you because I want to pass.” Part of that is true. Though, he wasn’t as bad to hang out with as you had originally assumed. Maybe it’s because his friends aren’t around to show off to. Or because he genuinely wanted to help. Which is still weird. “Good luck to you too.”

He waves you goodbye, opening up the door, only to be met with a gust of wind. The sound of rain enters your apartment. Water plummets from the sky by the bucket.

“Shit,” Jungkook peers outside, hesitating in the doorway. “If I don’t show up tomorrow morning, please assume that I have drowned.”

You would’ve laughed at the idea of him getting soaking wet any other day. He came here to help you study and now he has to walk home through the rain. No doubt he’s going to catch a cold dressed the way he is. Maybe you should listen to Taehyung and be the better person for once.

Getting up, you pull him back inside by the string of his backpack. “You can’t go out when it’s like that, you’ll get sick.”

He turns with a smile. “As much as I would like to see you squirm a little longer, I need to study too.”

“You study?”

“How else do you think I get good grades? Eat books for breakfast?”

You shrug. “We can study together tonight?”

Stepping closer, Jungkook forces you back inside. Almost nose to nose. Your heart skips a beat when his breath fans over your face. “Is this just a lame excuse from you to spend more time with me?”

“No. But I can only imagine the tragedy that will befall me if you catch a cold because you were out here helping me study.” You poke a finger into his chest. A grave mistake, it’s way firmer than you’d thought. “If I let you stay over, you no longer owe me one.”

“I’m sorry, but it really sounds like you just want me to stay.” Jungkook inches closer, backing you against the couch.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone rings. Looking over to where it lies on the couch, you see Taehyung’s name displayed. He can wait. You glance back up at Jungkook, who’s nearly chest to chest with you, and also has his eyes locked on the phone.

Then, he grins.

You act fast, snatching the phone from the couch and declining the call before he even gets a chance to touch it. Taehyung really doesn’t need to know that Jungkook is here.

Jungkook himself, however, picks up on this. He chuckles lightly, arching his eyebrow. “Are you trying to hide the fact that I’m here?’”

“I wouldn’t say I was trying to hide it, but I really don’t need my friends to think I’m hanging out with you.”

Jungkook drops his bag in the chair again, curious glint in his eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want to be associated with the likes of you.”

“What am I now? A villain?”

“No, you’re a stuck up fuckboy who does nothing but party and sleep with random girls and yet somehow still manages to pass all his classes. You’re annoying, egotistical, insufferable, pushy, invasive and disrespectful.”  You let out a deep breath. Yeah, maybe Jungkook’s been nice to you today, but he hasn’t changed.

He rolls his eyes. “Well then. I’ll have you know that you are nothing more than an average, boring girl struggling to get by. You’re opinionated, crass, entitled, standoffish, a bad listener, impossibly stubborn and a bit of an airhead.”  The words leave him as if they mean nothing. “It’s not like I’d want to be associated with the likes of you either. But here I am, stranded because of the storm. So you, my dear, are stuck with me tonight. You did offer for me to stay over, after all.”

“Whatever,” you breathe, “let’s just try to study.”

The two of you return to your previous position on the couch, but now, he faces you. With the flashcards in hand, Jungkook reaches into his bag and pulls out a container filled with Maltesers.

The rules are simple. You take turns asking each other questions. If you get it right, you get a chocolate, you get it wrong the person who asked the question gets a chocolate. Easy enough, right? Now that you feel a bit more steady with the material, you should be able to answer some questions correctly. Even if it’s just to rob Jungkook of the satisfaction of eating the entire thing on his own.

Two questions in and the bickering starts. Jungkook’s whining because he’s cold and you can’t turn up the radiator. But since he was the one to leave the door open, it’s his fault that it’s so cold in here to begin with. You’ve long hogged the blanket for yourself and you don’t intend on sharing it. It’s the only barrier that’s keeping you from touching his feet.

“Please,” he pouts. “I’m so cold, you can’t let me freeze to death in this fucking igloo.”

You pull the blanket closer. “No. It’s mine.”

He whines. “Come on, it’s big enough for both of us. It’ll be warmer if we share.”

“No.”

“You do realise I could just take it from you by force.”

“You would not.”

He sits up straighter, putting a hand on the edge of the fabric. “I’m giving you the option now. Either you share, or I’m pulling it from your cold, grabby hands. If you’re just afraid to snuggle with me, you can just say so.”

In order to not admit defeat, you give up half of the blanket so he can shove his legs under it. He extends his legs way past his side of the couch, his feet touching your lower back. You have no choice but to fold one of your legs over his, the other extended by his side. Indeed, it’s warmer this way.

“Now, where were we?” He flips to his next card. “Ah, yes. Weapon focus effect.”

That one you remember clearly. “It’s when a witness’ attention was so focused on the weapon present at the incident that they fail to remember any significant details about the perpetrator. It’s an involuntary process that often leads to inaccurate descriptions of the attackers.” You definitely got that one, no doubt. It’s easy.

Jungkook throws you a chocolate. “Good job, you’re doing well. It seems you listened to what I had to say after all.”

“I mean,” you say, popping the chocolate into your mouth. “I didn’t have that much of a choice but to listen, now did I?”

“You were visually undressing me the entire time. I had assumed your mind was busy with...other things.” He’s doing it on purpose, trying to get some type of reaction from you. Instead, you just bite your lip, not knowing what to say. “Oh, was I right? Tell me, what were you thinking about.”

You let out a sound, throwing a pillow at him. “I wasn’t thinking anything. And I wasn’t undressing you.”

“No, you were thinking of how big my head was, right? Would it,” he pauses, lifting up the blanket to peer underneath, “fit between your thighs?”

“What is wrong with you!” You scream, hands covering your face that quickly turns red.

He laughs in return. “You’re so easily flustered. I’d almost call it cute.”

Peering through your fingers, you frown. “Almost?”

“Yeah, almost. Not quite, because you’re still you.”

In a surge of confidence, you sit up straight and grab the stack of cards again. Not looking at him as you speak. “How about, instead of imagining what I taste like, you tell me what a flashbulb memory is.”

Inches away from choking on his spit, Jungkook doesn’t manage to come up with a smart retort. He just answers your questions with pursed lips and distant eyes. It’s correct though, so you get to throw him a chocolate. Which of course, he catches with his mouth. Show off.

It goes on for another while, storm raging outside. With the winds turned, you can now clearly hear the pattering against your window. You can’t imagine what Jungkook would’ve done had he been walking through this storm. It’s only getting worse.

Time ticks by fast. Soon, Jungkook is left with one last flashcard in his hands. And you are determined to get that last chocolate. He smirks to himself, probably aware that you don’t know the answer to this. But if anything, you are determined to prove him wrong.

“Tell me,” he trails, “what is the difference between compliance and suggestibility?”

You know this. He’s explained it three times. So you’re confident in your next words. “Compliance is when a witness giving a testimony willingly accepts a suggestion but is aware that the suggestion is wrong. Suggestibility is when they believe that the suggestion is right and thus take it for the truth. Both are problematic, but suggestibility is harder to expose.”

Jungkook tuts. “You got them switched around.”

“Huh?! That can’t be right!”

“Sure is, the last chocolate is mine.”

You snatch the bag away before he can grab it. “I don’t think so. Let me see that card.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“For chocolate? I sure am. Let me see.”  You crawl over to his side, squishing yourself between him and the couch. “Jungkook,” you whine when he covers the card with his hand, “let me see. My grade depends on this.”

He chuckles at you. “It does not. I’m confident that you will pass regardless.”

You try to pry the card out of his hand, but it’s no use. The grip he has on the thing is too strong. He manages to hold you down without even breaking a sweat. It’s a few beats before you can realise that you’re now entirely pressed up against him. You can feel the muscles in his thighs shift, the soft skin of his arm against yours

“Let me have the chocolate and I will show you,” he whispers.

Flushed, you stop struggling. “Whatever, I know I’m right.”

Jungkook then reveals the card to you, showing you that you indeed, were right. “I’m glad you’re finally confident in your abilities. That’s the key to passing a test.”

Has he really been testing you this entire time? That’s sure one way to do the trick. Without replying, you sink into his side. Silently enjoying his warmth. It’s comfortable to sit like this, now that it’s night and the apartment continues to get colder. You don’t mind, really. Inhaling slightly, you catch a whiff of his fresh floral scent. It’s mixed with a sharp edge that suits him well.

As Jungkook grabs the stack of cards you got wrong to revise them, you don’t move. The two of you just get comfortable like that. It’s easier to see the cards the way anyhow. You can just look at them together. Plus, you’re starting to feel a little sleepy and don’t want to move. He seems equally as content, just reciting the questions and explaining why you got them wrong.

“Okay so,” you say, pointing at something on the card. “It’s not so much an issue on the witness’ side as it is on the police’s?”

Jungkook nods, looking at you. “They’re the ones leading the witness. It’s not the witness’ fault that they take on their opinion.”

You hum, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t falter, almost as if he’s searching your eyes. “Something wrong?”you ask, voice hushed, goosebumps appearing on the back of your neck. There’s a mole right below his bottom lip which is plump and looks soft. His top lip is more defined, making for a cute pout. The more you look, the more you notice all his moles. On his nostril, his cheek, his ear.

“No,” he answers eventually. Voice strained. “I think you have a pimple growing between your brows.”

“Get lost!” You shove your elbow into his side, pulling a pained groan from him. “You’re so stupid.”

For a moment he’s quiet, just rubbing his side and shifting so he can get more comfortable. One of his legs falls off the couch, the other still between yours. “You really hate me, huh?”

At any other given moment, you would’ve replied with yes. But now, it’s laden. Is he asking you that seriously? It’s one thing to tell Taehyung you can’t stand him, or to yell it in his face when he’s being a brat, but you can’t literally say it to him like this. Why, you don’t really know. The expectant look makes your stomach tighten.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

He shrugs. “No reason in particular. Just because,” he gestures at your bodies, “it doesn’t seem like you mind being around me that much. If anything I’d say that,” he stops, leaning in close to your ear. You can feel the barely-there graze of his lips. “You like being around me.”

You bite your tongue, looking up to find his eyes darker than before. Cocking his head to the side, he awaits your answer. You’re not willing to give him the satisfaction. There’s no need to stroke his already big ego any more. Yes, this is more pleasant than you’d expected. Yes, he’s nice to be around. But... “You’re still a pain in the ass. Sorry.” With that, you had expected him to look away, but he doesn’t. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up to your eyes.

“So are you,” he teases, lips stretching into a lopsided grin.

Within a heartbeat, your lips are touching. Jungkook groans. You gasp, pulling him closer. Closed eyes, your heart beats a million miles an hour, revelling in the feeling of his mouth against yours. How soft his lips are. The trailing of his fingertips up your neck so he can crane your head back.

He comes to life, parting with a brief look into your eyes and a deep breath. Then, diving in full force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s been waiting to—like he’s hungry for it. You can barely believe that it’s happening, still trying to register that he’s actually kissing you. That it feels this good.

Your entire body kicks into gear when he bites at your bottom lip. Shifting your body to face his, you wrap a hand around the back of his neck. Returning his fervor, your mouths part and tongues meet in a desperate clash. Jungkook lets out a deep, guttural sound that makes you shiver. He’s skilled, tongue swiping over yours in a way that you can barely keep up with. Deliciously hot, just edging on sloppy. There’s no room for pauses, no time for thoughts.

Gaining purchase against the armrest, you swing a leg over his to sit in his lap. Jungkook’s leaning back still, pawing at your waist now that he’s got full access. You take full advantage of the position, crashing into him and devouring him. Biting at his lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. The feeling is nearly euphoric paired with the rough, firm touches of his hands all over your body.

He touches anything he can find. Gripping onto your thighs and ass, slipping under your tank top and sweater to graze the skin on your back. Sparks erupt everywhere.

Mid-kiss, he sits up. Twisting so he can firmly plant both his feet on the found. It’s the angle he needs to pull you right against him. Your hips make contact and you moan. He’s not quite hard but he’s certainly getting there and the thought makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, breaking away for air while he grids his hips up into yours. “Jungkook—”

“No talking,” he mouths against your jawline. “More kissing,” his voice is so  raspy that it’s barely recognisable. Almost a growl.

You push his cap off. Grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him firmly. Angling his head back the same way he had done to you. Kissing him is way better than you could’ve ever imagined. He’s rougher, stronger, harder against your body. You need more.

Slipping your hands under his shoulder, you lift it. Tracing the hard lines of his chest, feeling how he jumps under your touch. It empowers you, makes you bolder. Your fingers reach a pert nipple, brushing over it only to hear him moan in the back of his throat. God, he keeps on getting better and better. Sensitive it seems, as you roll the bud between your fingers. His hips buck up into yours. Fully hard at this point, he must start to get uncomfortable in those jeans.

Jungkook’s resolve with kissing you slows, needing air. He breaks away with a smirk, cheeks flushed and panting. Holding your gaze steady, he pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Revealing planes of unmarred skin and tattoos you had yet to discover.

You take no shame in staring, reaching out to trace the dream catcher on his shoulder. Moving along the lines of thread and feathers that reach his elbow.

“Like what you see?” he whispers, pushing you closer with a hand on your lower back just so he can kiss your neck. You shiver, legs spreading. Leaning your head back to give him enough room to mark you up. The thought alone makes you whimper. “What’s that?” he mumbles, licking a hot stripe up your throat.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, you grind down onto him. He moans in response. “Stop being so smug.”

Jungkook throws his head back, looking at you through his lashes as you gyrate your hips more firmly. His body on full display. “I don’t know, it seems like you’re into it.”

“For fucks sake, shut up and kiss me.”

He listens, capturing your mouth with his. Everything moves fast after that. Between tongues and mouths clashing, Jungkook rids you of your sweater. He kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks and enjoying the way that you quiver for him. You’re soaking through your leggings at this point. Jungkook’s doing no better.

When he pulls away, you take the opportunity to kiss down his neck, collarbones and chest. To get off his lap and kneel between his legs. His eyes widen as you do so. A hand immediately comes up to push your hair aside, tipping your chin upwards. When he traces his thumb over your mouth, you part your lips and swirl your tongue around the digit and bite down, making him hiss.

Spreading his legs to accomodate you, he relaxes against the cushions. Just like little pricks on the edge of your consciousness, you feel the nerves. You question your skills when you undo his jeans and pull them down his legs. Yet, the hazy look in his eyes tells you that he’s going to like this no matter what. He all but arches into you when you palm him through his underwear. Rock hard and leaking through the fabric, you don’t want to wait any longer to finally get your mouth on him. To hear him moan for you.

So you reach past his waistband, foregoing any teasing and pull the fabric down. His cock slaps up against his stomach, making him hiss again. The sight is gorgeous. Jungkook with his head thrown back, hair a mess, chest heaving and flushed even though you’ve barely touched him. It’s satisfying to know you did that to him.

You sit down on your knees, holding him in one hand and go slow. Mouthing at him first, giving him just a taste of what’s to come. He doesn’t hold back for you, reddened lips parting with all the noises he lets out. When you take the tip into your mouth, he jolts—groans and reaches to anchor himself on your shoulder. You have one hand on his thigh, the other around the base. That way, you steady yourself when you sink down on him.

“Don’t—Fuck, keep going.” A gentle hand winds into your hair, guiding you further onto his cock. You’re not usually one to do this but, seeing him feel this good spurs you on. It makes you want to take all of him. You don’t stop when he hits the back of your throat, gag reflex kicking in. He moans at the feeling, so you try to swallow. “Shit, fuck, don’t do that. Your mouth,” he pants, “so good.”

Feeling his grip loosen, you pull up, taking a deep breath when you let him out of your mouth. Spit dribbles from your mouth to the head, tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You look up, giving him the full vision, and you don’t look away when you sink down again.

You’re so wet. Core aching but unable to find any sort of relief. You end up trying to grind your hips without any payoff. Meanwhile, you start a steady rhythm. Hollowing out your cheeks and using your tongue on the underside. It works. You have him moaning out your name in seconds. His hand tightens in your hair again, not to force you, but spurring you on to take him a little deeper each time. Right until your nose hits his stomach. You hold there, to let him feel the flex of your throat one more time. Just so he remembers it. Then you take your rhythm back up, a little faster, a little tighter. Your jaw starts to hurt, but it’s worth it. To feel his thighs start to tremble and his stomach clench. How he tightens his hold on your hair, moans pitching every time you pass your tongue right under the head.

Your lungs are burning, but you can’t help but feel addicted to him. Sucking him harder and feeling him near that edge. You dig your nails into his thigh, breathing in through your nose. Jungkook’s hip start moving just a little, enough to startle you.

“‘M close,” he moans. “Fuck, can I—in your mouth. Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, browns furrowed deep. When he opens his eyes you shiver. His lids are heavy, pupils blown and cheeks red. Just like his lips—he sinks his teeth into his bottom one when you resume.

He takes it as a yes, unable to stop his hips from pushing up. You let him take control, holding yourself still, hands on his thighs. Jungkook’s breathing picks up, moans mixing into one drawn out sound. You meet his eyes, mouth stuffed with his cock. That’s all he needed. He twitches and cums into your mouth. The taste is bitter and harsh on your tongue. You close your eyes, focused on the feeling of his body trembling. You’re the one who did that to him.

When he lets you go and you pull off him, he gives you a fuck-out yet expectant look. A cocky arch of his eyebrow when he sees your bulged cheeks. Waiting for you to swallow.

Instead, you reach for his mug that sits on the edge of the table and spit into it. Flinching at the leftover taste.

Jungkook nudges you with his knee. “Why are you like this?”

You set his cup down and reach for your own, take a big gulp of now-cold coffee. “I’m not swallowing your jizz.” The thought of doing that alone makes you want to puke.

“Don’t call it that.”

Rolling your eyes, you stand up on wobbly legs. “I just had it in my mouth, so I can call it whatever I want.”

Jungkook mimics your eyeroll. “Fine.” He pats your thigh. “Pants off.”

“What?”

He lies down on the couch. Surely he doesn’t expect you to ride him after you just fucked up your throat for him? What an ass. “You heard me, naked now. Chop chop.” He motions for you to hurry up and you just give him a blank stare. “Ugh, come here.”  Jungkook sits up just slightly again and pulls you closer by your waistband. He gives you a brief look. “Unless you don’t wanna get naked?”

You chuckle, pushing at his hands to get him to slide your leggings off. A hand slips between your thighs to touch you. Rubbing you through the fabric, your knees nearly buckle. He’s nonchalant about it, lying back, eyes focused between your legs. Yet, he’s too accurate, easily finding his target.

“Jungkook,” you whine, grabbing onto the back of the couch.

He smirks. “Let’s take these off too.” The snap of your panties to your hip pulls you back. You shove them down, taken aback by the feeling of a hand grabbing your thigh. You’re about to question him, when he scoots further back on the couch and lifts your leg past his body. “Have a seat.”

Mind absolutely blank, you let him guide you to sit over his face. You’re dripping and he can see it—feel it probably from the way you just grazed his chest. A small moan leaving your lips when he reaches up to kiss your stomach.

“Don’t be shy,” he chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

You shift forward, holding onto the back of the couch. His hands come up to your thighs, pulling you even higher so he can slot his mouth onto your core. You can’t help but moan.

Noisy. Jungkook is so noisy. He sucks your lips into his mouth, teethes at them until you’re shaking. You struggle to hold your hips still, the need to grind into him too strong. And he does nothing to stop you. No, he urges you on. Looking up at you with those big eyes and nodding against you. Jungkook opens his mouth, tongue darting out to tease at your clit just briefly. Then, the reigns are all yours.

He holds you by the hips so you can hesitantly start moving. You shiver. It feels so good; the wet warmth of his mouth against your core. He follows you, hands pawing at your thighs, hips, and ass. With eyes closed, Jungkook eats you out like he’s been dying to do it. There’s no teasing, no playing—he’s straight to the point. You move over his tongue as he sucks on your cunt, nibbling and flicking whenever he gets the chance. Anything else is irrelevant. The sight of his head blissed out between your thighs is all you can focus on.

The pleasure spikes, shooting up your spine and filling you with warmth. It’s embarrassing how fast he gets you on the edge. How good he is. The way he occasionally stops you to take that bundle of nerves between his lips and suck on it until you’re screaming—it’s mind blowing. Your entire body is on fire, sweat drips down your back. His name falls from your lips in cries that echo throughout the room. Louder than the storm raging against the window.

“Jungkook, I’m—” you pant, unable to finish your sentence with the moans that he pulls from you. Incapable of thinking from the second he swirls his tongue around your entrance and presses inside. You halt all your movements. Nails dug deeply into the couch, you reach for his hair with your other hand. He moans when you grip it tightly, his own fingers tightening around your hips. “Don’t stop.”

He alternates between fucking his tongue into you and sucking on your clit. The intensity is almost too much. The irregularity keeps you on your toes and has you nearly teetering over the edge. You just need to—Jungkook reaches behind you and plunges two fingers into your sopping core. The sensation of being filled along with his tongue flicking over you has your eyes rolling back. Everything goes white.

You double over on the couch, unable to keep yourself up and smothering him in the process. Trembling in his hold, he helps you slowly ride out your high. Short, gentle movements against his mouth. The rocking of your hips is as involuntary as the way your body keeps shaking when he lets you go. Breath high in your throat, you chuckle.

“Good god.” You fall down when he slips out from underneath you.

As you twist towards him, Jungkook wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, crawling over you. All your limbs still feel like jelly, your mind swimming. “Yeah, that good?”

You hum, eyes closing. Wanting to lie down, you turn on your back, hearing a sharp thud.

“Shit,” Jungkook gasps. He’s grasping his chin with a laugh.

A few seconds pass before you feel the soreness in your knee. “Ugh, I’m so sorry,” you whine, reaching up to touch him. But he has other plans. Jungkook surges down smiling, pressing your mouths together for the first time in what feels like hours. The stickiness on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. The reminder that he just ate you out, that he’s the one who made you cum that hard. You moan when you taste yourself on his tongue.

He kisses you deeply, smiling against your mouth. You finally get rid of your tank top, now fully naked. He mouths over your chest, twisting your nipples, spreading your legs so that he can fit between them. Pressing himself against you, hard and waiting. “Can you go again?” he asks, pulling away and searching your eyes.

You still feel floaty, but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your thigh has you quivering. “Yeah.”  You’re aching to feel him inside, so you tilt your hips up towards him. Spreading your legs wider and inviting him.

“Wait,” you blurt, eyes flying open and pressing a hand against his chest. He stops with his hand around his dick, just about ready to slide home. “Condom.”

Jungkook curses, looking around the room. He locates his jeans that lie in a pile with his shirt and boxers. The fact that he’s actually got a condom in there is uncanny.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”  You joke.

He shrugs. “I wore these jeans while going out last night.”

“You’re disgusting!” You slap his arm lightly, but he just chuckles in return. He knows just as well as you do that you’re waiting for him to fuck you. The clenching of your core attests to that.

No time is wasted, Jungkook puts the condom on and lines himself up. “You good?”  

You nod. “Just go slow.”

The slight oversensitivity just makes it feel even better. He stretches you out so perfectly. You feel every inch, every stutter of his hips as he goes deeper. Way deeper than you’d expected. Until his hips meet yours and he curses, burying his face into your neck.

“You feel good,” he mumbles, kissing your skin.

“You too.” Trailing your fingers up his back, you wait for your body to adjust to him. To feel yourself relax and pull for more. That tell-tale need for movement, friction. Jungkook holds steady, hips barely moving. “Go,” you say when your stomach clenches. “Move. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Jungkook growls, grasping onto the couch. Pulling out and slamming back in full force. You slide up the cushions, so fast you grasp onto him for support. Fingernails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist, you keen at the pleasure. Each thrust is better than the last. Harder, more precise.

Your back arches off the couch, mouth agape. Pleasure is constant, like your body is vibrating with it. Jungkook mouths at your neck, sucking, biting—teeth playfully tugging at your ear just to whisper something dirty that you can barely comprehend. Your mind can’t make sense of anything but his dick pumping inside of you. His hips slapping against yours and his mouth against your skin.

Until he kisses you. His mouth messily connecting with yours, movements slowing. With a hand on your ass, he hikes you up the couch, angling your body so that he can press your legs to your chest. Just like that, he picks up. Starting off slow, still kissing you, tongue laving over yours almost sweetly. You shiver, the slow drag of his cock as delicious as the harsh assault. He changes angles, just a hair, but it’s enough for him to graze that part inside of you that makes you see stars.

Throwing your head back, you moan. Fingers sliding through the sweat on his back, up to tangle into his hair, gripping tight. He groans. Head falling onto your shoulder, hips stuttering against yours.

“You like that?” you whisper into his ear, tongue darting out to flick at a pierced lobe.

He nods, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you pull hard. Hips picking up, chasing the pleasure.

Hearing him moan like that. So unabashed and loud, only adds to your pleasure. Toes curling, you close your eyes and let your head fall back. Hips meeting him thrust for thrust, helping him reach even deeper inside of you. To hit that spot every single time. Jungkook has perfected that balance between smooth and hard. Never slamming rough enough to jolt you, yet firm enough to make you capable of sounds you were unaware of. Rhythmic, never stopping or slowing. So constant you can’t do anything but fall into motion with him.

Bodies syncing up. Hands finding places to touch.  Nipples, lips, thighs, waists, hair. He is holding you spread open for him, your thighs starting to ache. But it’s worth it, because soon, you feel the pleasure spike.

Your stomach tightens, tingling at the base of your spine. “Jungkook,” you moan.

He answers by looking up, lips bitten red and parted.

“Can you,” you can’t finish the sentence, moaning and closing your eyes. Tapping his hand on your thigh is enough though. He releases you, instead pulling your legs around his waist. Closer like this, his chest slides over yours. It gives you just enough space to reach between your bodies and touch yourself.

He looks down at the sensation, cursing at the sight of your fingers playing with your clit while his cock slides in and out of you. The angle doesn’t let you do the same, but you can hear the slick slide clearly. You can feel it dripping down your ass.

The added pleasure is enough to put you on the edge, fast. “I’m gonna—Jungkook!” you yelp when he leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck.” One hand between your bodies, the other holding his hair.

In seconds, your high hits you. Hard. Your entire body locks up, so much that Jungkook lets out a strangled moan. Fluttering around him he joins you in your peak. Thrusts stilling, pressed deep inside of you. He spills into the condom as you rut your hips, still coming down.

Spent bodies collapse onto the couch, Jungkook refusing to pull out immediately. He’s basking in the feeling of your aftershock, walls still clenching ever so slightly. You can’t blame him. It feels good. Having him inside of you as he lies down, pulling your hips against his, kissing you. His mouth is tender, laving over yours without much hurry. A hand combing through your hair, softly humming, smiling.

He finally pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and slightly sore. Grunting, he ties the condom and makes a show of throwing it into the same mug you used earlier. It makes him grin.

“I’m throwing that mug out.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Oh, I really do. It’s been tainted beyond remedy. I’m not drinking from that, ever again.”

Jungkook presses his nose against your temple, still grinning like a fool. “You’re so weird.”

You snort. “Says the guy who just three-point shot a condom into a mug full of cum.”

No reply follows, only comfortable silence. Jungkook and you just lie like that for a while. Bodies coming down, breaths evening out, enjoying each other. Slightly sticky with sweat, you let him grab the blanket and throw it over you. Your heart swells.

Could it be possible that you’re not the only one who feels something more? Deep down, you’ve always known he’s not just an asshole. You’ve just never seen that side of him before today. All this time you’ve tried to ignore it. To not let yourself fall for that trap. A guy like him isn’t supposed to be good. Yet, maybe you were wrong about him. And maybe, he feels the same way about you.

Taehyung isn’t gonna let you hear the end of this, but you can’t help but wonder if there is an opportunity for more between you and Jungkook?

“You know,” he says after a while, “We should definitely do this again.”

Your heart shatters. That’s it. Reality crashing down on you. Of course Jungkook doesn’t feel anything for you. He’s just out for sex and you should’ve known.

You scramble up from the couch. Jungkook sputters out something you can’t quite catch, trying to grab a hold of you. “Don’t touch me,” you spit. “I can’t believe you.” Grabbing your panties and pulling them on alongside your sweater, you put distance between the two of you. “Is that what I am to you? Just another cunt to fuck?”

Jungkook’s hastily putting on his boxers, standing up, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, but you don’t care to listen.

“That’s why you were really here, right? To get into my pants. That’s why you had the condom on you.” It’s all falling together now. How could you have been so stupid? “All the fucking whining about Yoongi, but you’re no better than him.”

“Stop,” he rushes, shaking his head. “Listen to me—“

“Don’t!” you call when he reaches for you, grabbing you by the wrists and forcing you to look at him. You try to wriggle away, but he’s holding you steady.

“Listen,” he tries again. “I—“

You shove at his chest. “Let me go, Jungkook. Fucking let me go.”

He obeys, arms falling limply beside his body. Expression going soft when he sees you’re crying. “Please hear me out.”

“No, Jungkook. You don’t get it. I have feelings for you. Real, non-sexual feelings. I don’t just want to be another girl on your checklist.” There it is. Out with the truth. Your breaths come out short and ragged. Harshly wiping your tears, you grab your leggings off the floor. Jungkook just stares at you. “I was stupid to fall for this act.” It’s true. He doesn’t date. Sex. That’s it. You should’ve known, you should’ve protected yourself. Should’ve never let him weasel his way into your heart.

Jungkook deflates, head falling, hair shielding his eyes. “I’m sorry that you think of me this way.”

What a pretentious prick. “Forget it Jungkook, I’m not buying it.” You look outside, rain still pouring down the window. “You know where everything is. I want you out before sunrise.” You turn your back on him and storm into your bedroom, slamming the door closed.

The contents of your cabinet click, something falling to the floor. Your tears only get worse. Feeling the cold of your room wrap around your worn out body. To feel the remnants of him still cling to your skin. The marks, the soreness, and the scent. God, you’re so dumb. You want to call Taehyung, to hear his voice and have him comfort you. But it’s two in the morning and his sleep schedule is shaky enough as it is.

So you just opt for a shower, stripping and getting under the hot spray to wash away whatever you can. You douse yourself in your favourite clementine scented body wash. But it does nothing to clean the fresh tears. Nothing can. The realisation that your feelings for Jungkook had gone way past crush hurts. You let your guard down and he drove a knife into your back.

Sleep, you think. You need sleep. You need to rid yourself of these thoughts and feelings. Wake up tomorrow and just pretend like this never happened. Even if you know it’ll be evident. You can pretend.

You dry off and brush your teeth. Three times to be precise. Ending up in bed wrapped in your favourite teddy sweater, warm and cosy. Your chest still aches with tears that no longer fall. Heart heavy. Like you miss him close to you.

There’s not much you can do but close your eyes and will your mind to shut off. You don’t want to think about him anymore.

The creaking of your door opening startles you right as you’re drifting off. He better be joking. You refuse to move, holding tightly onto the blanket, hoping that he’s just checking in on you and will leave. You hear the door click closed, and then the bed dips.

You hold your breath. Jungkook doesn’t speak. He lifts the covers so he can scoot under them and pull you against his chest. It’s not a tight hold, but it’s there. A strong arm draped over your waist, legs grazing yours as you pretend to be asleep. The feather-light gaze of his lips against your neck makes fresh tears appear in your eyes.

“Jungkook,” you croak.

He shushes you. “I know you’re upset with me. I just don’t want you to be alone when you’re feeling like this. We can talk in the morning—if you want. For now, just get some rest.”

It’s true. You shouldn’t be alone, crying yourself to sleep. Even if he’s the one that caused it. You just don’t want to let yourself trust the gesture. He’s probably trying to make you feel less angry. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s appreciated, ill intent or not. Having someone here is calming, letting you fall into an unruly slumber.

The next morning, you wake up in his embrace. Closer, back pressed to his chest. His nose nuzzles into your hair. It’s so nice. Warm. Soothing. He’s a good cuddler.

Then, your entire body stiffens. The previous night coming back to you in flashes. Your bodies entwined on the couch, moans bouncing off the wall. You swallow tightly, lifting his arm.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers. He must’ve already been awake, reaching for your hand and giving it a small squeeze. “Should I go?”

Yes. “No,” you mumble. You need answers. To make the story whole before you force him out of your life for good.

“Do you want to—”

“Why do you always act like such a dick around me?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Because you won’t give me the time of day otherwise.”

You still, practically holding your breath so that you can hear every word.

“Every time I’m nice to you, you pretend like I don’t exist. When I push your buttons,” he sighs, “that’s when I get your attention.”

Attention? He wants your attention? Your mind’s running circles, afraid to turn around and see the look in his eyes and get swayed. Feel remorse for the pain you hear lined in his voice. That you can feel in the trembling of his hand encasing yours.

“Can you at least say something?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He sits up, the mattress shifting and your eyes closing tightly.  “Sit up, please.”  Grabbing your arm, Jungkook gets you to reluctantly sit up and face him. Though you won’t look at him, eyes on your knees that nearly touch his. You notice that he’s still in his boxers, but he’s at least wearing a shirt. He doesn’t force you to look at him when he starts speaking again. “I want to be honest with you.” He toys with the edge of your sheets. “But if you’re not going to listen to the whole story it’s not worth telling you.”

Your heart hammers. Tears threaten to fall. Taking a deep breath gives away your nerves. You want to tell him he can’t ask that of you. That he doesn’t deserve that. But if there’s even a slight chance of a misunderstanding—something your heart hopes for—you have to hear him out. Even if it’ll hurt. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. He’s nervous too. Breath shaky like his body, nearly curled in on himself. You never thought you’d see him this vulnerable. “Honestly, when I first met you, I was intrigued by you because I couldn’t have you. You just held up your nose every time I as much as looked your way. It made me want to know more about you. And the moment I did, it was over for me. I realised that you’re not just opinionated, crass, and entitled. You’re smart, a hard worker, and you’re such a good friend.”

You finally dare to look up. To see the desperate look in his eyes as he pauses. Shocked.

“I admire you,” he whispers.

“What?” you blurt. “You’re the one with the straight A’s, not me.”

He shakes his head in defeat, biting his lip and looking away. “The only reason I’m getting straight A’s is because I’ve taken these classes before. I’m not like you, I don’t work hard. I should be studying like you.”

You frown. “What do you mean, you’ve done them before? Do you already have a law degree?”

Jungkook avoids your eyes. “When I got out of high school at the age of seventeen, I got into a big university with a scholarship. The full ride. But I was stupid,” he croaks. “I wanted to fully enjoy the college ride. So I studied just enough to get by and dedicated the rest of my time to partying.” He says it like he’s disgusted with himself. Muscles in his neck tightening as he swallows impending tears. “I got arrested for underage drinking and lost the entire scholarship. Everything I had worked so hard for, down the drain.”

The words leave him pained, the regret for his past decisions clear in his eyes. Yet, he’s still here, studying this degree you know most students can’t afford. You have a scholarship too.

“So yeah,” he breathes. “I wish I had a little more discipline like you. I admire that you’re able to put school first. As much as I pretend to hate you just to get your attention, I like being around you. You’re a positive influence on people, including me.”

“So it’s my fault? For judging you?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No, not at all. As I said, I was being an ass on purpose because I was curious about you. But when I got to know you,” he cocks his head to the side, “feelings happened. I just couldn't find a way to show you the better sides of myself. Which is partially why I showed up yesterday.”

“Huh,” you frown. So he did have ulterior motives? “How does that change anything? You still showed up here to sleep with me.” He’s talking in circles. You feel remorse for him, but you tell yourself to stay strong. His past doesn’t excuse his actions.

“I really wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I wouldn’t do that to you. There just was no other way to get you to spend time alone with me. I wanted to show you a better side of me, hoping that you’d realise I’m not all bad and maybe would give me a chance.” A chance to what? “I like you,” he adds when you don’t respond, “a lot.”

What? He can’t be serious. After everything that happened.

“But I also care about you. I like being around you—bickering included. I genuinely wanted to help. I know how hard it is to start again, I didn’t want to see you go through that.”

You go silent. Trying to think over his words and not see the bad. To believe that he means it. He did help you after all. He studied with you for hours, never insinuating anything sexual. He was nice, comforting and believed in you. You never asked for any of that. And after all, you kissed him too. You could’ve stopped it. If he had just wanted sex, he wouldn’t be here.

But he is. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” you say, grabbing his hand.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. For making you feel used. I should’ve just been honest with you.” Jungkook laces your fingers together. “I know it was a dick move on my side to sleep with you. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“I played as much of a part in it as you did. So let’s just��how about we call it even. Bury the hatchet?” You cock your head to the side, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. It won’t be easy, you’ll need to do a lot of thinking, but your heart wants to forgive him. To see more of his gentler side.

He nods, lifting up your hand and pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”

The two of you get up after that, even if it’s a little awkward. It’s weird to not be bickering with him. You’re surprised that he actually cleaned the living room last night. There’s not a trace of him left aside from his clothes that are carefully folded on the table. Even that mug is gone.

“What do you want to eat?” you ask, reaching to the top shelve for another mug.

Jungkook comes closer. “Just coffee is okay for now.”

You turn, almost bumping into his chest, blushing heavily. Now that he knows you have feelings for him, he’s enjoying himself just a little too much. Smiling at you while you’re making coffee and some cereal for yourself. You eat in silence, browsing through your phone.

It’s when you get up to clean, that Jungkook speaks again.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing you back by the waist.

“Hi?” You turn around in his grip.

“You know,” he starts, hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. “As much as I regret what I said yesterday, I did mean it.”

“What?” You chuckle lightly. “You want to do that again?”

He nods, and you catch a faint redness dusting his cheeks. “I do, a lot of times, if you want.”

You laugh, twisting away from him to put the dishes in the sink. “If that is your way of you asking me to be your girlfriend, Jungkook, then I must say you’re not quite hitting the right angle. Seeing what happened yesterday.” He can’t seriously be thinking you just want him for sex after all that. You start cleaning, even if it’s just to avoid having to look at him and admit that you’re shy. Thinking about what happened last night—the good parts.

Sighing, he turns off the tap that you had just turned on.

“Hey!” You turn it back on, only to have him shut it off again. “What do you want?”

“I’m not saying that I want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.” He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, searching your eyes like he’d done the night before. Like he’s waiting for permission.

You couldn’t resist him even if you tried. So you kiss him, just briefly. “Then what are you ready for, big boy?”

He laughs. “For starters, I would love to take you out for dinner after the exam that’s in,” he looks up at the clock, “six hours.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Don’t remind me.” It’s probably a wiser decision to take some time to think. See how you feel about this, but dinner won’t hurt. “I will still need some time to think about,” you gesture between you two, “whatever this is.”

“Oh,” his face falls. “Yeah, I get that. I just thought that—since you said you have feelings for me too.” Jungkook pouts. He fucking juts out his bottom lip and you haven’t seen anything more endearing in your entire life. Your heart does a weird little flip, and you know that you’re a goner. Even more so than you had been before last night.

Now you know that he is good. That he is worthy of a chance. So why not give it? Why would you sit around and let your mind think all sorts of negative things about him if you can give him the chance to prove to you that he’s a great guy. As he said, it’s just a date. Not a label. Yet.

When he turns away, you pull him back by his hand, slamming your lips to his. He grunts, both hands coming up to thread through your hair. The kiss isn’t deep. It isn’t anything like the way you kissed last night. It sweeps you off your feet, so tender and warm. When he pulls away, you’re out of breath and you can see the adoration in his eyes. You hope he can see it in yours.

Then, he pinches your butt.

You push at his chest. “Thanks for reminding me that you’re still an annoying brat.”

He chuckles, giving you a peck on the lips. “But you like me that way.”

“Sadly,” you grumble, winding your arms around his neck. “I do.”

Thanks to: @/fallinforkoo @knjkitten​ @yoongs-jeontae​ @wintaejk​ @guksweet​ @rynofpentacles​ @mikroparadise​ @jeonggukkiepabo​ @softlyjiminie​ Requested by: @/fallinforkoo + @hornyjailbonk​ + 3x Anonymous Taglist: @jiminskth​ @teresaisla​​ @yeontanie21​​ @tessanator97​​ @ladyartemesia​ @dayjeons​​ @djasheyash99​​ @the-rise-of-bangtan-boyz​​ @bbangtanlove95​ @zeharilisharaban​ @jungkooksgoodgirl​​ @topanga27​​ @pjmochii​​ @iwanttohitmyself​​ @veryuniquenamegoeshere​​ @bel-abysse​​ @jiminsreads​​ @jungkookspromise​​

© GguksGalaxy 2020 This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to give an accurate representation of the idols included. Please do not steal, copy, redistribute or take uncredited inspiration from my work. 

[thetravelerwrites]

Bashir (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Troll (World of Warcraft Design) Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Fake Dating, Hired Boyfriend, Fake Boyfriend Content Warnings: Stalker Ex-Boyfriend, Stalking, Mention of Guns, Brief Violence Series: OkCryptid Words: 6365

A commission for @floral-and-fine​​! A woman getting out of a bad relationship has moved across her home state to get away from her controlling ex-boyfriend, only for him to show up at her job. Scared, she goes on OkCryptid to recruit a "boyfriend" in hopes of frightening him off. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

>Hi. I know we don’t know each other and this is pretty sudden, but I have a proposition for you, and it isn’t what you think.

Vague, yes, but it would catch his attention quickly enough, you thought. You were desperate and didn’t know what else to do.

>Oh, He messaged not long after. >What would that be?

>I want to pay you to go out with me for a while.

>I’m not a prostitute. Lol

>That’s not what I mean, You replied, rolling your eyes. >I know this sounds weird, and if I had more money I’d probably just hire a bodyguard, but I don’t.

>Why would you need a bodyguard?

You sighed. >I have a stalker ex-boyfriend. I dated him for about five months, but he was really possessive and crazy so I broke it off, and now he won’t leave me alone. I moved here last month from across the state and he followed me. He showed up at my work today.

>Ah, I see. So you want me to rip his arms off?

>No, I just want him to see me with someone who is big enough to rip his arms off. Maybe it’ll scare him away. You’re the biggest guy I could find on here. Well, I did find a cyclops that was pretty big, but she wasn’t interested.

>Have you gone to the police about this?

>Yeah, but they said unless I get proof he has intent to do harm, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even get a restraining order unless he hurts me or causes property damage. It’s like he has to beat me up before they’ll do anything, and I’d rather not let it get that far.

>Gotcha. Why don’t we don’t meet for coffee tomorrow and talk it over?

>That sounds great. I’m free at lunch.

>Me too. I’ll meet you at Leo’s Diner, you know that one?

>No, but I can Google it. See you tomorrow at 11.

Bashir arrived right on time at eleven the next morning. He was a large troll, dark blue in color, with large, off-white tusks jutting out from the sides of his mouth and his long red hair braided in several placed and pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was muscular, thick in the waist, and around nine feet tall. He wore a suit, which was finely tailored to his body. You raised your eyebrows: his profile was sparse, so you didn’t know what kind of job he did; you’d only chosen him because of his picture. But dressed like that, you were surprised he even agreed to take this “job.”

“Hi, you’re the one I’m supposed to meet today, right?” He said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” You replied, standing and shaking his hand. Your hand was dwarfed in his. “Thanks for agreeing.”

“It’s no trouble,” He said, gesturing for you to sit back down as he took a seat opposite you. “So tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” You said. “His name is Jake. I met him at work; we worked in the same department. He seemed nice, so when he asked me out, I didn’t think anything of saying yes. The first two months was fine, and were got along really well. As soon as we decided to be exclusive, he got really clingy really quickly. Every time I’d try to pull away, he’d clutch at me tighter. He started pressuring me to put distance between me and my friends, he wanted to know where I was all the time, he was constantly texting and calling and got mad when I didn’t respond right away. I got sick of it and broke up with him.”

“When did the stalking start?”

“Almost immediately. It didn’t help that we still worked in the same department, so I had to see him every day. He’d show up at my house after work and on the weekend. He’d either be super angry and demand that I let him in, or he’d be there with flowers and candy and cry and tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, that he was sorry and he’d do better. He kicked my door in a couple of times and I had to call the police. I finally managed to get a restraining order against him, but it didn’t really help. He couldn’t come within five hundred feet, so he would stand on the curb exactly five hundred feet from my house and just watch the house. I was scared for my life. So I quit my job and moved across the state with just my savings. I found a job and I started last week. And yesterday, they said I had a new client, and it was him.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked out and called security, telling them I had a restraining order against him. He mistakenly thinks the restraining order is void because I moved, but I called and that’s not the case at all.” You sighed in aggravation. “I really hope this asshole doesn’t get me fired.”

“Hmm,” He said. “So what’s your offer?”

“Hmm?” You asked.

“You said you’d pay. What’s your offer?”

“Oh,” You said, surprised. “Uh, fifty bucks per date, plus the date expenses. I can’t really afford more than that.”

“That sounds fair. Okay,” He said. “I’ll do it. You just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

“Really?” You replied. “You’ll take the job?”

“Sure,” He said. “I’ve got some free time, and the extra money will be nice. I could buy a new suit in a month.” He grinned and plucked at his own, no doubt worth several months of dates.

“That’s great, thank you,” You said, sighing in relief. “So, Friday night? Around six o’clock? Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” He said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your phone number. I’ll add it to my contacts. That way, if you see him, you can call or text and I can head over and do the arm ripping thing.”

You laughed and took out your phone.

After exchanging information, the two of you had lunch and discussed the finer points of the job. PDAs were acceptable, but you’d prefer if he didn’t kiss you. He had a nine-to-five job, just like you, but his position was flexible and let him leave the office for errands, as long as he didn’t abuse the privilege. You left the lunch feeling a little safer.

Friday night, you met him at a nice Greek restaurant, and he wore another nice bespoke suit. He offered to pick you up at your home, but you didn’t really want him to know where you lived. You were still pretty paranoid about Jake finding out.

“I’m surprised you chose this place, considering you’re footing the bill and everything,” Bashir said, looking around. “It’s pretty fancy.”

“It has to look believable,” You reasoned. “And I do like Greek food. If you like, you can pick the place next time.”

He chuckled. “Have you ever had Mediterranean troll food?”

“No, I haven’t,” You said, interested. “What’s it like?”

“It’s very similar, except there’s no bread of any kind.”

“So what do you eat the hummus on?”

“You drink it like sauce.”

“You’re not supposed to drink sauce!” You protested.

He snickered.

“I feel like you’re making this up.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never met any Mediterranean trolls, so you don’t know.”

“Are you a Mediterranean troll?”

“I am, actually,” He said. “My parents came over from Morocco when I was a tot. I don’t remember much about Morocco, but I’ve always dreamed of going on a trip there, I’ve just never had the chance.” He gave a cursory look over the menu. “Maybe that’s what I’ll use this money for.”

“Sounds nice to me,” You said. “If we both get something good out of this, then that’s a plus.”

“What do you get out of this, other than getting rid of a bothersome ex?”

“Security and peace of mind,” You said, picking up your own menu. “That’s worth the price.”

He looked at you seriously. “This guy really shook you up, didn’t he?”

You set the menu back down and sighed. “He’s never hit me or threatened me verbally. The most he’s ever done is break my door, but…” You looked out of the window. “I feel like… it wouldn’t be hard, you know? It wouldn’t be that much of a leap from breaking my door in to doing something worse. If he gets mad enough, if he gets obsessed enough, who knows what he could do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.”

“I understand,” He said. “I’ve never had to deal with something like that, because… well, look at me…” He gestured at his massive body. “But I do know people who have, and it sounds terrifying. I’m glad I can help, even if I am getting paid to do it.”

You smiled. “Well, it helps that you’re good company.”

“You don’t have to flirt with me, you know,” He teased. “That’s not part of the deal.”

“I will throat-punch you,” You said with a grin, and he laughed.

The next date was the following Saturday, and he chose to go to a concert. He wore a black v-neck shirt and a pair of black slacks, which was as dressed down as you’d seen him, but still very business-casual. It was a showcase of up-and-coming local bands, and they were all pretty good. You didn’t know that he liked Djent and progressive metal, too, but you were happy to have a common interest.

In truth, Bashir was pleasant to be around, and you were relieved that this entire thing wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. It definitely helped make this “dating” business look real from an outsider perspective. He held up his end of the bargain really well over the next dozen dates, holding your hand and putting an arm around you as if it was perfectly normal to do so. Thankfully, it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable when he did it, as he was very warm and the height difference meant he couldn’t be too cuddly naturally. You hoped that if Jake was watching, he believed you’d moved on and had no thoughts for him.

Unfortunately, if he was watching, he didn’t take the hint.

One night, as you were turning off lights and getting ready for bed, you looked out of your bedroom window and there he was, standing on the curb across the street, Jake stood in the shadow of a tree, vaping, and looking toward your house.

Panicked, you didn’t your best to stay calm while you were at the window, not wanting him to know you had seen him, but as soon as you walked away, you turned off the bedroom lights, snatched up your phone, dashed downstairs, and frantically checked the windows and doors, making sure they were all locked.

You meant to call the police, but instead, you dialed Bashir’s number. He answered immediately.

“What’s up?” He asked, sounding caught off guard. You weren’t surprised, you never called or texted him unless it was about the next “date.”

“Jake’s outside,” You whispered. “He’s across the street, I’m looking at him right now from my living room window.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’d recognize that stupid snakeskin vape box anywhere,” You said.

“Okay,” He said. “I’m heading over. Stay on the phone with me until I get there. Do you have a landline?”

“Yeah,” You replied.

“Get it and call the police. Don’t tell them he’s stalking you because, well frankly, they won’t care. Say you’re a concerned member of the neighborhood and there’s a suspicious man hanging around outside and you’re worried about a break in.”

It wouldn’t have been a lie. “Okay,” You said, picking up your cordless phone.

After calling the police, you waited with your heart in your throat, listening to Bashir get into his car and drive. He’d heard you tell the operator your address. He arrived before the police did, his vehicle a nondescript SUV, and he got out wearing sweat pants and a tank top and pulled a duffel bag from his passenger seat. He didn’t acknowledge Jake at all, simply walked up to your door and knocked. You went to open the door for him.

“Hug me and kiss my cheek,” He said in a low undertone. Gulping, you did as he said with him turning so that your display of affection was clearly visible to anyone watching from the street. You let him in and closed the door behind him, locking it.

“What now?”

“Let’s turn on the lights and make some coffee while we wait for the police,” He said.

“Okay,” You said, your voice shaking. You went to go into the kitchen but he stopped you by taking your hand.

“Hey,” He said gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here, and the police are coming. You’re safe.”

Tears came to your eyes and you nodded, wiping them. He released you and you went to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on.

The police arrived. You and Bashir watched covertly from the breakfast nook. Eventually, Jake walked to a car and got in it, driving away. The police followed him.

“They let him go?” You asked, worried.

“Well, they may not have know he has a restraining order, and even if they did, he looked plenty far away enough to not have violated it. He wasn’t breaking any laws other than loitering, so they couldn’t arrest him. At least they made sure he left.”

You held your head in your hands. “God, I don’t want to have to do all this over again.”

“It’s okay,” He said. “I’ll stay the night to make sure he doesn’t come back tonight.”

“What about tomorrow? Or the next day? You can’t be here all the time,” You said, your voice shaking.

He sighed heavily. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

You scoffed in disgust. “I don’t want a fucking gun.”

“Okay,” He said. “Then, I’ll put up a security system. I brought one with me; it’s in my bag. I’ll set it up tonight while he’s not here.”

“It’s late,” You said weakly.

“Do you want to sleep or do you want peace of mind?” He asked you levelly.

You scrubbed your face, took a deep breath, drained your coffee cup, and stood up. “Okay. Let’s do it, then.”

It took a few hours, but he managed to get several security cameras fixed to the building, focused on entryways and the front and back yards. You helped him by holding the equipment and tools for him as he worked, handing up what he needed as he needed it. By the time the two of you were done, it was three a.m. and you both had to be at work in mere hours.

The two of you fell into an exhausted sleep on your bed. You didn’t even have the energy to be affronted by the fact that you were sharing a bed with him. The next morning, before he left to go home and get ready for work, he downloaded the security camera app onto your phone and showed you how to use it.

You went to work, checking your phone surreptitiously to see if Jake was outside of your house. So far, he hadn’t reappeared.

>Today’s Friday, You texted him. >I know you’re probably tired after last night, but do you want to have a date today?

>What about a home date at my house? He replied. >I’ll cook dinner and everything. I don’t want you to be at your house at the moment.

>I can’t argue with that, You said in return. >Sounds good to me. What are you cooking?

>I was thinking a kefta meatball tagine with couscous on the side, and a snake pastry for dessert.

>That sounds amazing. Thanks for putting me up. I know this all is a huge inconvenience, and I really appreciate it.

>It’s no problem,” He said. >It’s what I’m getting paid for, right?

You sighed. Well, this wasn’t exactly what he was getting paid for. How much would an overnight stay cost you?

He sent you a message with his address and you went home after work to shower and pack a small overnight bag. You snickered, pulling out your pretty underwear and a sexy negligee, wondering if you should pack this, too, before putting it away and just throwing some pajamas in your bag.

Checking the cameras before stepping outside, you left the house and hurried to your car, heading to Bashir’s house. His place was a two-story, bungalow style house with a dark brown cliffstone brick pattern and a detached garage. It was charming, and a lot cuter than your tiny yellow ranch-style house. The yard was well kept and three were full flowerbeds next to the wide porch. You wouldn’t have imagined he lived in a place like this.

You knocked on the door and he answered it quickly, wearing a comfortable t-shirt and pair of tight jeans. You tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His clothes left very little to the imagination. His hair was also down and cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“Come in, come in,” He said, taking your bag for you.

“Thanks,” You said. “Your house is really pretty.”

“Oh, thanks!” He said. “It was actually condemned when I bought it. I basically had to rebuild it from the ground up. I’m not quite finished with it yet, but I’m happy with the progress.”

“You should be, it’s amazing,” You said. “I’d never have guessed it was a fixer-upper.”

He grinned at you, showing off his sharp teeth. “Come on, dinner will be ready soon.”

“It smells great,” You said, inhaling the savory smell of lamb and vegetables.

“All my mom’s recipes,” He replied, heading into the kitchen. “She owns a restaurant three towns over.”

“I’ll have to go and visit it sometime,” You said.

“Maybe I’ll take you myself one day,” He said, smiling as he stirred the couscous. Your heart fluttered a little.

How long were you going to have to keep this up? “Dating” Bashir was fun, but it wasn’t going to last forever. Either Jake would give up or get arrested, so either way, it would be over. Maybe you could stay friends. He was nice enough, and you enjoyed hanging out with him. But still… why was he talking about things that might happen in the future if there was no future for the two of you?

Dinner was delicious, and so was dessert, and afterward the two of you went to the living room to watch a movie. He even put his arm around you, since the window was uncovered and anyone could look in, he said, and you felt comfortable enough to relax into his side. It almost did feel like a real home date.

After the movie, though, you both decided to sleep, since you were still tired from the night before. You decided that you were both adults and could share a bed without it being awkward, and besides, his bed was huge and could fit five of you easily. You both fell asleep almost immediately.

Sometime during the night, you got a ping from the motion detector on your phone, but when you checked the security system, it was just a raccoon in your trashcan. You sighed and put your phone down, rolling over.

Bashir was on his back, asleep, with his face turned toward you. He was breathing deeply and relaxed with one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach.

You couldn’t help but stare. He really was an attractive guy, and if circumstances had been different, you might have dated him for real. But… until Jake left you alone, you didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. Bashir didn’t have any emotional connection to you, so Jake couldn’t affect whatever “relationship” you had.

But maybe things could be different after? You weren’t sure. He hadn’t expressed any interest in you other than what he had to to make the job believable. He hadn’t been flirty or more affectionate than he needed to be. You couldn’t afford to develop feelings for Bashir, not right now.

Even still, you brushed your fingers gently against the skin of his arm, feeling the hairs that covered it, and followed the curve up to his hand, allowing yours to rest on top of his for a moment or two before retracting it and trying to fall asleep again, sighing heavily.

The next morning, Bashir recommended that the two of you spend the day together, to keep up the weekend stay appearance.

“How much is this ‘weekend getaway’ going to cost me?” You asked dubiously.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, today’s a freebie, since I suggested it. You still have to pay for last night, though. The normal fifty bucks is fine.”

“Mm-hmm,” You hummed flatly, fishing the money out of your wallet and handing it to him. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“Ah, it’s a freebie day, right? You get to choose this time.”

You smiled. “Well, let’s start with breakfast. I’ll cook it. I can cook breakfast blindfolded.”

“If you like,” He said, sitting at the bar in the kitchen and watching you putter around, looking for cooking tools.

After breakfast, you decided you wanted to go to the local botanical garden, which you hadn’t been to in some time.

“Your flowerbeds outside reminded me of this place,” You told him, walking slowly through the rows of Japanese maples. There was a beautiful and an extremely rare Chinese Red Maple behind a gate at the end of the row, the centerpiece of the garden. “Did you plant them yourself?”

“Yep,” He said with a smile. “I helped my dad do a lot of gardening when he was still alive. He had a landscaping business, but he was really passionate about it. I actually inherited the business. Gardening helps me keep his memory alive.”

“That’s really sweet,” You said, smiling softly. “Is that what you do for a living, the landscaping job? I’ve never actually asked what you do for work.”

“No, actually. I mean, I own the company, but I don’t work for it. My actual job is something else entirely.”

“What is it?”

He laughed. “Honestly, I don’t think you’d believe me.” Before you could ask, he took you by the hand and said, “Let’s take a break and get a coffee. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” You said, letting the subject drop. For now.

You got to the food court outside of the botanical gardens and sat down at the outdoor cafe.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” He said, putting some money down on the table. “Can you order me a large black coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” You said. He smiled and headed off. You got up and put in your order, then sat back down at the table and opened the security app, looking through the cameras and checked to see if anything was out of place.

The chair opposite to you was pulled out and he sat back down while you were still looking at your phone.

“The coffee should be out soon,” You said.

“I didn’t order coffee,” A voice said. It wasn’t Bashir.

You jerked your head up and saw Jake sitting across from you. You stood up so fast that you knocked the chair over.

“Get away from me, Jake,” You said.

“Look, just talk to me,” He said, standing up and advancing on you. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Get away from me!” You shouted. “Bashir!”

“Are you calling for that monster?” He sneered. “You could do so much better than him. Besides, you’re not even really dating him, you’re just paying him to keep you company, you slut. You think I wouldn’t figure that out?”

“Fuck you!” You back up. “Bashir!”

Jake was snatched back and slammed down onto the cafe table. Bashir had him pinned down with a single hand. It wasn’t hard to do: Bashir was almost twice the size of Jake in height and weight.

“Let me go!” Jake said, struggling against Bashir’s iron grip. “I’ll have you arrested! My brother’s a cop!”

“Ah, that explains how you got her address so quick,” Bashir said. “I don’t really care if your brother’s a cop. Actually, I think I do, I think an internal affairs investigation is warranted. Regardless, you’ve just violated a restraining order.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Bashir snorted. “I’m FBI, dickless.”

You gaped at him.

“Bullshit!” Jake said. “I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll ruin your fucking life!”

“Whatever you want, you’re still under arrest,” Bashir said, pulling out a set of handcuffs from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“You’re kidding,” You said slowly, staring at Bashir.

“I told you you probably wouldn’t believe me,” He said, grinning at you sheepishly. He jerked his head at his jacket. “My ID is in my pocket.”

You reached in and fished it out, opening the leather fold to reveal a… rather official looking ID and badge.

You laughed in disbelief. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have.”

The police arrived to detain Jake and took him to the station. Bashir drove you to the station, as well, so that you could make a statement.

Later, Bashir drove you back to your house.

“I’ll bring your bag over later,” He said. “He’ll probably get ninety days in jail for violating the restraining order, and hopefully you won’t have to deal with him anymore. Although, if you hear from him again once he gets out, let me know, and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” You said. “Really, thank you for everything.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” He said, handing it to you. Inside was all the money you had given him for the dates, plus some. There had to have been almost two thousand dollars in there.

“But this is…”

He laughed. “I’m a federal official, you know. I can’t take bribes. I’d get fired.”

“This wasn’t…” You started, but stopped yourself. This could absolutely be seen as a bribe. “What do I do with all this?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. Go on a trip. Buy something nice. It’s your money, after all.”

You sighed a little sadly. “I guess this is it, then.”

He sighed, too. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned forward, bent down, and kissed you on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Jake did end up getting three months in jail, which made you feel a lot better. You were worried that he would come after you, but the three months passed and when he was released, he moved clear across the country and you never heard from him again.

Finally free of him, you thought you might try actually dating again, but you could only think of Bashir. You and he had only spoken a few times, mostly him checking on you, but you hadn’t seen each other since Jake’s arrest. You missed him, but you couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t have any feelings for you, anyway. If he did, wouldn’t he have asked you out after Jake was out of the picture?

Even still, you wanted to see him again. So once Jake was gone, you texted Bashir.

>I have something for you, You told him.

>Oh? What’s that?

>I want to give it to you in person. Would it be okay to come over this weekend?

>I’m free now. Why don’t you stop by?

>Okay. I’ll be there soon.

Before leaving, you hesitated and decided to throw on your best, sexiest underwear. Just in case.

You arrived at his house to find him out in the front yard. He was digging a hole in the yard with a sapling sitting in a bucket, ready for planting. There were also stones and gravel he was going to use for a decorative barrier. He stood up and waved as you drove up into the driveway.

“Hey!” He said, pulling you into a hug. Well, as well as he could, being so tall. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too!” You said. “What kind of tree is that?”

“A Chinese Maple,” He said. “I got inspired when we went to the botanical gardens that time. It cost a pretty penny and I had to wait for the cutting to grow, but it’s finally ready to plant.”

“That’s so cool,” You said. “Can I help?”

“Really?” He said, grinning. “Yeah, sure! There’s a pair of gloves over there on the porch. They might be a little big, but it’s better than blisters.”

You ran to retrieve them, and picked up a trowel. “Why did you decide on the maple?”

“Cause it reminds me of you,” He said, digging. “When I look out my window every day and see it, I’ll think of you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you couldn’t look at him.

It only took about an hour to dig out the hole, plant the sapling, fill the hole with soil, lay the stones, and spread the gravel. Thankfully it was a cool day and you didn’t sweat too much. The two of you caught up on what had happened in the three months since you’d seen each other. You wanted to ask if he had started dating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“It looks great,” He said, standing back and grinning. “Thanks for your help! We got it done in record time. Let’s get cleaned up and have a drink.”

“Okay,” You said. “Let me grab my purse from the car.”

“Oh, right, you had something to give me, right?”

“Yep,” You told him, grabbing your bag.

He laughed. “Sorry I side-tracked you.”

“It’s fine, I had a good time,” You said. He opened the door for you and let you go into the house before him.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up and when you looked down, you realized your toothbrush was in the holder, the one you had forgotten when you’d stayed over. You had bought a new one and figured he’d just throw it away when he found it. Why had he kept it? Why was it in the holder with his?

You went back out into the kitchen and found him shirtless, water beading down the muscles of his back, and you stopped in the doorway, staring.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, laughing and throwing on a clean shirt. “Needed a quick wash. I felt a little grimy after the yardwork.”

“It’s okay,” You said, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Iced tea?”

“Yeah, sure,” You replied, sitting at the bar. He poured you a drink and sat at the bar opposite you.

“So, what was the thing you had for me.”

You swallowed your tea a bit too hard and reached into your purse, handing him an envelope.

“This isn’t the money, is it?” He asked, smiling.

“No, it’s not money,” You said. “Open it.”

He grinned playfully at you, but it slipped from his face when he looked inside the envelope, pulling out two plane tickets.

“Morocco?” He asked, looking up at you in surprise.

You nodded. “Those are good for a year, so make sure you get some vacation time soon,” You said, anxious.

He stared at them. “There are two.”

“Yes,” You replied. “In case you wanted to take your mom. Or maybe a girlfriend or boyfriend or something.”

You kept your face as neutral as possible, but he was staring at you.

“The extra ticket is for you, isn’t it?” He asked softly.

You looked down and away. “If you don’t want me to go, that’s okay. You can take whoever you like. I just wanted you to have the trip you always dreamed of.”

He got up out of his chair, came around, and got down on his knees, so that he was face to face with you. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was firm and testing, and you responded, throwing your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you as well.

“I missed you,” He murmured against your lips.

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” You asked him, pulling back to look at his face.

“I thought you weren’t interested in a real relationship,” He said, pulling you against him. “If I had any inclination you did, I would have asked you out on the spot.”

“I thought the same thing,” You said. “I never expected you’d actually like me.”

“I do,” He said, kissing you again and standing up. “I like you very, very much.”

He walked you into his room and lay you down on his bed, stripping your clothes off your body.

“Pretty,” He said with a grin as he came across your lacy black underwear. “Did you wear this for me?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Well, it would be a shame to take it off so soon, then, wouldn’t it?” He said, palming your breasts over the fabric of your bra. He touched your slit over your underwear, and you gasped. You lifted your leg and rubbed him through his pants, and he grunted. You felt him harden under your touch. He was… uh… large.

You pulled off his shirt and ran your nails down his chest. He moved his hand away and pressed himself against you, still clothed, grinding himself into your clit, and you moaned. You reached for his belt and unbuckled it, unbuttoning it, and pushed his pants down with your toes. Because of his long tusks, he couldn’t bend down to kiss you in this position, so he picked you up as if you were a doll, kissing your body. You were always a little self conscious about your weight, being a big girl, but he seemed not to notice.

He lifted you all the way up to his face, kneeling down so that you weren’t so high up, and licked the cloth covering your slit, putting your legs over his shoulders and his tusks under your body. Using just his tongue, he moved your underwear out of the way and teased your clit. His tongue was long and thick. You whimpered and rocked your hips against his tongue. He pushed it in side of you and thrust it back and forth, and you writhed in his grip.

Carefully, he pulled you down and eased you into his lap, pressing himself against your entrance. You pressed your hands against his stomach and watched him disappear slowly inside you. He couldn’t go all the way in, but once he reached the back and knew where the limit was, he pulled back out slowly and thrust in again slowly, easing you into it. He must have had a similar size problem in the past and had learned how to overcome it in these situations. You were glad for it.

He lay you on the edge of the bed and pressed your knees back, thrusting a little faster, and you reached down and touched yourself, rubbing quickly as he sped up. He pulled the cups of your bra down so that he could grasp your breasts, squeezing gently, and grunted. You held his hand there with your own, pulling up your head and sucking on his pointer finger, looking up at him through your lashes. His breathing was erratic and he watched you hungrily, his sharp teeth biting into his lower lip and pricking the skin.

“I’m so close,” You moaned. “I’m going to cum.”

He nodded as if in agreement, squeezing his eyes shut. He grimaced as if in pain, but then shouted, roaring, and released inside of you. It was a torrent, spraying out of you. Another few hip thrusts and circles around your clit, you came too, your head thrown back against the bed, crying out.

He pulled out and turned his head, resting it against your stomach as his arms gripped your sides, breathing hard. After a moment, you both sat up, and you realized that his legs were covered with his own release.

“Wanna get cleaned up?” You asked him.

“Yeah,” He said dreamily, standing up and leading you into the bathroom. You took a shower together, helping him clean himself. He did the same for you, kneeling down and washing your body. The way he knelt in front of you combine with the way he looked at you, it almost felt like he was worshiping you. Honestly, you didn’t mind that at all.

Your underwear would have to be washed, but he said you could borrow one of his shirts, if you wanted to. Honestly, you were happy to lounge in his bed naked. He seemed happy with that, too.

“When would you like to go?” You asked him, laying on his chest and playing with his chest hair. “To Morocco, I mean?”

“Soon,” He said, entwining his fingers in your hair. “I’ll put in for vacation time as soon as I get back to the office. I don’t really take vacations, so I’m sure my colleagues will be surprised.”

You smiled and kissed his skin. “I’ll have to put in for time off, too,” You said. “Although, I only just started working there six months ago, so they may not approve it.”

“Let me know when they do and I’ll schedule for the same time,” He said.

“Sounds good to me,” He said, sitting up and crossing his legs, looking down at you. You posed a little for him and he grinned, running his hands up and down the soft skin of your torso and belly. “You know what I’d like to do right now, though?”

“What’s that?” You asked.

“I want to take you on a date,” He said, smiling softly. “A real one. I'll pay and everything. And I want to be able to kiss you.”

You smiled back at him. “Deal.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[anlian-aishang]

This is a levi ackerman x reader fanfiction in which the reader attempts suicide but levi finds them before it is too late. This was a request.

You are loved, valued, purposed. Your life is worth living. You deserve happiness.

Professionals are available 24/7 for free and confidential help: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

I researched guidelines and reached deep down for this fanfiction. This is just to say, I tried my very best to make something that helps. However, if at any point you feel hurt by the content, PLEASE stop reading and take care of yourself. 

For more background information about the posting of this fic, please refer here.

The author has struggled with suicide throughout their entire life, and thus, must protect themself and their well being. Any hate/flame thrown towards them or this fic will be blocked and reported as necessary. Any dialogue about it should be had off-anon and respectfully to protect everyone’s mental heatlh.

Word count: 2600 words Trigger warning: tw: suicide, tw suicide, suicide attempt, mental illness, blood mention, dark content.

Fic below. Please do not feel obligated to read this. Please proceed with caution.

It was not only that you had seen a lot, it was that you had been through a lot. No, not even. It was not just a lot. It was entirely too much. All of it.

A childhood that was by no means easy. An adolescence that was hell and back. When you left home, it was freeing. However, you felt that just when you started to open up with your fellow cadets, it was the same time you had to part your three separate ways: Military Police, Garrison, or Scouts.

The transition was strange for everyone, but you felt yourself especially. Erwin’s words spoke to you. Though his voice boomed, you felt the speech was for you specifically. Word for word, you could recant him perfectly in your head.

In four years, most will be dead.

Knowing these discouraging facts, any still willing to risk their lives, remain here.

Ask yourself… are you willing to offer your beating heart for humanity?

Against all odds, in those four years, you were not among those dead. The one most prepared to offer up their life, the time had never presented itself to you. You would never admit it, let alone boast it, but due to strength, luck, fate - you scoffed, whatever the hell - you had emerged as one of those time-tested elite soldiers, along with Hange, Miche, Levi. However, your chances of survival, you felt they had only diminished over time.

Every expedition, every injury, every death weighed on you more and more. Given your troubled past, you thought yourself the ideal Scout: you had seen it all, you had been hardened from the inside out, you could handle anything. However, this train of thought had been twisted and turned so much, you found your stomach in a constant knot. One that never went away no matter how tangled up in thought you got.

Even tonight, as you drew the bath - scalding hot water burning your skin, heavy steam clogging your lungs - that horrible bundle of nerves did not loosen, not even an inch. In fact, you felt tight all over.

No matter how many times you had ventured outside the walls, how close you had come face-to-face with titans, how intimately you danced with death, you deemed: this was the only way to untie yourself from it all. How backwards, you almost chuckled, but when crossed with a sob, it emerged as a whimper. You dropped your towel to the floor, sunk yourself into the boiling tub, and saw your reflection in the metal mirror - the one dwindling in your fingers.

// // //

It had been another long string of days, another seven that felt too long, but at last it was time for your meeting. It was a weekly routine, one of the only routines in the entire Scout Regiment, and it belonged to you two. Two of humanity’s most vetted soldiers, their minds working together, everyone expected you would solve the world’s problems.

Little did they know how these meetings actually went down.

Sometimes you would forget. Externally, he would roll his eyes and sigh. Internally, he would smirk. While he came in uniform, you had already turned in for the night: hair tied up and pajamas dressed down. Over time, you had convinced him to switch to casual clothes, which for him was still a long sleeve with slacks and dress shoes. Someday, you dreamed, you would get him to show you his pajamas. Tonight, he planned to reveal: as an insomniac who slept suddenly, he did not own any.

Even though you met in the evenings, it was his little move to always brew black tea for both of you beforehand. Caffeinated, it would keep you awake longer and make the meetings likewise. More time to unwind, he - like everyone else in the Scouts - was always in need of some care.

One in the same.

// // //

At your quarters, your door from the halls was left ajar. Instead of finding you sprawled out on the bed, at your desk, or drifting off on the couch, he heard your faucet running. Strange, he thought, you were normally a morning shower person.

It was more than that, though. The water splashes seemed loud, brimming, and overflowing. Outside of your bathroom door, on the other side of the baseboards, he saw your carpet soaking wet further and further out, closer and closer towards him. Levi knit his brows and transferred the two teacups to one hand.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three harsh sounds snapped you out of it. They snapped him in a different way - evidenced by his shrinking pupils, his instant pale, and the shattering china on your bathroom tile.

As you watched the door open, your voice caught in your throat. Most people in the bath would vehemently call, “Hold on a second!” However, you were completely incapacitated. You could not pinpoint what it was that held you back now, but whatever it was kept you in silence as black bangs, shirt, and shoes peeped out from behind your door.

Eyes widened for just a second before they returned to their fluttering shut. Mouth whispered his name: teeth grazing with the “v” sound before releasing your lip from its bite, letting your mouth hang open at the same moment your eyes closed. Feet pressed against one end, head lie against the other. You were out of it but he was not.

Immediately, he started to see red, externally and within, on yourself and in him, truly in every sense of the word: your blood tainting the water, a slew of adrenaline clouding his vision. Fucking Christ...!

He did not want to be the last person you saw. He did not want his name to be the last word you spoke. Not tonight. Not tonight.

// // //

On one hand, he had some knowledge. Living in the underground of brothels and gangs, then being dragged up above to different but not lesser problems, he knew that anyone and everyone could have suicidal thoughts. Life was hard no matter where they were from, no matter their circumstances. However, he also knew that life was not meant to be given up on. Meaningless death, few things got to him more than that. Levi never blamed those who were taken: depression, anxiety, all mental illnesses should be treated like any other. It was never the victim’s fault for having a life-threatening condition, just like it was not his mother’s fault for passing from her disease, just as it was never a soldier’s fault for dying at the hands of the titans.

It was no lie. Everyone in the Scouts had some suicidal thoughts. It was part of their being. In fact, before they were even enlisted, the fact was explicitly told to them and their acknowledgment required. Erwin’s recruitment speech at graduation was unforgettable for everyone, especially those who joined him after it. For to become a Scout, it was a forced acceptance: their life may be sacrificed as fodder. If one was fine with that, they fit right into the regiment. Levi, a superior, had been surrounded by the mentality for years: those stupid enough to join us...

When it came down to it, though. He would never admit that he had an adequate understanding. He loathed death, especially senseless death, but he felt that way about everyone.

The idea of someone so wonderful, someone who could light up a room, someone so salt of the earth yet with a heart of gold. The idea that such a loveable person could ever feel so unloved. The idea of someone like you... The concepts may always be lost on him. What he did know, though, was that mental illness was a bitch. It was tough, resilient, persistent, and usually demanded its host to be the same in the fight. And if the patient ever needed backup, their captain would be there to provide.

As he was now.

In a single stride, Levi crossed your bathroom from the door to the edge of the tub. With both care and haste, he lifted your limp arm from the water and took a closer look. Among injuries he had seen, this was not objectively the worst. However, the entire scene itself was perhaps the most harrowing thing he had ever witnessed in his life – and that was saying a lot for someone like him. All of these comparisons, though, were at the far back of his mind. What mattered to him was the here and now: you were here and needed help now.

Calloused hand clamped around your arm and its cut. The other reached at the metal bar beside you - clutching and flinging the towel that draped over it. He wrapped the cotton tightly around you. The slow blotting from white to pink to red both panicked and reassured him. Bleed-outs he had witnessed before, the whole cloth would have been soaked red by now. However, he knew you were not quite in the clear.

Levi pressed his trembling palm to your cheek, noting the temperature. You were warm, and at first, he found it a relief, but he then refocused his attention and saw the thick veil of steam between you. Certainly, the sauna state was not making anyone any cooler. He himself felt a million degrees. However, he kept the door closed and the fan off, hypothermia a symptom he knew through witnessing it in others and experiencing it himself.

Too much haste for reluctance, he released his white knuckle grip on your forearm and unwrapped the towel to examine your wound. Though the bleeding had not stopped, it had slowed, leaving your physical state better than most he had seen. Once again, a good sign that failed to provide him any relief.

Levi stretched out his limbs, keeping a hand on you while one fumbled for your closet: grabbing a new towel and miraculously landing upon gauze and bandages. A position he had assumed many times, he draped your healthy arm around his shoulders, bringing you to a standing position. He held you there just long enough to wrap you in a towel, one that still smelled like detergent, before manipulating your figure entirely in his arms. In a bridal style carry, he brought you out of that bathroom and towards your bed.

As soon as he stepped out of the steam room, your temperature plummeted so drastically - he himself felt a chill. Once at the side of your bed, you shivered into his chest, making your hearts press together. Levi clenched his teeth. It took everything he had to set you down, but he would never let you go.

// // //

Bundled in your towel, arm still wrapped in a washcloth, Levi laid you on your mattress. Without his presence, you felt even colder, but he could not blanket you just yet. Levi hurried to your dresser but dawdled upon arrival. This was the first time his adrenaline messed up, but maybe it had not. He spent time digging through your drawers, searching for the pajamas that you wore most often - the ones he always saw you smiling in. He now knew you were going to live another night. With that, he was going to turn this one around.

Your favorite pajamas in hand, he returned to the side of the bed to find you shaking invariably and he felt he could not dress you fast enough. Sturdy hand met the back of your head, lifting up from the pillow - just enough to fit your warm and fuzzy nightgown over you. After guiding your hand through the sleeve, he met your wound with the gauze and stuck it there with surgical tape. Humanity’s strongest had glued you so soundly, you may never undress this wound. As far as he cared, he would like to see the bandage stay forever.

Finally, after what felt like both five seconds and an eternity, you were safe. Used towels sprawled all over, broken shards of porcelain on the tile, water soaking the floor, the state of things was far from perfect. However, with each shiver that subsided, each rise and fall of your body, each breath you took, Levi mewled with gratitude.

There’s a lot to be thankful for.

// // //

When you woke up, you found his figure at the foot of your bed. He sat on the far corner: toes on the ground, hands in his lap, looking down at his folded fingers. At this point in time, you thought nothing of it. Little did you know, though, he had put much thought into how to have himself when you woke up. Right beside you was where he wanted to be, but he did not want to instill fear. Waiting in your office, though it was adjacent, he did not want you out of his sight. It was not for any selfish reason, in fact, totally selfless. If you needed anything, he wanted to be there.

Your vision was blurry. Tears? Bathwater? No clue. “Levi?”

Levi sniffed as quietly as he could, placing his hand behind him and turning over his shoulder, “You awake?”

You balled up your fists to rub your eyes, but were caught off guard by the harsh sting made from the movement. Through barred teeth, you drew a sharp inhale - an instinctive attempt to quell the pain.

His eyes were sturdy yet soft, “be careful. It -” Levi corrected himself, “you need a little rest.”

The pain you felt in your arm, it was all too real: telling you this was far from a dream and not just the afterlife. Your mind hurt in trying to piece things together, but Levi slowly and gently took your hands in his. Somehow, your racing thoughts slowed in his grip. It was a simple grounding technique he used with wounded soldiers on the battlefield. Some may say that you were warm and in bed and that therefore this was different, but he knew better.

Levi lifted his head and looked to you through his bangs. A flicker in his eyes, the empath in you could never ignore it. His way of speaking was factual yet passionate. “I’ll always be here for you.”

All this time, whether you were conscious of it or not, his attention towards you never once wavered. Now, in fact, it was solidifying. Likewise, he spoke with utter conviction. There was no question about his feelings – his feelings for you.

But he knew - and you knew deep down - that if not him, then countless others. “And if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.” You had your friends and family, peers and professionals, among everyone else that would help you with all they could, as much as you needed, to the ends of the earth.

Levi tightened his hold on your hands, his thumb rubbed your knuckles as his fingers intertwined with yours. He looked into your eyes and the emotion you saw in each other was undeniable. His of concern like you had never seen before, but you knew its value. Yours of sadness like he had never seen before, but he knew to help. Steel grey gaze cooled you like metal.

“Please…” His lips closed abruptly, swallowing down his weakness, “…don’t ever forget: you always have me.”

Levi lifted his hand that held yours to his face and brushed your hand against his cheek. You picked up a hint of dampness just before he reminded: “You are loved.”

Through all his actions - throughout all this time - had always showed it, it was the first time he spoke the words to you. Tonight, both you and him had gone through actions that felt automatic. Together, though, you gave confessions that you were in complete and conscious control of.

Forehead, nose, lips pressed against his, directly, “You are loved, too, Levi.”

[spookydrreid]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE CHILDHOOD

Pairing: Unsub!Reid x Fem!Reader

a/n: this chapter is pretty heavy so, please, read at your own risk. I will recap in a non-triggering way next chapter if you cannot read this. There are never hard feelings for you protecting yourself. I love you so much.

Word Count: 2.1k

Content Warning: childhood trauma, child abuse, neglectful and abusive parents, sexual assault on a child, murder/suicide mention. (let me know if I missed anything)

[Series Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

--------------------

Have you ever wondered how your life ended up the way it did? How one decision could’ve changed the entire outcome? I have. And it isn’t the first time I’ve had this thought. The first time was after my parents died.

I remember the morning I found them.

It was warm, the June humidity suffocating as I got into my car. I’d went to a senior get together at my high school, my body reeling with excitement for graduation just a week away. I was finally going to have a chance to get out of my little hometown. A chance to see the ‘more’ that was out there. I slept at my best friend’s house that night. Her house was closer and by the time we got there I was exhausted.

I used my key to unlock the front door. I knew something was wrong the second I stepped inside. The silence hit me like a ton of bricks. The air was stale, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. It was nearly noon on a Saturday. Saturdays were my mothers cleaning days, my father doing this outside while my mom cleaned inside.

But not this day.

“Mom? Dad?” I took notice of the key ring that sat beside the door. Both set of keys hung in their usual place. “Hello?” I called out.

I stepped further into my home, checking to see if possibly they were in the back yard. But when I got in the kitchen, I saw nothing. My heart raced. I knew that they had nothing going on. And if they did, I knew I’d have a text about it.

I made my way to the stars, my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest, “Momma! Dad?” I called once more as I climbed.

When I finally reached their door, keys between my fingers just in case, I paused. I was listening for something, anything. The door was slightly ajar but I couldn’t see anything from where I stood. I practically held my breath as I pushed it open, the hinges creaking eerily. I saw my mother first, face down; the pool of blood that surrounded her was practically dry, the color a deep red. My father was next to her, staring up at the ceiling. He had this weird, satisfied smirk that I knew I would never unsee. The gun still in his limp hand.

It didn’t feel real at first. Not when I slowly backed away, closing the door and running to the bathroom to empty my stomach. Not when I pulled out my phone to call 9-1-1. Not when I was interrogated by police. Not at the funeral. And not when I found out it was a murder, suicide. It didn’t hit me until two years later when I graduated college. All’s I wanted was my mother.

Most say I was lucky. That if I was there that night that I would be dead too. I never saw it that way. Maybe I could’ve stopped him. Maybe he would’ve just killed himself. And if he would’ve killed all of us, at least I didn’t have to suffer without them. Without my mother.

So, yeah. It wasn’t the first time I had a thought like that. And right now, as I shave Spencer’s head, hair dye sitting on my own, its happening. I know changing our hair doesn’t put us in the clear, but it’s worth a shot.

“And done!” I exclaim as I turn off the buzzers and pull the towel from his shoulders. He looks good. Like really good and I mentally pat myself on the back.

He stands, turning his head from side to side as he checks out my work. “Damn, babe. Who knew you could cut hair so good,” he jokes. I roll my eyes, pushing his shoulder as he chuckles.

“Honestly, I surprised myself,” I say as I turn on the shower. He continues to stare at himself in the mirror, running his hands over the spots I’d shaved down. The tops longer and I watch his hands as he runs them through the top. He’s beautiful. And it’s then that I become accepting of everything that’s led me to this point. Because without it, I wouldn’t have met Spencer. I would be stuck in a shitty job, making small talk with my shitty friends.

“What?” Spencer asks when he catches my saccharine smile and love filled eyes.

“Nothing. I’m just admiring you,” I shrug. He chuckles as he pulls off his shirt, his lean, pale body making my mouth water.

“Well, how about we admire each other under the shower head,” he kisses me before making a face of disgust, “because the fumes from your hair are killing me.”

…

“Can I ask you something?” I feel the bed shift beside me, Spencer turning his body to face me. The small lamp illuminates his face in a way that leaves me breathless. The contours of his face call to me, but I hold back my urge to touch him… for now.

“Sure,” he smiles at me and I return it. His hand finds mine, his fingers fitting between mine like pieces to a puzzle. Every part of us fits in the other like that. It makes me happy to know we were made for one another.

“What was your childhood like?” It’s a loaded question. I watch as he stiffens slightly, eyes dropping from my own. I rub my thumb across the back of his hand and admire how he relaxed at the touch. I can see in his eyes he’s afraid to answer me. It’s almost like he think’s I’ll run. But I wont. There is nothing he could say to make me run. “Spencer, you can trust me.”

His tongue pokes out to sweep across is bottom lip as his eyes refuse to meet mine. “Hard,” he pauses, no doubt choosing how much he wants to reveal to me. “My mother says I was exceptional from the moment I was born. She said I was rolling over by two months old and walking by six. It’s kind of hard to believe and if there weren’t photos, I’d call her a liar.” He stops again.

“My mother suffers from schizophrenia and it was really hard on me. When she would have an episode she would take it out on me. You know, hit me or call me just these vial things. And when it was over, and she saw the bruises, I would make up an excuse on what happened.” My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for him to continue. I know he doesn’t want me to say anything and so, I don’t.

“Here I was 2,3,4 years old watching my mother claim we were being followed or accuse her own son of being a government spy. There were a lot of times that I was terrified of my mother. But when she was good, she was so good. We’d bake and she’d read to me these amazing poems and books.” He squeezes my hand and smiles at the last part of his statement. But I was trying to hold back tears as I imagined little Spencer being afraid of the woman who was supposed to love and care for him.

“And my father…” he sits up as he shakes his head. He looks as if he’d trying to erase the image of his father. He pats his lap and I’m quick to climb into it, resting my head on his shoulder. His arms wrap around me, holding me tight. “My father couldn’t handle it. When my mother had a really bad day, he’d leave and go who knows where. And then I was left to fend for myself. And when he would come home, he’d act like nothing happened. It was like he didn’t just leave his only child to care for his sick mother.” His hands grip my shirt and I can feel his anger building. I leave little kisses on the skin that I can reach.

“I hated going to sleep at night. Because once the sun went down, he’d creep into my room.” I’m as stiff as a fucking board as he talks. My hands grip his wrist, silently letting him know he didn’t have to go there with me, but he just keeps talking. “He’d make it seem like he was just checking on me. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all. He’d tell me ‘it’s okay, Spence. Just relax.’ And I was just paralyzed. I knew it was wrong and I always said no. But he didn’t stop.”

He’s sobbing now and so am I. His chest shaking as he grips me tighter. I manage to get him to loosen his rip enough so I can sit up, my hands moving to cup his face so I can wipe his tears. His hands rested on my hips, his fingers twisting the fabric of my shirt between them.

“Spencer…” was all I could manage to say as I stared into his glassy eyes. I could see the lost child within them. I could see the reflection of a child who deserved better.

“It didn’t stop until he left when I was ten. I didn’t see him for years after that. Not until a case brought me to accuse him of killing a child who lived in our neighborhood. He didn’t but it still just brought up feelings I’d tried to hide for so long.” Spencer couldn’t look at me as he spoke. His voice was quiet as he went through his life in his head. My heart was sitting in my stomach, broken like glass for the lost child that was Spencer Reid.

“Sometimes I wish I could forget what they did to me as a child. But I cant. I never will.” I wiped the fresh tears from under his eyes, “I blame myself. Maybe if I would’ve been more normal none of this would’ve happened.”

I sat there stunned for a moment before pulling his chin to force his eye on me, “Spencer, you being smart has nothing to do with what happened to you as a child. None of this is your fault. None. Do you hear me?” I shook my head at him.

“Spencer you didn’t deserve anything that happened to you. You deserved parents who took care of you. Parents who didn’t break your innocence. Parents who hugged you tenderly instead of causing bruises, kissed your wounds instead of creating them. You deserved to feel in safe in your own bed. God, Spencer, you deserved the fucking world and I’m sorry that wasn’t something you got. I’m sorry the world broke you from the moment you were born.”

I pulled him into my chest then, hands in his hair while I let him sob into me. His body shook as if he was terrified. And I guess he was. But I needed him to know he wasn’t broken, that he isn’t what happened to him. I just didn’t know how to express it. So, instead, I just held him. Squeezing him into me and letting him get off. Years and years of keeping this locked away, internalizing his pain. The memories weighing on him. A broken child who needed protecting and never got it.

I rocked him back and forth slightly, whispering how much I loved him as my hands ran through his curly locks. I’m not sure how long we stayed like that. But it didn’t matter. I’d hold him forever if that was what he needed from me. And it wasn’t until his body got heavy in my arms that I realized he was asleep. Little huffs coming from his chest as his body calmed down.

I was careful as I moved him, laying both of us down. I rested his head on my chest so he could continue to hear the steady beating of my heart. So he knew I was still here. That I would always be here. I kissed his head one last time before whispering a soft ‘I love you’ and turning out the lights. Tonight, Spencer had no reason to be afraid of what lurked in the dark. Tonight, and every night from now on, I was the protector. The shield he needed all these years. The one he’d craved his entire life. And nothing was going to tear me from the man I loved. Nothing.

--------------------

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[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 7

masterlist 

Kim Namjoon. That was the name of the devil. This was the information that they had wanted her to find. How ironic that she had it only after it was too late to do anything with it. She wanted nothing more than to call the police force and scream the information to the high heavens, to tell them where she was, who he was. More than that she wanted to go home. She wished she had never come her at all.

“At least it’s better than RM.” She huffed bitterly under her breath wrapping her arms around herself in her some semblance of comfort although it really wasn’t all that comforting.

“You should get used to it, jagi.” He hummed looking quite pleased with himself. “You are the lady of the house now.”

Her head shot up at that gazing at him with eyes wide and fearful. “The what?” she whispered hoping she had misheard him.

“The lady of the house.” He repeated smiling at her as though there was nothing wrong with the current situation. She could name a hundred things that were wrong with the situation she had found herself in. Her chief concern was RM, Kim Namjoon. “That is what the staff have been referring to you as.” He explained picking up his cup to sip at his tea.

Her brow furrowed in thought thinking back to her interactions with Miss In. “Bu-in.” she murmured contemplatively. “Is that what that means?” she nearly shrieked jumping up from her seat in a panic.

“Sit down, jagi.” He barked giving her a stern look. “You’re still recovering. All this upset isn’t good for you. Drink your tea.”

She glared at him wanting nothing more than to launch the tea cup at his head, but thought better of it choosing instead to sit down and glare at him from her seat. How could he go from barking at her to cooing over her health in less than a minute? She had called him insane before, but maybe he actually was.

“The tea, jagiya.” He reminded elegantly motioning towards the cup she had left sitting on the coffee table untouched since it had first been handed to her. “It’ll make you feel better.” He encouraged as though he had any right to care about her wellbeing when he was the one who had put her in this mess.

“Don’t act like you care.” She scoffed harshly.

“I care very much what happens to you.” He refuted taking another sip of his tea, infuriatingly calm.

Her eyes narrowed as she hissed at him. “Bullshit. You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

A frown marred his features pulling down the corners of his mouth as his eyes lost their warmth and sharpened back into the cold calculating expression she was used to. “I don’t appreciate your tone, jagi.” He tutted shaking his head slowly as though he was disappointed in her. “You’ve already tested my patience once today. Let’s not do it again.”

The warning was clear. Behave or suffer the consequences. So she picked up the cup and took a sip allowing the ginger tea to warm her from the inside out and settle her rolling stomach.

“I forgave your lapse of judgement earlier, but I won’t allow such disrespect in my house, Y/N.” his entire body radiated dominance as he spoke, watching her with those cold dark eyes. “There are rules here, even for the lady of the house.”

“I’m not the lady of this or any house.” She hissed through gritted teeth allowing the anger to seep into her tone. “I’m not your god damn wife.”

He smiled. She hated that smile. Nothing good ever followed it. It was cold and cruel, predatory in nature. “You and I both know that in this world the legal trivialities don’t matter. If I’ve claimed you as my woman, then by the laws of our world, you are as good as my wife. No one can touch you here.”

“Except for you.”

“Except for me.” He agreed pleased by her understanding of her place in this new twisted world he had thrown her into. “Let’s go over the rules shall we, jagi?” His tone was suddenly cheery giving her whiplash. “Unfortunately your little stunt will have consequences.” He tutted though they both knew he didn’t have any real remorse for anything he was about to do. “I can’t have you throwing yourself out windows or causing harm to yourself or the staff. Until you’ve adjusted you’ll be confined to these rooms.” He announced watching with a gleam in his eye as she stiffened. “They were prepared with you in mind, jagi.”

She couldn’t stop herself from scoffing. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you prepared the rooms for.”

“Language!” he barked shooting her a harsh glare. “I will not have my wife swearing.”

“I’m not your wife!” she shrieked gripping the tea cup tightly in her hands debating whether or not it would be worth it to chuck the porcelain at his head.  The look on his face told her it wouldn’t be. As satisfying as it would be, she couldn’t afford to incur his wrath any more than she had in the past few hours.

“Y/N.” She didn’t like that tone. She didn’t like how patronizing it was. “Watch your tone.” He warned. “You are the lady of this house now, but I am still its master. If you behave I can give you a very good life, Y/N. And if you don’t I can make your life very miserable.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. “Now be a good girl and listen to what I tell you.” God how she wanted to slap the smirk right off his face.

She clenched her jaw but made no move to do or say anything else. “Until you can be trusted not to be a danger to yourself or others you will remain here. The staff is, of course, at your disposal, but they will not help any of you with any ill-conceived escape attempts. They are nothing if not loyal to this house.” She nodded slowly, and he seemed content that she understood and was listening. “Once I’m satisfied that you’ve… adjusted, you’ll be allowed free reign of the house and the gardens. You will not be allowed outside the estate without my supervision, though I suspect you won’t be ready for that privilege for a long time.”

The look he sent her was pitying, and it did nothing but make her skin crawl. They both knew that he held no pity for her. He was more than pleased to have her settled within the confines of the estate. Marcus had been a controlling and vile man, but he had never actually locked her away from the world. This was a new form of torture even for her.

“You are a rare bird, and I enjoy your fire, but I will not condone the same behavior I saw today. You will not swear. You will behave in a way that befits the lady of this house. And you will never lie to me. Do you understand me, jagiya?” He asked leveling her with a hard stare. “I’ve already told you that any more of your ill-conceived attempts at freedom will result in punishment. Oh!” He paused as though a thought had just come into his head. “The windows. I’ll be having them sealed until sure you won’t try to throw yourself out of them again. I’d prefer not to put bars on them, but I will if I have to.” He warned, and she knew he meant it. No more window themed escapes for her.

“Don’t fret, jagi.” He cooed getting up and strolling around the coffee table to kneel in front of taking her hands in both of his. His hands dwarfed hers. “You’ll be well taken care of here. I even have a gift for you.”

“What more could you possibly do to me?” She spat trying to pull her hands away from his, but his grip tightened preventing her from doing so.

“I haven’t done anything yet, jagi.” There was that smile again. It would have been such a warm expression if only it could reach his eyes, but those remained cold and hard. “I have no intentions of hurting you.”  

“I doubt that very much.” She huffed trying once more to pull her hands from his though the effort was futile.

He took one of his hands away to reach for something on the coffee table, a little black box that had previously escaped her notice, and her eyes widened at the sight of it. The box was opened to reveal a ring nestled against the velvet. It was large and glinted wickedly in the light. The center stone rested proudly in a nest of smaller diamonds that ringed it in sharp contrast all tied together in a silver band. The black diamond shimmering in the middle reminded her rather sickeningly of his eyes. They were both dark and cold.

“What is this for?” She asked eyes the piece of jewelry suspiciously. “Please… please don’t tell me this is meant to be a wedding ring.”

He smiled at her again, this time the expression reached his eyes, and she wasn’t sure which expression was worse. The cold hollow smiles seemed to suit him. They were unnerving and dangerous, but they suited him. This smile held a genuine fondness to it that was far more disconcerting. It suggested that somewhere in that twisted head he actually cared for her, and that was far more terrifying than any anger he could show her.

“Of all the jewelry I plan to give you, jagi, this is the most important.” He explained carefully, removing the ring from its box and taking her limp left hand in his. “This ring is never to leave your finger.” He slipped the offending jewelry onto her finger keeping her hand tucked between both of his. “And I do mean never, Y/N. You won’t like the consequences of if it does.”

“What are the consequences?” She whispered her eyes transfixed on the stone that now weighed down her finger.

He hummed contemplatively reaching up a hand to tilt her chin up so that she was looking at him. That retched smile was still there accompanied by those damned dimples. “I won’t hurt you, Y/N. I’m not a man who takes pleasure in beating his woman like some savage, but I have other ways of punishing you, rest assured. I went to a lot of trouble to bring you here. I won’t have you harmed while you’re under my care.”

She huffed out a laugh bordering on the hysteric as she moved her head away from his hand. “I’m sure the great RM had so much trouble kidnapping one foreign girl.”

“You will call me Namjoon, never RM, not to you.” The correction was emphatic as though it offended him to hear her call him by that name any longer. “You are after all for all intents and purposes, Mrs. Kim.”

“No.” The word came out as a whisper. She shot up from her seat breaking away from him to pace in front of the fireplace ignoring the nausea and light headedness the sudden motion caused.  “No!” She was more frantic now. “You can’t… you can’t…” She had stopped pacing a rush of dizziness going through her causing her to lean on the fireplace for support as she swayed on her feet.

“Y/N.” Concern colored his features as he slowly rose to his feet. “Y/N, come sit down.” He held out a hand to her trying to convince her to come back to the sofa.

“You can’t just… just…”

He watched horrified as the color drained from her face, her eyes wide, blinking in an attempt to banish the black dots that spotted her vision. And in the next moment she dropped crumpling like a rag doll as she did.

part 8

[girlmeetsliv3]

Lilies of the Valley XII

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

“The scent of lily of the valley is considered by some to be the most attractive out of any wild flower.”

Release Date: 06/26/20 @  7 pm

previously

Trigger Warning: Some of the contents may not be suitable for all audiences. These include dubious consent, gas lighting, victim blaming/shaming, toxic relationship, and various forms of abuse as well as rationalization of said abuse.  This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

           YN hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep, likely exhausted by the day’s events. What she did know is that the pain in her neck was killing her and that her bite mark felt like it was throbbing. When she shifts slightly her hand hits the door and all the memories came rushing back to her, in a weakened state she reached up, trying the doorknob again. Still locked. Her eyes stung and her vision was incredibly blurry from still being mostly asleep. Though from glancing at the clock, it seemed to be around three in the morning. YN yawned, crawling towards her bed in desperate need of actual rest. The second her head hit the pillow, she fell back asleep that’s when the nightmares began.

           YN had a cotton blue blanket thrown over her shoulders, it had been given to her by the officer in charge the second she stepped foot inside the police station. Her right foot moved rapidly up and down, YN could hear her mother's voice echoing in her head. Telling her to stop shaking her foot, but she couldn't help it. YN didn't entirely understand what had happened, she knew the events leading up but most things were a blur. The only certain thing was the large bite on the right side of her body; where her shoulder met her neck. The person in front of her - the officer - looked like the stereotype: big, buff, likely an alpha though YN's nose was plugged. The stare he gave her was intimidating and YN felt like she was being interrogated for a crime rather than reporting one.

"We're going to have to go over what happened. Can you tell me where you went after the gym?" His voice was stained with a roughness that did not match his age. The officer's voice was almost as hard as his eyes. YN's eyes trailed to the pin on the left side right above his plaque. Officer Yang hadn't even bothered to introduce himself. "I was uncomfortable." Everyone knew. “I felt uncomfortable, so I went to change in the bathroom. Alone.” Yang wrote something down in the file, before glancing back up at her. His eyes disarmed her like he was trying to see through her. “That’s when your heat started and you met,” he looked down at the file again, “Jungkook?” YN nodded.

           “I just saw him and ran to him.” I felt a pull. There were somethings she couldn’t say, things that seemed crazy to her to even think. YN blamed it all on the heat, she wasn’t normally like this. “What did Jungkook say when he saw you in that state?” There was something in Yang’s eyes that alarmed YN, but she thought back to what exactly the young alpha had said. “YN. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?” YN parted her lips to speak when Yang pointed the pen in his hand accusingly.

           “Did you know him before this?”

           “No, but…” I trusted him. YN clears her throat, "I knew of him." YN doesn't visibly shrink at the way she's being stared at. She knows it won't do her any favors, but it does make her look anywhere else rather than at the officer in front of her.  

           “I see.” Then, he looks back down at his file. “Please continue, Ms. YLN. What happened afterward?” The officer’s hand waved in a circular motion.

           “He offered to take me home, but I didn’t want to so we went to his place.”

Officer Yang slams shut the file folder but place his pen down carefully. The two actions entirely contradictory and it causes fear to spike in YN's body.

           “Are you aware that Jungkook has other mates?”

           YN nods, “Yes, but it wasn’t like that.” It wasn’t a betrayal. Jungkook didn’t appear to have a mating bond, even if he did. YN distinctly remembers him encouraging & reciprocating, something that doesn’t make much sense as he should be physically incapable.

           “But you were aware that Jungkook had just recently presented as an alpha? That his rut was right around the corner?”

           YN began to put the pieces together. The narrative the officer was trying to form and she wasn’t allowing it. Couldn’t allow it. “I didn’t. Not until later.” When we kissed. YN fisted the material of her jeans, she could feel her heart beginning to race and she urged it to relax.

           “What about the bite, how did that happen?”

As if sentient, the bite throbbed. There were still dried specks of blood surrounding it even though the team had tried to carefully disinfect it. They even gave her a pack filled with antibiotics and first aid essentials. "I felt extreme pain and then I woke up. I don't even really remember falling asleep." Though YN is aware that she went missing for three days, they're mostly a blur. YN can only remember key moments: those when her heat was the worst.  

           “So what you’re saying then is that you didn’t see who did it. Weren’t his mates in the house? Couldn’t it have been any of them?” Yang’s tone was bordering on frustration, aggression even, as if it were him and not her who had just been in a traumatic situation. YN doesn’t have her phone on her, it’s in her mother’s purse outside. She wishes she could show the texts, the calls, the voicemails: all of them from Jungkook. Him pleading at her to forgive him, to come back, to let him explain. It sounded more like desperate wails than a remorseful cry. “No, but -”

           “Not to mention it was consensual.”

           “I-i don’t understand.”

           Officer Yang looks around the room as if making sure no one was listening, then he leans in. The way one might when telling a secret, when sharing important information. YN shifts and feels the blanket sliding off her shoulder, her hands fly to it to adjust it. Her grip was strong and frightened. “Look this doesn't look too well. Yeah, you could take it to court but they aren't very favorable to people of your condition.” My condition? “Not to mention the fact that it would go on your record. Plus, alpha bites don't heal everyone knows that especially not on an omega.” YN felt the fight leave her body even her posture was as rigid as could be. “It’s not worth it, kid. Not worth tarnishing your reputation.”

           Not even a second passed before the door was open, an angry woman storming in. “What the fuck are you doing? You aren’t part of the special victims unit.” The woman looked furious, she was much taller than officer Yang and didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the harsh glare directed at her. “I was following protocol. Christian asked me to step in.” Just like that, Yang stood up and left. Not bothering to spare YN a glance on his way out. Too riled up, the female officer had yet to notice YN’s appearance. The paleness of her skin, the stillness of her form, the lack of will to live in her eyes.

           "Hello, I'm Officer Kim. I'm with the special victim's division." Officer Kim waited to see if YN responded, instead of speaking YN only nodded curtly. Kim glared at the door, cursing Yang out in her head, "I'm sorry about him. He can be an ass sometimes." YN however remains unresponsive as tears begin to stream down her face. "Hey, are you alright?" YN nods again though almost unperceptively this time.

“I’m very sorry for what’s occurred to you, YN. But I want you to know it isn’t your fault and that we are here to help.” Officer Kim sent a comforting smile, trying to ease YN’s nerves. YN remained silent, her grip on the blue blanket thrown around her shoulders was so strong her fingers were white. The officer sighed, tilting her head slightly to send a look to the people behind the screen. When she looked back at YN, all she saw was the teenager’s glassy widened eyes. It had been an accident, a terrible one, but teenagers tended to be reckless. If the gruesome bite on YN’s neck was anything to show for it.  

“Do you want to press charges?”

YN shook her head, caving in on herself even more. Jungkook's sorry wails still echoed in her head. It didn't matter, what's done is done. YN looked up to meet the officer Kim's warm golden eyes. Her lips parted and she could see the anticipation building up in the cop's face only for there to be a disappointment once YN spoke.

“I just want to go home.”

 YN felt warmth radiating from her sides, as well as the rhythmic thudding of a heart near her ear. YN couldn’t exactly tell who was next to her, their scent muted, though it was probably done purposefully. When YN’s eyes finally peeled open they met Seokjin’s dark ones. His arms were wrapped around her torso, whilst Taehyung’s legs were coiled around hers. It feels like a contest between her and the alpha seeing who will break first, YN almost expects it to be her until he finally speaks.

“How did you sleep last night?”

YN wasn't expecting that. Wasn't expecting them to pretend as if nothing happened. Or did they see nothing wrong with locking her inside the room? YN struggled to believe that, they wouldn't have been in her bed if it wasn't check up on her - to make sure she stayed there. What about the police sirens? Had Rosé contacted them after YN’s text? Truth be told YN couldn’t remember where her phone was, but it must be in the room.

“I slept well. What about you?”

Seokjin didn’t bother replying, it didn’t seem like he cared to. All he did was smile at her, a polite one that didn’t reach his eyes. From beside her, Taehyung groaned then his eyes opened staring at YN intensely. The two men simply observed YN and the longer it went on for the more unnerved she felt. Like they were waiting for something to happen. Once again, the second YN was about to speak they threw her for a whiplash.

“We’re having you move into the main house. There’s been a lot of robberies around the area recently and we don’t think it’s safe for you to be so far away.” Taehyung’s voice didn’t sound rough or sleepy at all, his appearance wasn’t disheveled either. Neither was Seokjin’s. YN wondered if they had been pretending to sleep just to lull her into a false sense of security. They were probably waiting for me to wake up. YN was exhausted from having to put up a front around the men, but if that’s what it took to get them off her back then so be it.

YN forced a small smile on her face, “What room?”

“Our room,” Seokjin replied, not missing a beat.

Taehyung didn’t even give YN time to process anything for he stood up and pulled her along with him. “You have a guest waiting.”

When YN sees Rosé she almost cries tears of joy but holds them back as she can feel eyes on her figure. Rosé as well shoots YN a look but rushes towards her nonetheless, embracing YN in a tight hug. "I missed you so much. It's been forever since we spoke." YN knows at that moment that her best friend feels it too. Feels the eyes and ear likely plastered on the walls, YN wouldn't be surprised to find out there are hidden cameras around the house. "I'm sorry Rosé, I've just been busy." Rosé lets go of YN but does lace their hands together. YN squeezes Rosé's fingers three times. "That's not an excuse not to talk to me. You know I can't go more than one second without you or I die." YN couldn't help but giggle at how overdramatic Rosé was being for her sake. For the first time in a long time, YN felt safe again then it was taken from her again.

“I didn’t know you were coming today, Rosé.” Jimin’s head popped around the corner, the charming smile plastered on his face sure to make anyone swoon. Jimin walked towards them, stopping next to YN and wrapping his arm around her waist. It was a power move. Then, he kissed the corner of her lip YN was unable to do anything about it. Rosé, not missing a beat, responds casually. “Sorry I just missed YN a lot and I was around the area.”

“Ah, Lucas lives around here doesn’t he?”

Rosé looked a bit shocked but nodded. “Yeah. Do you know him?” She cast YN a glance, but YN was just as confused as her.

"Yeah, he went to our school." Jimin then turned to YN, "Don't you remember Wong Lucas? He was close to Kookie." YN read between the lines, but it seems Rosé didn't. "Oh, that's great." YN turned back to face her friend who was conversing with Jimin about her new boyfriend. YN felt a pit grow in her stomach. Their threats were no longer subtle, Jimin had all but implied that Lucas in their field. Lucas: the man who caused Rosé's eyes to shine and cheeks to dust just by speaking about him. Now that YN was in far too deep was when she realized how meticulously they must have planned. Her supposed mates weren't just bad, they were machiavellian levels of evil.

“Alright, then it’s set.” Jimin clapped his hands, drawing YN’s attention out of her thoughts.

“What?”

Jimin smile was sadistic, "Rosé and Lucas are going to join us for dinner tonight. Won't that be fun? A double date of sorts." Seeing Rosé nod enthusiastically YN finds that no one can help but to fall prey to Jimin's charms.

In her search for Namjoon, YN stumbled upon Yoongi and Hoseok arguing in the office. At least that is what she assumed until she got closer. “What is the right way then?!” Hoseok was screaming into a phone as Yoongi was sitting on his lap trying to calm him down, massaging his neck. Whoever it was they were speaking to on the other line must’ve said something to make them mad, for YN only saw the alpha this riled up when he felt that his pack was threatened. Yoongi sighed, leaning in closer to the phone and listening to what the other person had to say. There was a visible pout on his face and Hoseok tried to kiss it away. They both listened intently to the other person before Yoongi dejectedly muttered, “Nothing we do will ever be enough.”

YN was beginning to wonder if bad luck would always follow her, she had been actively avoiding the lead alpha since yesterday. Not wanting to be alone with any of them, except maybe Jungkook, until she figured everything out. Until YN could understand why Namjoon had bitten her and why Jungkook had taken the blame. It seems ironic that when she would confront Namjoon, the two of them would be together. YN had planned on slamming the door open, but it was already slightly open. Though truly it was the moans that stopped her. High, whiny moans that exited Jungkook’s mouth as Namjoon pounded into him. There wasn’t much that YN could see considering the sheets that covered them and how Namjoon’s large frame obscured them.

She should have walked away. Should have moved and pretended not to see anything, but YN was frozen in place. Right on Jungkook’s neck was a fresh bite mark, the wound still bleeding slightly. It matched the one on Namjoon’s bicep though that one hadn’t broken skin. That wasn’t what caught YN’s attention though - at least not for long. It was the tattoo on Jungkook’s left breast: two lilies, one tilted towards the right with the bottom one facing forward. It was her tattoo. The one on her shoulder. Jungkook had the same tattoo as her.

YN turned to run away, but she crashed into a solid figure. Shakingly her eyes traveled upwards and met with Seokjin. Please don’t. YN struggled against him, but Seokjin didn’t release her. His left hand gripped her wrist tightly and with his right, he slammed the door open causing the pair of lovers to stop what they were doing. “Stop. Let go of me.” Seokjin didn’t listen, pushing YN inside before stepping in and closing the door behind him. Jungkook was covering himself with the bedsheets and Namjoon had pulled on pants amidst her struggle with the alpha. Now that Namjoon was facing her YN saw the same tattoo on him and she wondered if all of them had it. If it had been some sick bonding thing.

Finally, she breaks. “You’re all sick! Sick in the head! You planned all of this, you planned it all.” Seokjin’s grip doesn’t break and YN fails to notice her yelling has drawn the attention of the other members. “You took advantage of me. You stalked me and studied all to complete some stupid fucking bond that probably doesn’t exist.” YN swore she heard the betas whimper, but she didn’t give a damn. Namjoon’s face remains stoic though based on how tight his jaw has locked the words must hurt him. Good.

“Who told you that?”

The bastard wasn’t even trying to deny it. That only infuriated YN more, “Yoongi told me, said you saw me in the field at school. In the lily field.” All of them stiffen. Namjoon sighs, running his hand through his hair tugging at it. He signals for Seokjin to let go of her and YN doesn’t realize just how much he’d been supporting until YN falls to the ground. “Please leave.” At his words, the betas along with Jungkook exit the room none of them daring to disobey. The door closes behind them with a click and YN’s senses feel on edge being surrounded by only alphas. Seokjin moves to take a seat on the bed and Hoseok stands behind YN, blocking the door.

Namjoon crouches in front of her, his eyes blank and empty. “You have two options: you can stay locked in this house, in this room, until you grow to love us. Or you could stop pretending and complete the bond.”

YN is shocked, “Pretending?”

“Lily, I knew from the second I saw you that we were meant to be. That you were the one we’ve been missing, the only reason you don’t feel it is because you’re an omega.”

“If you knew the second you saw me, why didn’t you approach me?! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because we had been told time and time again that you wouldn’t feel the bond because you were an omega,” Namjoon yelled, his hands shaking as he tried to make YN understand. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. “That your sub-gender was incapable of reciprocating it as a means of survival. That you would never love us the way we loved you, not unless it was forced.”

"Oh for fuck's sake Namjoon, I had a crush on you for an entire year. The only reason I never acted on it was that I knew you had mates." Suddenly everything Namjoon had said came forth, "What do you mean my sub-gender I hadn't presented yet." Then, with widened eyes and newfound horror: "You knew?"

Namjoon didn’t bother replying, YN could decipher everything just from the way his expression shifted from anger to pity. YN felt the room begin to get smaller, closing in on her, it became increasingly difficult to breathe. Namjoon tried to hold her, but she pushed him away fearing he would make it worse. YN panicked, she wasn’t breathing. Couldn’t breathe. As her mates crowded around her trying to calm her down, YN wished for it all to end.

When she came to it was in a different room: Jungkook’s. The main himself stood over her, observing her with waves of apathy coming off him. His gaze trailed slowly across her body taking in every tiny detail, but it focused on her neck. YN’s hand latched onto her bite mark and was relieved to find an old scar instead of a fresh wound.

"You bit me," Jungkook stated, fixing YN with a pointed stare. "Technically it was more of a nibble, barely even nicked me, but for a newly presented alpha amid his rut - it was more than enough." YN didn't understand what Jungkook was saying, but he placed his finger on her lips before she could get a word out. "I went into a frenzy. I wanted to bite you. To mate with you even though a part of me knew I shouldn't. I couldn't control myself." He took a seat next to YN's head. "It took all six of them to restrain me and even once I was out of the room they weren't sure I would be able to control myself. Not to mention someone had to stay with you because heats, especially the first one, can be a dangerous thing."

"No one wanted to volunteer though, none of them felt they could control themselves either. It wasn't for lack of will or want. It was instinct. So, it fell on Namjoon's shoulders." Jungkook shrugs, "After the fact, Namjoon states he doesn't remember what happened. We wanted to apologize, to explain, but when we went to check up on you again...you were gone." Jungkook refuses to look at YN, but she can tell by the way his eyes shine that he's holding back tears. "I won't even attempt to explain what that felt like. We had mated, become one, and you ran away. What hurt most wasn't that the rejection, but that you weren't even aware of what you were doing."

A singular tear falls and YN can no longer tell if Jungkook is attempting to manipulate her or being genuine. “I took the blame because it was my fault. I should have controlled myself better. Had I, none of this would’ve happened. We could’ve been together and my mates wouldn’t be suffering.”

YN couldn’t stand it anymore. “Jungkook?” The young alpha’s eyes were full of love, adoration, and unhealthy infatuation. “I wish I never met you. Any of you.”

Just like that, it was gone, YN could begin to understand why Jungkook was one of them. They were all so similar, the way they could flip a switch and become different people. Jungkook laughed, hysterically so, it lasted several minutes but once his laughter died down was when YN truly feared for her life.

“I'm sorry YN, but I'll bite you myself if that's what it takes. Dr. Kang says that one the partial bond is completed that you'll feel the bond. That you'll be with us.”

“And if I don’t?”

“The doctor you went to see called the cops & stated that she was worried about the nature of our relationship. That's why they were here yesterday night. We might've mentioned that there is a beta couple that is allowing an unmated omega to live with them illegally.” Rosé!

Jungkook snickered, “Don't worry she's staying with Lucas. Also before you go thinking about making any rash decisions a partial bond can't be broken. Theoretically, it is something that can only occur between mates. Don’t try to break it you might die.” Then he clapped his hands together as if having realized something. “Not to mention what it would mean for your family if you ran away. Shuhua's family is an incredibly old school & I'd doubt they'd want to associate w/ people like that. Might just cancel the whole wedding.”

“You bastards. You planned all of this didn't you?!”

"No. Most of the time we just got really lucky. You can't outwit fate, lily."

YN felt pathetic, she’d fallen so easily into their trap and there was no way out. YN needed a way out. Desperately, she did the only thing she could think of. “Let’s just start over Jungkook. We can leave the past behind and get to know each other from scratch. I’ll forget about everything and try. Please Jungkook.”

He shook his head, “We’ve waited too long to start all over.” That was all it took. The final words needed to crush YN’s hope. She felt her heart whither and her bite throb.

Jungkook had left YN alone after that, leaving her to waste away as she stared into the ceiling. Wondering who she had wronged in her past life to be deserving of so much pain. In those dark moments, YN realized there was something far more terrifying than be surrounded by delusional men - the fact that she had surrendered. There was no way for her to escape. Even if she managed to leave the house the authorities would send her right back or place her into the boarding house to be sold off. There was no winning. YN couldn't win.

A knock on the door drew her back down to the earth she so desperately wanted an escape from. Taehyung peered inside and YN was thankful it wasn’t Jungkook again. “You have to get ready. Going on a date remember?” When YN doesn’t reply, Taehyung walks over his steps light. YN thinks he’s going to be upset until the beta scoops her off the bed, cradling her in his arms. “Oh, lily. I know it’s scary, but I promise you. It isn’t. You’ll feel it. Feel happiness.” Taehyung tenderly kisses her forehead and carries her to the bathroom. By the time YN comes out, he has left and a white silk dress is laid on the bed.

           Namjoon is the only one dressed and that worries her. The rest of them are in the living room preparing to wave them off. “We figured it be best not to cause such an uproar,” Namjoon explains, YN knows that isn’t true as they’ve never cared about that before but agrees nonetheless.

           “Have fun!”

"Who wants dessert?" Lucas asks and Rosé agrees enthusiastically, YN on the other hand can barely manage to finish her food. Rosé meets her gaze and YN can see some regret in them, but its quickly replaced by annoyance. YN darts her eyes back to her plate of food and Namjoon squeezes her hand gently.  

           “Why can’t you see how lucky you are? You don’t have to worry about anything. You have people who love you and protect you, whilst all you can do is complain. I get that you don’t reciprocate their feelings, but isn’t feeling safe so much more important?! You have a roof over your head. You went to a good school and will probably pop out beta and alpha pups.”

           YN grabs her glass of water and chugs it down, trying to swallow back the sob threatening to escape.

“Yet all you can do is throw yourself a pity party because you’re an omega. Grow up and stop looking down on yourself.”

Rosé hadn’t approached it the right way, hadn’t meant to be so cruel. Or maybe she had. Still, she was right and YN knew it. From Rosé’s point of view, YN had been given everything an omega could ever want. Everything anyone could ever need and she was throwing it away for trivial matters. There were others out there having it a lot worse - Rosé included. If it didn’t work out with Lucas then she would be forced to go with her brother. The only reason it wouldn’t work out with Lucas would be because of YN. She couldn’t do that to her friend. It was time, she stopped.

YN squeezed Namjoon’s hand signaling to him that she wanted to leave. “I’m sorry, but I think its time for us to go.” The lead alpha smiled, dimples on full display. “It was a pleasure meeting you though, we should do this again.” Lucas nodded, “Of course. We had fun.” YN nodded forcing a smile on for pleasantries. Rosé didn’t bother to look at YN and she was beyond thankful for that, not thinking she would be able to hold back her tears if she did.

 The streets were practically empty, so the ride wouldn’t take as long. Still, YN counted every second working up the courage to accept her fate. In the middle seat of the row, lay their hands intertwined, and much like how their bond worked, YN felt it was meant to be a display of control rather than something comforting. There was no point in fighting it anymore, there was no winning against fate.

“Bite me.”

Namjoon whirled his head, seemingly caught off guard by what YN had asked. The space between his brows wrinkled by a frown. Before Namjoon could speak, before YN could talk herself out it, she kissed him. YN moved to straddle him and their kisses grew more intense as time passed. One kiss is patient, selfless, hopeful, and kind. One kiss was jealous, selfish, helpless, & blind. And they would continue that way until YN leaned to the side peppering kisses on Namjoon's neck - baring hers.

“Please.”

It was a broken whisper, YN wasn’t even sure what she was asking for anymore but Namjoon did. The alpha kissed her neck three times before opening his mouth and biting down on her neck. YN felt little trials of warm blood escape as Namjoon licked at the wound. The pain was intense. It felt like fire was traveling through her veins, crawling its way towards her heart attempting to reach it. YN held off for as long as could before, finally clamping down on Namjoon’s scent gland and biting harshly. Suddenly the pain was gone and YN felt a euphoric bliss that couldn’t be explained. YN didn’t know if it was the bond or if she had finally lost her mind.

With blood-stained lips and frenzied looks in their eyes, Namjoon and YN kiss once more. Seiling their fate and completing the bond.

                                                   THE END

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[icollectyoursins]

Holy shiiiiiiit! Asnsks, I love your blog! Thank you for this amazing content! 😍❤️ Could I please request an Abbacchio x fem! Reader, where she tries to convince him to role play as a police officer for her? Thank yooou! (also, I'm sorry for my terrible English) 💮

No, absolutely I can write that! I have no idea how to do role play (which, you would think as someone training to be an actor, I would, but I just don’t get it.) However, I also said I didn’t see the point of liking Kira and after writing that I discovered so many things about myself. I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me, ahah.

Update as of finished writting: This awakened something in me, hence the length. Oops.

You may have bitten off more than you can chew with asking Leone Abbacchio to dabble in robber/cop role play. Your fantasy has become a reality, however you’re starting to think the power is getting to his head (in the best way possibly, of course).

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Role play (obviously), handcuffs, man-handling, fingering, making the reader taste their own uh... juices?? (I don’t know what to call it), spanking, dildos (not masturbation, but used on reader, I just can’t remember what it’s called), rough sex, cream pie.

Word Count: 1794

Oh, dear.

     “Oh, come on! It could be fun,” you wrapped your arms around Abbacchio’s waist, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Trying to convince him to role play with you was proving harder than expected. He was more than apprehensive to indulge in your fantasy, but the look in your eyes and the sway of your hips had him weak, only one more word away from breaking to your will. “What could go wrong? Me, in handcuffs, helpless. You could do whatever you wanted.”

     He huffed, looking away from you, clearly blushing. You would look so good bare in front of him, hands behind your back, ass red from smacking it so much. He could already feel something churning in him. “Fine.”

     Your face lit up at your victory, standing up on your toes to peck him on the lips. “But, no clothes.” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I’m going out, I want you to be here. All day. No clothes. Try not to do anything suspicious.”

     Oh... oh, no. Warmth spread through your core as well as on your face as you nodded, grinning. 

-----------

     True to your word, you spent the entire day after that wearing nothing, opting to spend most of the time under a blanket until he sent you a message saying he was on his way. At that point, you walked around the house, putting things out of place, hiding things, you know, normal criminal stuff.

     You were in the kitchen when he gets home. The minute he steps in, you can feel energy change in the air. It’s serious all of the sudden, sending excitement down your spine. There was no mistaking, he’s going to be hunting your ass (possibly quite literally). In a spur of the moment decision, you hide behind one of the walls so you’re out of view. You can hear his footsteps as they walk into the living room, away from you. A breath of relief rushes through you, but you can’t help shaking, whether it was the cold or excitement, you don’t know, but you hoped he couldn’t hear you.

     Abbacchio looked around his living room, noticing little bits and bobbles missing. Whoever “broke in” to his house left the valuables, thank god, at least in this room, perhaps he should check in the kitchen? Soft, slow footsteps made their way towards your hiding place. You couldn’t help shyly covering yourself when you heard him round the corner, stopping at the entrance.

     He knew were there, but just to tease you; make you wait, he looked the other way towards the window. Hands in pockets, he walked over to it, closing the curtains. It doesn’t take long to notice the clinking of metal on his hips as well as the shine. Handcuffs, proper handcuffs. You also noticed the bag hanging off his hand. From what you could make out in the plastic, there was something very long and very pink.

     Leone hears a shift behind him, then turns around to see what made it. The sight he saw would have knocked any other man onto his knees. He knew better. A woman he had never met standing in his kitchen completely bare. She hadn’t even had the decency to properly cover her tits. He narrows his eyes, sighing.

     There was something in the way he looked at you that made you feel so small and afraid. You broke into a run, turning around the corner and up the stairs, holding your breasts so they wouldn’t slap. God knows that is the last need you needed. A sore chest from-

     Hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into something solid, then pinning you against the wall. You’d only made it to the bottom of the stairs when he caught you. He placed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, snatching one of your hands, twisting it behind you. You let out a mix between a gasp and a moan as he growls in your ear.

     “You’ve got some nerve,” he trailed a hand across your back, down your side and then to the front of your crotch, lightly teasing the outside of your lips. “Were your hoping I wouldn’t be home? Thought you could take what you wanted and then leave, thief?”

     “I’m not a-”

     “Don’t deny it. Do you know who I am?” Abbacchio presses into you, lips brushing against the crook of your neck.

     “N-no.”

     “So, you don’t know you’re stealing from an officer? And poorly, at that.”

     “Uh-no.”

     “Tch, pathetic. What? Did you decide to get off while you were here? Thought you’d have time?”

     “This is an abuse of power,” you say shakily. He laughs lowly.

     “No. This is an abuse of power,” he grabs your other hand, pinning them to your lower back. You hear the clinking of metal and then a cold around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to move; to escape, but he was too strong, pushing harder into you as a warning. You’re trapped now, there was no way to get out of this. What was your safe word again?

     Leone’s hand returns to your vagina, from the other side this time, groping your ass cheek on the way down. You hadn’t even realized how wet you were until you heard the squelch of his finger pressing into you lightly. He chuckles again, pulling his finger back, putting it in his mouth. He hums at the taste. 

     “What a tasty thing you are, thief. Is this what you wanted? To be bound and fucked? What a whore.” He turns you around, quickly lifting you up over his shoulder. You kick your legs for a bit, but soon discover that it’s pointless. He’s going to do whatever he wants with you and you fucking love it.

     He walks into the living room, stopping at the arm of your couch, setting you down and then flipping you around, pushing you over it so your ass is in the air. You hear some shuffling behind you, then in mere seconds, his fingers are back on your slick entrance sliding up and down, putting extra attention in to your little bundle of nerves, pushing harder against your clit. Occasionally, he changes the direction, keeping his rough fingers on your bud, swiping back and forth before returning to your wet, needy hole.

     You moan loudly, pushing back against him. Your moan is met with a firm smack against your plush cheeks. Abbacchio wraps his hand in your hair, pulling you up so your back arches. 

     “Do that again,” he growls. You furrow your brows and are about to say something when you feel something large against your entrance. It’s cold, plasticy. He’s not going to-

     Your thought is cut off by the thing pushing into you, making you mewl. The tip goes in, but then he pulls it out, only to push it back in, deeper. The process repeats until what you now know is a long dildo is almost fully in you. Your face is red and your scalp sore from how long he’s been holding you there. He lets go, letting you flop to the soft cushions. 

     He moves to your side, bringing the dildo to your lips. You open your mouth willingly, eyes rolling back at the taste of yourself on it. Abbacchio mumbles something about you being a whore, but you’re not sure, not that you’d mind. At this point, it was well past being confirmed. He smacks your ass again, then gropes it which makes you jerk forward, taking just a little bit more of it in your mouth. His hand continue to come down on your cheeks until they’re red and there’s a visible bulge in your throat. 

     The dildo is removed from your throat far too soon, a string of drool still connects you to it. You pant, barely calling out his name when he walks behind you, tossing the pink thing away. The sound of his clothes coming off is unmistakable. You’re already so out of energy, but there’s something in you that never wants this to end. He rubs his thumb down your slick again.

     “Is this what you wanted, puttana?” You whine, nodding your head. “I better make this worth your while, then, shouldn’t I?”

      You nod again. “Please.”

     You feel the tip of his cock tease your entrance. “Please what?”

     “Please~ah. Please fuck meee~” He chuckles darkly, then slams his length into you in one quick motion. You scream, voice cracking. His hands wrap around your handcuffs, using them as a handle while he pounds into you, pulling out completely, then filling you again. Eventually, his thrusts are so powerful that he’s using your own momentum to fuck you. 

     You’re not aware of what you’re saying, but you know words are coming out of your mouth, babbling like an idiot as he fucks out every brain cell you have. Abbacchio hears every word, though. And he loves it.

      “Ah! Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me, please. Oh, don’t stop. God YES, don’t stop! Abbacchio, ~uuuh.~ Leone!” Fuck, he was getting close. All he wanted to do right now was fill your walls with his seed. He groaned. Thinking of our cum dripping out of you drove him insane. He let go of the handcuffs, doubling over you, picking up the pace of his hips.

     The feeling of his cock pounding into your walls over and over and over again quickly drove you over the edge, orgasm washing over you in a white sheet. Your walls spammed down on Abbacchio, clamping down on him tightly, your juices flooding over the side and down his leg sent him flying into his own release, spilling into you. The combined feeling of your cum and his leaking out of you had both of your heads spinning. 

     To him, it was everything he imagined it would be. He pulled out, breathless at the sight, not even realizing he was moaning at it. Your handcuffs were undone, not that you noticed. You were too fucked out at this point. After he briefly cleaned you up with a warm towel, he pulled you into his arms, keeping you close to him while you relaxed on the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

     Guilt started to settle in his chest as he kissed your forehead. 

     “You’re on the pill, right?” He asked, trying to hide his concern.

     “IUD, but yeah. Don’t worry about it.” You felt him relax as you said that. You opened your eyes a crack, then laughed.

     “What?”

     “The curtains were open,” you laughed dreamily. Leone looks over and sure enough, your curtains were wide open and the window was open just a crack.

     “Shit.” He grumbled. He was never going to hear the end of this.

----

Translations:

puttana = slut

[doesyourfavoritealbumsuckornot]

The Stranger by Billy Joel (1977)

The Stranger by Billy Joel is his fifth studio album, it was released on September 29, 1977. There are 9 tracks on this album which I will go in depth analyzing and discussing different elements of it.

Something that I have noticed from listening to Joel's albums is that there is an overall musical theme that flows through the songs on the album. Not in a bad way, but the songs sound the same as they were written by the same person within a short time period. His albums differ from each other in instrumentation, style, and lyrical content, but the individual albums have similar musical ideals.

1. Movin' Out (Anthony's Song) - Probably my least favorite song on the entire album, I don't think it's a bad song it's just the weakest when compared to other songs on the album. Possibly this is a smart choice for this song to be the first track as it sets the bar semi low for the rest of the album to have dominance over this song. By the time you get to side 2, this song is forgotten. The lyrical content discusses two characters, Anthony and Sgt. O'Leary. Anthony is a young man, who I believes still lives with his mother, he works in the local grocery store and is saving his money to possibly move out of his neighborhood to do bigger and better things. He isn't satisfied with the way that people "move up" in his neighborhood as it isn't enough for him. Sgt. O'Leary is a police officer who moonlights at a local bar, he doesn't have many pleasures in life except keeping up his car. He's trading in his Chevy for a Cadillac, of course in the present time Cadillac's aren't seen as the top of the line car anymore but in the 1970's and 1980's it was seen as a symbol of "you made it." With his physically straining job as a police officer and then bartending on the side to be able to form the luxuries, he's "breaking his back" working so much to be able to afford these materialistic items. If he has a broken back from working, he can't drive his car but at least he can polish the fenders. In my opinion, the song is about the way capitalism runs our lives and materialistic objects prove our worth in life. Whether it be a car or a house in Hackensack, New Jersey.

2. The Stranger - The title track of the album, in the intro there is a piano motif with a whistling melody that is repeated at the end of the album. The whistling melody is repeated when the song starts by the guitar as a reminder of that tune. Musically, it is guitar and percussion driven, which is unlike the majority of Joel's music. The piano takes a backseat in this song, letting his band shine for this track. Lyrically speaking, it's about how there are sides of us that no one else sees except ourselves when we're alone. Joel suffered from depression earlier in his life, this song could elude to that part of his life where he hid this portion from his friends and family and this "face" would come out when he was alone. There are secrets of course that we do not share with anyone, including our significant others. When others start to share these secrets with us, it's as you don't recognize them. That they have a different "face" that makes them unrecognizable to someone that could know them extremely well. You have portions of yourself that is a stranger, even to yourself. Even if you don't show these to other people, there is a stranger within yourself. Obviously, this stranger within yourself is not going to be Ted Bundy, but concepts that are completely against what you portray to the outside world.

3. Just the Way You Are - The lovey, dovey song that everyone loves. It's one of my favorite songs from the album. This song could prove to be more true in our present society than it did 45 years ago. Joel was still married to his first wife at the time and this song was dedicated to her. In a world of instagram models and the Kardashians, women are pushed into the spotlight of being perfect and having particular features that make them attractive to the rest of the world. The lyrical content discusses how the narrator loves his significant other just the way they are, that the subject doesn't have to change anything about themselves, just to please the other person. Through good times and bad times, the subject is perfect in the eyes of the narrative despite their flaws that the subject may be self conscious about. As a woman in this world, I understand how reassuring that can be. This isn't the only song that could be about Joel's wife as we'll get to later in this discussion. As his wife and Joel had been together for four years at the point of the album being released and his newfound fame was starting to take off, this song could be a reassurance to his wife that he still wanted her by his side.

4. Scenes from An Italian Restaurant - Joel's Magnum Opus, this song is a combination of several different songs that he decided to combine into one. This is one of Joel's best songs, just in my opinion, lyrically and musically it is strong and it strengths Joel's role as a storyteller. The outset, or A section, of the song describes banter that would take place in an Italian restaurant, discussing wine selections and picking out seating in the narrators favorite Italian restaurant. After a brief transition, the tempo picks up to describe possibly a different interaction taking place at a different table in the restaurant. The B section of the song is a conversation between two old friends are meeting up again after graduating from high school together, discussing their lives after they left school. Two two reminisce, discuss old hangouts such as the Village Green, a popular restaurant when they were kids. This section borrows elements from traditional Mississippi River jazz, the regional areas that sit on the Mississippi River such as St. Louis, the Mississippi Delta, and of course New Orleans. There is an instrumental section that expands more upon this concept, with an outstanding piano solo from Joel himself before continuing with another segment of the story. The C section of this song focuses on the relationship of high school sweethearts, Brenda and Eddie. I'm unsure of whether someone else in the restaurant is discussing Brenda and Eddie's relationship or the two people from the B section are talking about a couple they knew in high school and one of the individuals is telling the other about how their relationship turned out. Brenda and Eddie had a typical high school sweetheart relationship, they were popular, they were prom king and queen. They got married not long after they graduated, their friends were against their marriage as Brenda kept up a high wealth lifestyle and her soon to be husband was far too lazy to work hard enough to keep up with her lifestyle. Even after their friends expressing their doubts, Brenda and Eddie were married. The couple began to fight when they had financial troubles and eventually divorced. The song then discusses how "the king and the queen" went back to the Green, representing the Village Green, their old haunt. The Village Green is now an upscale restaurant, another changing element of their childhoods. They can physically go back to the Green, but they can not go back to their innocence and how easy life was then. As they have grown up and faced the realities of being an adult, even the negatives. This concludes the story of Brenda and Eddie, the A section returns. Again, discussing wine selection and discussing how they will meet anytime in their favorite Italian restaurant. In my opinion, the song discusses how certain places can take you back to a point in your life that you wish you could return to. You can always return physically, but mentally and emotionally it will never be the same place as it was in your memories.

5. Vienna - The opening of the B side of the album. Vienna could mean two different things, the obvious one is the city in Austria, and possibly could be a "happy place" that you could escape to in your mind. Joel's father was living in Vienna at the time of the composition, this song could be a narration of Joel's father to his younger self. His father left when he was quite young and this could be a conversation that he wish his father could've had with him in his younger days, encouraging his career decisions as a singer-songwriter. The first few opening lines solidify this concept. Vienna represents the rest of his life and that it's waiting for him. As Joel has accomplished so much in his short life already that he has so much waiting ahead of him and he should enjoy his life and relax. Another connection to this song and what inspired him, Joel studied classical piano as a child. He became a big fan, even using the opening motif from second movement of Beethoven's Pathétique Piano Sonata as the main melody for a song from his album, An Innocent Man (1983). Mozart was a native of Vienna and was involved in Austria and Germany for the majority of his lifetime. Mozart did not live a full life, dying at the young age of 35. Mozart had accomplished so much in such short time, he never got to sit back and relax. This element of his classical background could've made its way, subconsciously, into the context of the lyrics.

6. Only The Good Die Young - A possible novelty song, this lyrical content discusses the narrator chasing after a young woman, Virginia, who attends a Catholic school and trying to convince her to have sex with him, telling her that "only the good die young" and she should give in to her sinful temptations to be with him. The narrator's qualities do not align with Virginia's, he runs with a "dangerous" crowd and isn't shy to admit that. One of my favorite lines from the song is, "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun." The authoritative figures in Virginia's life are against her being with the narrator, and he knows. This drives him even more complete his conquest, even antagonizing those figures, such as her mother asking if they've even said a prayer for him.

7. She's Only A Woman - Another song that possibly discusses his wife, this lyrical details discuss a woman who is incredible gorgeous and intimidating to most men, but to the narrator she's just a woman to him. That these qualities of her, make her the woman that she is, an independent and captivating woman. She enjoys the chase that she gives other men, the narrator is serious about this her and understands that these callous qualities about her is a mechanism to keep admires that she isn't serious about at bay.

8. Get It Right the First Time - Now we're starting to get to the deep cuts, the other songs except the last two on this album have become extremely popular, even when they weren't singles. This song is one of my favorites from the album. The content of the song discusses someone who meets a woman and the narrator possibly did not make a good first impression with her, but he wants to keep this woman in his life. He starts to discuss how he isn't good at first dates and he worries he'll say the wrong things that will drive the woman out of his life. He doesn't believe in first impressions as he isn't very good at them, people don't usually like or believe in things that they aren't very knowledgable about. The narrator is shy, but tries to convince himself to put that aside to be able to make a lasting impression on this woman.

9. Everybody Has A Dream - The grand finale to this wonderful album. This song was originally written in 1971, years before his fame that he knew of when this album was released. This song discusses his dreams of having it all, not having any hardships and being able to provide for his wife and being able to enjoy his years with her. His dreams and fantasies of success drives his work ethic to being able to life out his life the way he wants to. This song provides a good finale as this is one of Joel's best albums and it shows how far he has come since his young age and the worldwide success he had up to that point and continued to have for years to come.

Conclusion: When this album was conceived, Joel had just finished a big transition in his life. When he previous album was released, he had just had the move from Los Angeles to his home state of New York, being back in the city where he grew up brought on lots of memories from when he was a kid growing up in the city. This is shown in many of his songs as there are concepts of youth and "making it big." The last time he lived in New York, he was a kid just trying to break out in the music business. He was a high school dropout and his teachers thought that he needed to stay in school to make something of himself. Coming back to his city and being someone was a reassuring thought to himself, I'm sure, that he made the correct decision in his career choices. There are many elements of reminiscence, in each song. This is one of my favorite albums, it is almost a perfect album in my eyes. There isn't a skippable track to me.

Overall Theme of the Album: Youth and having dreams of making something of yourself.

Rating: 9/10

(Inbox albums you would like to see written about!)

rb

[hale-13]

Engulfed

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 30(!!!) Prompt - Crying

It’s just all too much. Everything is too much. It’s been a year and Peter can’t stand to do anything but sit here on this roof and ruminate until his mind goes blank.

Words: 2146, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Roger Harrington

TW: Depression, Survivor’s Guilt

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter can I speak with you real quick?” Mr. Harrington called as the final bell of the day rang and students started abandoning the class in droves. Ned shared a commiserating look with him as he finished packing up his things and left the room; leaving Peter to approach Mr. Harrington’s desk nervously and stand in front of it, shifting his weight back and forth nervously. “Oh!” Mr. Harrington said, holding up his arms in surrender as he closed the door behind the last student. “You can relax, you aren’t in trouble!”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and let some of the tension drain from him muscles. “I’m not?”

Harrington raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you done something to warrant being in trouble?”

“No!” Peter said, his voice breaking a little on the end. “No sir!”

His teacher gave him a suspicious look but didn’t push it, instead gesturing for Peter to sit down in one of the empty desks as he perched on the edge of his own desk. Peter dropped his bag and sat, trying to keep his fingers from twitching from the anxiety strumming through him. Harrington observed him for a moment longer before sighing and handing Peter a folder. With curiosity, Peter opened it and paled considerably as he cycled through his latest test grade in addition to his final paper and project of the nine week grading period. There wasn’t a single grade above a ‘C’.

“So I wanted to talk to you before I handed these back tomorrow,” his teacher said gently, pulling a free chair up to the desk Peter was seated at and pulling the folder from his slack fingers. “Peter this isn’t the work I’m used to you turning in. What’s going on?”

“I uh,” Peter said, mind blanking as he flipped through his term paper that was absolutely coated in copious amounts of red ink. “I don’t know. I worked… I mean I spent… I don’t know,” he stuttered out, feeling untethered and confused.

Harrington sighed and, carefully, pried Peter’s fingers from the folder and closed it, setting it down on the desk. “You’ve seemed a little overwhelmed recently,” he said gently. “Most of your teachers have noticed it and this isn’t the only class where your work has taken a bit of a nose-dive. I know that you guys don’t always want to talk to teachers and school administrators about what’s going on in your personal life but, Peter, we’re here if you need it okay?”

Peter nodded, a little dumbly, his tongue too thick and dry to form words. He felt dizzy – he was turning in failing work in more than one class? “I uh…,” he cleared his throat and tried to wet his mouth, “I guess I have been a little… distracted recently but I’m okay,” he said and tried to hide his flinch at how unconvincing his voice sounded. He was fine right? “I’m sorry about the work, I know I can’t make up the test grade but is there any… uh… any extra credit I can do? I’ll do anything!”

“It’s alright,” Harrington said, picking the folder back up and standing. “I’m going to let you retake the test on Monday and if you write an analysis of what was wrong with your essay and correct the issues I’ll regrade it, same with the project. You’ll need to have them both to me Monday morning I can’t offer more than a ‘B’ on any of them but it should help your grade and make sure you don’t lose your scholarship.”

Peter felt like someone had ripped the floor out from under him and he had to grip the desk tightly. “My scholarship,” he whispered horrified and Harrington gave him a guilty look.

“You’ll have to speak with your other teachers on Monday about extra credit and make-up work but I believe all of them will be willing to help out,” Harrington passed the folder back to Peter who took it with numb and trembling fingers. “It’ll be fine Peter.”

“Right,” he said, feeling like he was underwater and standing shakily. “Thanks Mr. Harrington, I’ll go work on these now.” He never heard the man respond nor did he remember much of his walk home, the next thing he was aware of was standing in his room, his hoodie a little damp from the mist that had descended on the city and the barely-there drizzle that had started. Peter dropped his bag with a thump to the floor and collapsed into his desk chair.

He had work to do and he did so at an absolutely feverish pace. Reading back through his paper he had no idea how he had thought it was even marginally acceptable to turn in. He hadn’t even bothered looking at his project yet but he knew that it would look the much the same and he could already feel his gut twisting into tight knots as he considered the work he would be putting into it over the rest of the weekend.

By the time he had finished, his eyes were dry and crusty and the rain was pounding in earnest against his bedroom window; the only light coming from his desk lamp and the flickering streetlight outside his window. He sat back and blinked furiously, staring at the window with his eyes blurring in and out of focus. He could feel his heart speed up and shook his head once, hard, before jumping from his seat and stripping out of his clothes to pull on his suit.

“Hello Peter,” Karen said brightly as his HUD flickered and readings started to populate. “It is past-,”

“Mute Karen,” Peter said, voice croaking and shaky as he popped his fingers and neck. “Disable HUD and go dark.” It wasn’t often that he shut down his entire suit and went out the way he used to – just him with no extra tech – but sometimes it (and Karen) did effect his senses. And sometimes, like tonight, he just needed the silence.

He opened up his window, reveling in the cool air that creeped into his room and the drops of rain that stuck against his limbs like ice cubes. He paused for just a moment before firing a web through the fog to latch onto the building across the street, swinging out into the weather.

As he took slow laps around Queens, he let his mind drift and his body to just run on complete auto-pilot. He rarely saw any sort of major crime in rain and fog like this and his Spider Sense was quiet in his mind as he swung. Without Karen active and with his suit dark, he didn’t have his heater or GPS or access to his phone or the police scanner but he was fine with all of that. Content to just swing until he couldn’t.

The ‘until he couldn’t’ came a lot soon than he thought, his numb finger slipping on a web and sending him careening onto the top of a building where he rolled and ended up on his back, staring up at the moonless and starless night sky and the thick drops of rain. He laid there for just a moment longer, stunned and taking stock, but nothing hurt too much, he just felt detached.

With no small effort, Peter sat up and scooted over to sit with his back against the roof access, staring out over Queens but unable to see more than a few hundred feet ahead of him. His eyes unfocused and he felt his mind slowing down – blank and quiet finally.

“Do you know what time it is?” His mentor’s voice should have surprised him but, even drifting off the way he was, it was impossible to not hear the loud repulsers of the Iron Man armor. He touched down on the roof to the left of Peter and his face plate shifted up, keeping him dry from the rain but reveling his face that was a mix of disapproving and concerned. Peter just shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse and monotonous in the gloom. Tony furrowed his brows at him.

“You good kiddo?”

“Sure,” Peter said, looking out over the roof top again. “Fine.”

“Right,” Tony said, his voice disbelieving. “Well its past your curfew buddy and you’re completely soaked. You okay with me giving you a lift home?” Peter nodded without consideration. He was cold and he couldn’t really feel his fingertips – getting a ride home on the Iron Man express was definitely preferable than walking. “Hop on then,” Tony motioned to his back as he turned and, after a moment to psych himself up for it, Peter stood slowly and wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck.

The armor was warm and the flaps prevented Peter from getting pestered by too many of the remaining raindrops on their flight. He let his eyes slip closed as they flew, content to drift, which he realized was a mistake when he opened them a few minutes later and realized Tony had taken them to the Tower instead. “This isn’t my apartment,” he said, dropping down to land on the over-large balcony of the penthouse so that Tony could step out of the armor.

“Nope,” he agreed, shuffling Peter inside and carefully pulling his mask over his face and dropping a towel around his shoulders. “You’re staying here tonight – I know May’s working third.”

The water dripping from his damp hair onto his neck made him shiver but Peter made no move to dry off with the towel – standing just inside the entrance to the penthouse and staring ahead at his mentor who clucked his tongue and started to dry Peter’s hair off himself. “What’s going on Pete?” He asked as he rubbed the terry cloth through Peter’s curls. “This isn’t you.”

“Nothing,” Peter said, his voice sounding emotionless, “I’m fine.”

The look Tony leveled him with was that of pure disbelief but he herded Peter toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Go take a warm shower and change. I’ll make some hot chocolate and meet you in the living room when you’re done.”

Peter nodded his assent and made his way toward his en suite bathroom. The Spidey suit was sticking wetly to his clammy skin and it took some doing to get out of it but it was worth it to slip into the fancy shower his room at the Tower offered. He stood for an untold amount of time under the burning spray of water and felt the tension leave his body, his emotions swirling confusingly in his head and leaving him nearly dizzy. Deciding he couldn’t put it off any longer, Peter grabbed the towel from the heated rack and dried off, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before making it back to the living room.

In his time away, Tony had made one of the only things he could in the kitchen: hot chocolate from scratch (a recipe from Rhodey and his college years) and was settled on the overly large couch with a pile of throw blankets. Peter sank into the nest and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, accepting the mug his mentor offered and taking a sip of the steaming drink.

“Alright out with it,” Tony said, sitting to face Peter, the expression on his face open. “Something’s going on buddy but you can tell me okay?”

“It’s October thirteenth,” Peter blurted before biting his lip.

“October thirteenth?” Tony asked with a furrowed brow. “What…?”

“Uncle Ben died a year ago,” Peter whispered, curling up further into himself. From next to him Tony let out a sigh of air.

“Oh kiddo,” he said, voice sad and filled with understanding. Peter sniffed once and felt a hot tear leak down his cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “There’s… not really anything that I can say that will make it better,” Tony said as he scooted closer and sat his mug of coffee on the table in front of them. “I know that from experience but, if you ever want to talk about him you can always come to me.”

Peter nodded once and was surprised when, just a moment later, Tony reached out and pulled Peter tightly into his side in a hug. Peter’s mind went blank for a moment and then he felt his eyes well with tears that fell in silent waves down his cheeks. He had felt so overwhelmed, so underwater for weeks leading up to this day and he just…

“Let it out buddy,” tony said, pulling him in tighter and running calloused fingers through Peter’s still-damp hair. “It’s alright.”

With that permission, Peter turned himself more fully into his mentor, curling himself in tighter and letting his eyes cry themselves out.

It felt like catharsis.

[letterboxd]

Careful How You Go.

Ella Kemp explores how film lovers can protect themselves from distressing subject matter while celebrating cinema at its most audacious.

Featuring Empire magazine editor Terri White, Test Pattern filmmaker Shatara Michelle Ford, writer and critic Jourdain Searles, publicist Courtney Mayhew, and curator, activist and producer Mia Bays of the Birds’ Eye View collective.

This story contains discussion of rape, sexual assault, abuse, self-harm, trauma and loss of life, as well as spoilers for ‘Promising Young Woman’ and ‘A Star is Born’.

We film lovers are blessed with a medium capable of excavating real-life emotion from something seemingly fictional. Yet, for all that film is—in the oft-quoted words of Roger Ebert—an “empathy machine”, it’s also capable of deeply hurting its audience when not wielded by its makers and promoters with appropriate care. Or, for that matter, when not approached by viewers with informed caution.

Whose job is it to let us know that we might be upset by what we see? With the coronavirus pandemic decimating the communal movie-going experience, the way we accommodate each viewer’s sensibilities is more crucial than ever—especially when so many of us are watching alone, at home, often unsupported.

In order to understand how we can champion a film’s content and take care of its audience, I approached women in several areas of the movie ecosystem. I wanted to know: how does a filmmaker approach the filming of a rape and its aftermath? How does a magazine editor navigate the celebration of a potentially triggering movie in one of the world’s biggest film publications? How does a freelance writer speak to her professional interests while preserving her personal integrity? How does a women’s film collective create a safe environment for an audience to process such a film? And, how does a publicist prepare journalists for careful reporting, when their job is to get eyeballs on screens in order to keep our favorite art form afloat?

The conversations reminded me that the answers are endlessly complex. The concerns over spoilers, the effectiveness of trigger warnings, the myriad ways in which art is crafted from trauma, and the fundamental question of whose stories these are to tell. These questions were valid decades ago, they will be for decades to come, and they feel especially urgent now, since a number of recent tales helmed by female and non-binary filmmakers depict violence and trauma involving women’s bodies in fearless, often challenging ways.

Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman, in particular, has revived a vital conversation about content consideration, as victims and survivors of sexual assault record wildly different reactions to its astounding ending. Shatara Michelle Ford’s quietly tense debut, Test Pattern, brings Black survivors into the conversation. And the visceral, anti-wish-fulfillment horror Violation, coming soon from Dusty Mancinelli and Madeleine Sims-Fewer, takes the rape-revenge genre up another notch.

These films come off the back of other recent survivor stories, such as Michaela Coel’s groundbreaking series I May Destroy You (which centers women’s friendship in a narrative move that, as Sarah Williams has eloquently outlined, happens too rarely in this field). Also: Kata Wéber and Kornél Mundruczó’s Pieces of a Woman, and the ongoing ugh-ness of The Handmaid’s Tale. And though this article is focused on plots centering women’s trauma, I acknowledge the myriad of stories that can be triggering in many ways for all manner of viewers. So whether you’ve watched one of these titles, or others like them, I hope you felt supported in the conversations to follow, and that you feel seen.

Weruche Opia and Michaela Coel in ‘I May Destroy You’.

* * *

Simply put, Promising Young Woman is a movie about a woman seeking revenge against predatory men. Except nothing about it is simple. Revenge movies have existed for aeons, and we’ve rooted for many promising young (mostly white) women before Carey Mulligan’s Cassie (recently: Jen in Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge, Noelle in Natalia Leite’s M.F.A.). But in Promising Young Woman, the victim is not alive to seek revenge, so it becomes Cassie’s single-minded crusade. Mercifully, we never see the gang-rape that sparks Cassie’s mission. But we do see a daring, fatal subversion of the notion of a happy ending—and this is what has audiences of Emerald Fennell’s jaw-dropping debut divided.

“For me, being a survivor, the point is to survive,” Jourdain Searles tells me. The New York-based critic, screenwriter, comedian—and host of Netflix’s new Black Film School series—says the presence of death in Promising Young Woman is the problem. “One of the first times I spoke openly about [my assault], I made the decision that I didn’t want to go to the police, and I got a lot of judgment for that,” she says. “So watching Promising Young Woman and seeing the police as the endgame is something I’ve always disagreed with. I left thinking, ‘How is this going to help?’”

“I feel like I’ve got two hats on,” says Terri White, the London-based editor-in chief of Empire magazine, and the author of a recently published memoir, Coming Undone. “One of which is me creating a magazine for a specific film-loving audience, and the other bit of me, which has written a book about trauma, specifically about violence perpetrated against the body. They’re not entirely siloed, but they are two distinct perspectives.”

White loved both Promising Young Woman and I May Destroy You, because they “explode the myth of resolution and redemption”. She calls the ending of Promising Young Woman “radical” in the way it speaks to the reality of what happens to so many women. “I was thinking about me and women like me, women who have endured violence and injury or trauma. Three women every week are still killed [in the UK] at the hands of an ex-partner, or somebody they know intimately, or a current partner. Statistically, any woman who goes for some kind of physical confrontation in [the way Cassie does] would end up dying.”

She adds: “I felt like the film was in service to both victims and survivors, and I use the word ‘victims’ deliberately. I call myself a victim because I think if you’ve endured either sexual violence or physical violence or both, a lot of empowering language, as far as I’m concerned, doesn’t reflect the reality of being a victim or a survivor, whichever way you choose to call yourself.” This point has been one many have disagreed on. In a way, that makes sense—no victim or survivor can be expected to speak to anyone else’s experience but their own.

Carey Mulligan and Emerald Fennell on the set of ‘Promising Young Woman’.

Likewise, there is no right or wrong way to feel about this film, or any film. But a question that arises is, well, should everyone have to see a film to figure that out? And should victims and survivors of sexual violence watch this film? “I have definitely been picky about who I’ve recommended it to,” Courtney Mayhew says. “I don’t want to put a friend in harm’s way, even if that means they miss out on something awesome. It’s not worth it.”

Mayhew is a New Zealand-based international film publicist, and because of her country’s success in controlling Covid 19, she is one of the rare people able to experience Promising Young Woman in a sold-out cinema. “It was palpable. Everyone was so engaged and almost leaning forwards. There were a lot of laughs from women, but it was also a really challenging setting. A lot of people looking down, looking away, and there was a girl who was crying uncontrollably at the end.”

“Material can be very triggering,” White agrees. “It depends where people are personally in their journey. When I still had a lot of trauma I hadn’t worked through in my 20s, I found certain things very difficult to watch. Those things are a reality—but people can make their own decisions about the material they feel able to watch.”

It’s about warning, and preparation, more than total deprivation, then? “I believe in giving people information so they can make the best choice for themselves,” White says. “But I find it quite reductive, and infantilizing in some respects, to be told broadly, ‘Women who have experienced x shouldn’t watch this.’ That underestimates the resilience of some people, the thirst for more information and knowledge.” (This point is clearly made in this meticulous, awe-inspiring list by Jenn, who is on a journey to make sense of her trauma through analysis of rape-revenge films.) But clarity is crucial, particularly for those grappling with unresolved issues.

Searles agrees Promising Young Woman can be a difficult, even unpleasant watch, but still one with value. “As a survivor it did not make me feel good, but it gave me a window into the way other people might respond to your assault. A lot of the time [my friends] have reacted in ways I don’t understand, and the movie feels like it’s trying to make sense of an assault from the outside, and the complicated feelings a friend might have.”

Molly Parker and Vanessa Kirby in ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

* * *

A newborn dies. A character is brutally violated. A population is tortured. To be human is to bear witness to history, but it’s still painful when that history is yours, or something very close to it. “Some things are hard to watch because you relate to them,” Searles explains. “I find mother! hard to watch, and there’s no actual sexual assault. But I just think of sexual assault and trauma and domestic abuse, even though the film isn’t about that. The thing is, you could read an academic paper on patriarchy—you don’t need to watch it on a show [or in a film] if you don’t want to.”

White agrees: “I’ve never been able to watch Nil by Mouth, because I grew up in a house of domestic violence and I find physical violence against women on screen very hard to watch. But that doesn’t mean I think the film shouldn’t be shown—it should still exist, I’ve just made the choice not to watch it.” (Reader, since our conversation, she watched it. At 2:00am.)

“I know people who do not watch Promising Young Woman or The Handmaid’s Tale because they work for an NGO in which they see those things literally in front of their eyes,” Mayhew says. “It could be helpful for someone who isn’t aware [of those issues], but then what is the purpose of art? To educate? To entertain? For escapism? It’s probably all of those.”

Importantly, how much weight should an artist’s shoulders carry, when it comes to considering the audiences that will see their work? There’s a general agreement among my interviewees that, as White says, “filmmakers have to make the art that they believe in”. I don’t think any film lover would disagree, but, suggests Searles, “these films should be made with survivors in mind. That doesn’t mean they always have to be sensitive and sad and declawed. But there is a way to be provocative, while leaning into an emotional truth.”

Madeleine Sims-Fewer in ‘Violation’.

Violation, about which I’ll say little here since it is yet to screen at SXSW (ahead of its March 25 release on Shudder) is not at all declawed, and is certainly made with survivors in mind—in the sense that in life, unlike in movies, catharsis is very seldom possible no matter how far you go to find it. On Letterboxd, many of those who saw Violation at TIFF and Sundance speak of feeling represented by the rape-revenge plot, writing: “One of the most intentionally thought out and respectful of the genre… made by survivors for survivors” and “I feel seen and held”. (Also: “This movie is extremely hard to watch, completely on purpose.”)

“Art can do great service to people,” agrees White, “If, by consequence, there is great service for people who have been in that position, that’s a brilliant consequence. But I don’t believe filmmakers and artists should be told that they are responsible for certain things. There’s a line of responsibility in terms of being irresponsible, especially if your community is young, or traumatised.”

Her words call to mind Bradley Cooper’s reboot of A Star is Born, which many cinephiles knew to be a remake and therefore expected its plot twist, but young filmgoers, drawn by the presence of Lady Gaga, were shocked (and in some cases triggered) by a suicide scene. When it was released, Letterboxd saw many anguished reviews from younger members. In New Zealand, an explicit warning was added to the film’s classification by the country’s chief censor (who also created an entirely new ‘RP18’ classification for the Netflix series 13 Reasons Why, which eventually had a graphic suicide scene edited out two years after first landing on the streaming service).

“There is a duty of care to audiences, and there is also a duty of care to artists and filmmakers,” says Mayhew. “There’s got to be some way of meeting in the middle.” The middle, perhaps, can be identified by the filmmaker’s objective. “It’s about feeling safe in the material,” says Mia Bays of the Birds’ Eye View film collective, which curates and markets films by women in order to effect industry change. “With material like this, it’s beholden on creatives to interrogate their own intentions.”

Filmmaker Shatara Michelle Ford is “forever interrogating” ideas of power. Their debut feature, Test Pattern, deftly examines the power differentials that inform the foundations of consent. “As an artist, human, and person who has experienced all sorts of boundary violation, assault and exploitation in their life, I spend quite a lot of time thinking about power… It is something I grapple with in my personal life, and when I arrive in any workplace, including a film set.”

In her review of Test Pattern for The Hollywood Reporter, Searles writes, “This is not a movie about sexual assault as an abstract concept; it’s a movie about the reality of a sexual assault survivor’s experience.” Crucially, in a history of films that deal largely with white women’s experiences, Test Pattern “is one of the few sexual-assault stories to center a Black woman, with her Blackness being central to her experience and the way she is treated by the people around her.”

Brittany S. Hall in ‘Test Pattern’.

* * *

Test Pattern follows the unfolding power imbalance between Renesha (Brittany S. Hall) and her devoted white boyfriend Evan (Will Brill), as he drives her from hospital to hospital in search of a rape kit, after her drink was spiked by a white man in a bar who then raped her. Where Promising Young Woman is a millennial-pink revenge fantasy of Insta-worthy proportions, Test Pattern feels all too real, and the cops don’t come off as well as they do in the former.

Ford does something very important for the audience: they begin the film just as the rape is about to occur. We do not see it at this point (we do not really ever see it), but we know that it happened, so there’s no chance that, somewhere deeper into the story, when we’re much more invested, we’ll be side-swiped by a sudden onslaught of sexual violence. In a way, it creates a safe space for our journey with Renesha.

It’s one of many thoughtful decisions made by Ford throughout the production process. “I’m in direct conversation with film and television that chooses to depict violence against women so casually,” Ford tells me. “I intentionally showed as little of Renesha’s rape as humanly possible. I also had an incredibly hard time being physically present for that scene, I should add. What I did shoot was ultimately guided by Renesha’s experience of it. Shoot only what she would remember. Show only what she would have been aware of.

“But I also made it clear that this was a violation of her autonomy, by allowing moments where we have an arm’s length point of view. I let the camera sit with the audience, as I’m also saying, as the filmmaker, this happened, and you saw enough of it to know. This, for me, is a larger commentary on how we treat victims of assault and rape. I do not believe for one goddamn minute that we need to see the actual, literal violence to know what happened. When we flagrantly replicate the violence in film and television, we are supporting the cultural norm of needing ‘all of the evidence’—whatever that means—to ‘believe women’.”

Ford’s intentional work in crafting the romance and unraveling of Test Pattern’s leading couple pays off on screen, but their stamp as an invested and careful director also shows in their work with Drew Fuller, the actor who played Mike, the rapist. “It’s a very difficult role, and I’m grateful to him for taking it so seriously. When discussing and rendering the practice and non-practice of consent intentionally, I found it helpful to give it a clear definition and provide conceptual insight.

“I sent Drew a few articles that I used as tools to create a baseline understanding when it comes to exploring consent and power on screen. At the top of that list was Lili Loofbourow’s piece, The female price of male pleasure and Zhana Vrangalova's Teen Vogue piece, Everything You Need to Know about Consent that You Never Learned in Sex Ed. The latter in my opinion is the linchpin. There’s also Jude Elison Sady Doyle’s piece about the whole Aziz Ansari thing, which is a great primer.”

Sidney Flanigan in ‘Never Rarely Sometimes Always’.

Even when a filmmaker has given Ford’s level of care and attention to their project, what happens when the business end of the industry gets involved in the art? As we well know, marketing is a film’s window dressing. It has one job: to get eyeballs into the cinema. It can’t know if every viewer should feel safe to enter.

It would be useful, with certain material, to know how we should watch, and with whom, and what might we need in the way of support coming out. Whose job is it to provide this? Beyond the crude tool of an MPAA rating (and that’s a whole sorry tale for another day), there are many creative precautions that can be taken across the industry to safeguard a filmgoer’s experience.

Mayhew, who often sees films at the earliest stages (sometimes before a final cut, sometimes immediately after), speaks to journalists in early screenings and ensures they have the tools to safely report on the topics raised. In New Zealand, reporters are encouraged to read through resources to help them guide their work. Mayhew’s teams would also ensure journalists would be given relevant hotline numbers, and would ask media outlets to include them in published stories.

“It’s not saying, ‘You have to do this’,” she explains, “It’s about first of all not knowing what the journalist has been through themselves, and second of all, [if] they are entertainment reporters who haven’t navigated speaking about sexual assault, you only hope it will be helpful going forward. It’s certainly not done to infantilize them, because they’re smart people. It’s a way to show some care and support.”

The idea of having appropriate resources to make people feel safe and encourage them to make their own decisions is a priority for Bays and Birds’ Eye View, as well. The London-based creative producer and cultural activist stresses the importance of sharing such a viewing experience. “It’s the job of cinemas, distributors and festivals to realize that it might not be something the filmmaker does, but as the people in control of the environment it’s our job to give extra resources to those who want it,” says Bays. “To give people a safe space to come down from the experience.”

Pre-pandemic, when Birds’ Eye View screened Kitty Green’s The Assistant, a sharp condemnation of workplace micro-aggressions seen through the eyes of one female assistant, they invited women who had worked for Harvey Weinstein. For a discussion after Eliza Hittman’s coming-of-ager Never Rarely Sometimes Always, abortion experts were able to share their knowledge. “It’s about making sure the audience knows you can say anything here, but that it’s safe,” Bays explains. “It’s kind of like group therapy—you don’t know people, so you’re not beholden to what they think about you. And in the cinema people aren’t looking at you. You’re speaking somewhat anonymously, so a lot of really important stuff can come out.”

The traditional movie-going experience, involving friends, crowds and cathartic, let-loose feelings, is still largely inaccessible at the time of writing. Over the past twelve months we’ve talked plenty about preserving the magic of the big screen experience, but it’s about so much more than the romanticism of an art form; it’s also about the safety that comes from a feeling of community when watching potentially upsetting movies.

“The going in and coming out parts of watching a film in the cinema are massively important, because it’s like coming out of the airlock and coming back to reality,” says Bays. “You can’t do that at home. Difficult material kind of stays with you.” During the pandemic, Birds’ Eye View has continued to provide the same wrap-around curatorial support for at-home viewers as they would at an in-person event. “If we’re picking a difficult film and asking people to watch it at home, we might suggest you watch it with a friend so you can speak about it afterwards,” Bays says.

Julia Garner in ‘The Assistant’.

But, then, how can we still find this sense of community without the physical closeness? “It’s no good waiting for [the internet] to become kind,” she says. “Create your own closed spaces. We do workshops and conversations exclusively for people who sign up to our newsletter. In real-life meetings you can go from hating something to hearing an eloquent presentation of another perspective and coming round to it, but you need the time and space to do that. This little amount of time gives you a move towards healing, even if it’s just licking some wounds that were opened on Twitter. But it could be much deeper, like being a survivor and feeling very conflicted about the film, which I do.”

Conflict is something that Searles, the film critic, knows about all too well in her work. “Since I started writing professionally, I almost feel like I’m known for writing about assault and rape at this point. I do write about it a lot, and as a survivor I continue to process it. I’ve been assaulted more than once so I have a lot to process, and so each time I’m writing about it I’m thinking about different aspects and remnants of those feelings. It can be very cathartic, but it’s a double-edged sword because sometimes I feel like I have an obligation to write about it too.”

There is also a constant act of self-preservation that comes with putting so much of yourself on the internet. “I often get messages from people thanking me for talking about these subjects with a deep understanding of what they mean,” Searles says. “I really appreciate that. I get negative messages about a lot of things, but not this one thing.”

Michaela Coel in ‘I May Destroy You’.

* * *

With such thoughtful approaches to heavy content, it feels like we’re a long way further down the road from blunt tools like content and trigger warnings. But do they still have their place? “It’s just never seemed appropriate to put trigger warnings on any of our reviews or features,” White explains. “We have a heavy male readership, still 70 percent male to 30 percent female. I’m conscious we’re talking to a lot of men who will often have experienced violence themselves, but we don’t put any warnings, because we are an adult magazine, and when we talk about violence in, say, an action film, or violence that is very heavily between men, we don’t caveat that at all.”

Bays, too, is sceptical of trigger warnings, explaining that “there’s not much evidence [they] actually work. A lot of psychologists expound on the fact that if people get stuck in their trauma, you can never really recover from PTSD if you don’t at some point face your trauma.” She adds: “I’m a survivor, and I found I May Destroy You deeply, profoundly triggering, but also cathartic. I think it’s more about how you talk about the work, rather than having a ‘NB: survivors of sexual abuse or assault shouldn’t see this’.”

“It’s important to give people a feel of what they’re in for,” argues Searles. “A lot of people who have dealt with suicide ideation would prefer that warning.” While some worry that a content warning is effectively a plot spoiler, Searles disagrees. “I don’t consider a content warning a spoiler. I just couldn’t imagine sitting down for a film, knowing there’s going to be a suicide, and letting it distract me from the film.” Still, she acknowledges the nuance. “I think using ‘self-harm’ might be better than just saying ‘suicide’.”

Mayhew shared insights on who actually decides which films on which platforms are preceded with warnings—turns out, it’s a bit messy. “The onus traditionally has fallen on governmental censorship when it comes to theatrical releases,” she explains. “But streamers can do what they want, they are not bound by those rules so they have to—as the distributors and broadcasters—take the government’s censors on board in terms of how they are going to navigate it.

“The consumer doesn’t know the difference,” she continues, “nor should they—so it means they can be watching The Crown on Netflix and get this trigger warning about bulimia, and go to the cinema the next day and not get it, and feel angry about it. So there’s the question of where is the responsibility of the distributor, and where is the responsibility of the audience member to actually find out for themselves.”

The warnings given to an audience member can also vary widely depending where they find themselves in the world, too. Promising Young Woman, for example, is rated M in Australia, R18 in New Zealand, and R in the United States. Meanwhile, the invaluable Common Sense Media recommends an age of fifteen years and upwards for the “dark, powerful, mature revenge comedy”. Mayhew says a publicist’s job is “to have your finger on the pulse” about these cultural differences. “You have to read the overall room, and when I say room I mean the culture as a whole, and you have to be constantly abreast of things across those different ages too.”

She adds: “This feeds into the importance of representation right at the top of those boardrooms and right down to the film sets. My job is to see all opinions, and I never will, especially because I am a white woman. I consider myself part of the LGBT community and sometimes I’ll bring that to a room that I think has been lacking in that area, when it comes to harmful stereotypes that can be propagated within films about LGBT people. But I can’t bring a Black person’s perspective, I cannot bring an Indigenous perspective. The more representation you have, the better your film is going to be, your campaign is going to be.”

Bays, who is also a filmmaker, agrees: representation is about information, and working with enough knowledge to make sure your film is being as faithful to your chosen communities as possible. “As a filmmaker, I’d feel ill-informed and misplaced if I was stumbling into an area of representation that I knew nothing about without finding some tools and collaborators who could bring deeper insight.”

Carey Mulligan and Bo Burnham in ‘Promising Young Woman’.

This is something Ford aimed for with Test Pattern’s choice of crew members, which had an effect not just on the end product, but on the entire production process. “I made sure that at the department head level, I was hiring people I was in community with and fully saw me as a person, and me them,” they say. “In some ways it made the experience more pleasurable.” That said, the shoot was still not without its incidents: “These were the types of things that in my experience often occur on a film set dominated by straight white men, that we're so accustomed to we sometimes don’t even notice it. I won’t go into it but what I will say is that it was not tolerated.”

Vital to the telling of the story were the lived experiences that Ford and their crew brought to set. “As it applies to the sensitive nature of this story, there were quite a few of us who have had our own experiences along the spectrum of assault, which means that we had to navigate our own internal re-processing of those experiences, which is hard to do when we’re constructing an experience of rape for a character.

“However, I think being able to share our own triggers and discomfort and context, when it came to Renesha’s experience, made the execution of it all the better. Again, it was a pleasure to be in community with such smart, talented and considerate women who each brought their own nuance to this film.”

* * *

Thinking about everything we’ve lived through by this point in 2021, and the heightened sensitivity and lowered mental health of film lovers worldwide, movies are carrying a pretty heavy burden right now: to, as Jane Fonda said at the Golden Globes, help us see through others’ eyes; also, to entertain or, at the very least, not upset us too much.

But to whom does film have a responsibility, really? Promising Young Woman’s writer-director Emerald Fennell, in an excellent interview with Vulture’s Angelica Jade Bastién, said that she was thinking of audiences when she crafted the upsetting conclusion.

What she was thinking was: a ‘happy’ ending for Cassie gets us no further forward as a society. Instead, Cassie’s shocking end “makes you feel a certain way, and it makes you want to talk about it. It makes you want to examine the film and the society that we live in. With a cathartic Hollywood ending, that’s not so much of a conversation, really. It’s a kind of empty catharsis.”

So let’s flip the question: what is our responsibility, as women and allies, towards celebrating audacious films about tricky subjects? The marvellous, avenging blockbusters that once sucked all the air out of film conversation are on pause, for now. Consider the space that this opens up for a different kind of approach to “must-see movies”. Spread the word about Test Pattern. Shout from the rooftops about It’s A Sin. Add Body of Water and Herself and Violation to your watchlists. And, make sure the right people are watching.

Brittany S. Hall and Will Brill in ‘Test Pattern’.

I asked my interviewees: if they could choose one type of person they think should see Promising Young Woman, who would it be? Ford has not seen Fennell’s film, but “it feels good to have my film contribute to a larger discourse that is ever shifting, ever adding nuance”. They are very clear on who can learn the most from their own movie.

“A white man is featured so prominently in Test Pattern as a statement about how white people and men have a habit of centering themselves in the stories of others, prioritizing their experience and neglecting to recognize those on the margins. If Evan is triggering, he should be. If your feelings about Evan vacillate, it is by design.

“‘Allies’ across the spectrum are in a complicated dance around doing the ‘right thing’ and ‘showing up’ for those they are ostensibly seeking to support,” Ford continues. “Their constant battle is to remember that they need to be centering the needs of those they were never conditioned to center. Tricky stuff. Mistakes will be made. Mistakes must be owned. Sometimes reconciliation is required.”

It is telling that similar thoughts emerged from my other interviewees regarding Promising Young Woman’s ideal audience, despite the fact that none of them was in conversation with the others for this story. For that reason, as we come to the end of this small contribution to a very large, ongoing conversation, I’ve left their words intact.

White: I think it’s a great film for men.

Searles: I feel like the movie is very much pointed at cisgender heterosexual men.

Mayhew: Men.

White: We’re always warned about the alpha male with a massive ego, but we’re not warned about the beta male who reads great books, listens to great records, has great film recommendations. But he probably slyly undermines you in a completely different way. Anybody can be a predator.

Searles: The actors chosen to play these misogynist, rape culture-perpetuating men are actors we think of as nice guys.

White: We are so much more tolerant of a man knocking the woman over the head, dragging her down an alley and raping her, because we understand that. But rape culture is made up of millions of small things that enable the people who do it. We are more likely to be attacked in our own homes by men we love than a stranger in the street.

Mayhew: The onus should not fall on women to call this out.

Searles: It’s not just creeps, like the ones you see usually in these movies. It’s guys like you. What are you going to do to make sure you’re not like this?

Related content

Sex Monsters, Rape Revenge and Trauma: a work-in-progress list

Rape and Revenge: a list of films that fall into, and play with, the genre

Unconsenting Media: a search engine for sexual violence in broadcasting

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

If you need help or to talk to someone about concerns raised for you in this story, please first know that you are not alone. These are just a few of the many organizations and resources available, and their websites include more information.

US: RAINN (hotline 0800 656 HOPE); LGBT National Help Center; Pathways to Safety; Time’s Up.

Canada: Canadian Association of Sexual Assault Centers—contacts by province and territory

UK/Ireland: Mind; The Survivors Trust (hotline 08088 010818); Rape Crisis England and Wales

Europe: Rape Crisis Network Europe

[juniorgman187]

Luck of the Universe (Spencer Reid Screenplay)

Season 9 Reid deserves more recognition. Definitely one of my fav looks/seasons. So I wrote about it :) 

Summary: Years after Spencer saves Maggie’s life, they reunite unexpectedly. Maggie thinks it’s fate; Spencer does not. She challenges him and says they’ll meet again, even without intending to. They do meet again, but not under favorable circumstances. Maggie’s life is in danger and Spencer must save her . . . again. 

Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst, Fluff, Screenplay Content Warning: Profanity, pregnancy, miscarriage, abduction, violence, death Word Count: 10.5k

DISCLAIMER: This was originally a screenplay but was adapted to have a more cohesive appearance on Tumblr. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Spencer Reid sits outside a cafe to enjoy his beachside view from a coffee shop. Foreign to California’s sun, Spencer has aloe and sunscreen packed with him. He even wears sunglasses wherever he goes. While he patiently waits for the arrival of his coffee, he reads The Narrative of John Smith. The exact copy that Maeve gave him over a year ago. 

Serving his coffee is Maggie. This event will single handedly change both of their lives forever. 

MAGGIE: Let me know if I can get you anything else. 

As she sets down the cup, Reid thanks her, and out of politeness, he tilts his head forward ever so slightly so that his glasses will shift to the bridge of his nose. This way she can see his eyes. And when she does see his eyes, they are so familiar to her, but she can’t place where she remembers them from. Spencer notices her looking at him.

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, you just looked really familiar. 

SPENCER: Actually we have met before. I’m the agent that, um, saved you.   

Maggie stands there for a moment in complete disbelief. 

MAGGIE: Oh my God, yes! No, I totally remember you now. Wow. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner I’m -

SPENCER: Maggie. 

Maggie peers down at her name tag and gives him a funny look.

SPENCER: No, I genuinely do remember you, and I didn’t just read your name tag. Um I have what’s called an eidetic memory. I’m able to recall things with high precision, even if it was a brief period of time on one occasion. 

MAGGIE: Really? That’s incredible. I wish I could say the same. All I could remember after being resuscitated was your eyes. I meant to thank you, by the way, for saving me, but at the time I was too in shock. I went to the police department the next day trying to find you, but you weren’t there. And as it turns out, it’s not so easy searching for a pair of hazel eyes. 

Spencer smiles. 

SPENCER: I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m a Supervisory Special Agent with the Behavior Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.

Hearing his name completely changes her. She says it to herself in disbelief. For years she’s wondered who he was, and now she knows.

MAGGIE: So what brings you back to California? 

SPENCER: We finished a case here earlier. I’m just killing time until I go back by reading.

MAGGIE: May I?

Maggie extends her hand to ask for the book politely. Spencer hands it to Maggie. She recognizes it almost immediately. 

MAGGIE: Oh, I love Arthur Conan Doyle. This is just one of those novels I wish I could read again for the first time. 

Spencer doesn’t respond, he’s just so enamored by the way she thinks and speaks. She misinterprets his silence as a sign that he’d rather not keep talking. 

MAGGIE: I should probably let you get back to reading. I wouldn’t want to keep you from the opinionated Everyman John Smith. I hope you have a safe travel home.

Maggie begins to get up from her chair.

SPENCER: Wait um, I don’t normally ask this, but I still have a few hours until my flight and I’d really love to keep talking with you so do you think maybe we could go somewhere or -

MAGGIE: I would love to, but I’m working until the closing shift tonight. 

SPENCER: Oh okay. 

Maggie is conflicted. Against her better judgement, she agrees. 

MAGGIE: You know what? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere. 

Excitement rises in Spencer. When Maggie goes into the coffee shop, he tries to contain himself. He fixes his hair and straightens out his cardigan and tie. Maggie comes back out. 

MAGGIE: Ever been to the pier?

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are looking out onto the ocean from the pier. It’s one of the rare times that they aren’t being swallowed by a huge crowd. It’s just them, a few other people, and the sunset. An ocean breeze blows through, making Maggie shiver and bump into Spencer. 

MAGGIE: My bad. Sorry. 

SPENCER: Do you want my - 

MAGGIE: No, no I’m fine. 

Spencer ignores her statement and drapes his cardigan around her. Though she would never admit it, it sort of smells like him - and it’s the most comforting smell in the world. 

MAGGIE: It’s beautiful isn’t it?

Maggie says while looking out to the sunset.

SPENCER: Yeah, it is. 

He says while looking at her. 

After a couple seconds, she notices him staring, looks at him, smiles, and nudges him. 

MAGGIE: It’s getting late. We should head back. 

Spencer follows close behind as Maggie leads the way. 

MAGGIE: I wish we could’ve hung out longer, but I don’t want to leave Tony running the shop alone for too long and I wouldn’t want you to miss your flight. 

SPENCER: For what it’s worth, I enjoyed the little time we did spend together. 

MAGGIE: I did, too. 

SPENCER: So maybe, when I’m back here, we could make plans. 

MAGGIE: I’ll look forward to your return then. 

Maggie and Spencer walk a little longer in a comfortable silence, until finally they’re back at the coffee shop. 

MAGGIE: Do you have a pen?

Spencer hesitates for a moment, but ultimately, has to place his hand on Maggie’s hip to retrieve the pen inside the pocket. This gesture startles her and causes her to remember that she was wearing his cardigan. 

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, I forgot that I was wearing this.

SPENCER: No keep it. It looks better on you anyway. Consider it an early birthday gift. September 8 right?

MAGGIE: How did you- Oh right. Eidetic memory. 

Spencer hands her the pen and Maggie reaches for a napkin from the table and writes her number on it.

MAGGIE: So if you’re ever insanely bored at 3 a.m. or you’re not busy saving someone’s life, call me. 

Spencer takes the napkin. 

SPENCER: Will do.

He tries to mask how excited he really is. 

Maggie heads back inside, but stops herself at the door. She turns back to Spencer.

MAGGIE: (genuinely asking) Do you know how often people reconnect without intending to after years of not seeing each other?

SPENCER: Not very often I suppose. 

MAGGIE: This could very well just be a huge coincidence, but it really feels like some luck of the universe that I’m talking to you right now. And I think we’ll be seeing each other soon again. 

Spencer’s intrigued. As a doctor, he’s pragmatic. Romantic notions such as destiny and luck - he wasn’t a believer of. Even God, he was skeptical of. But he wanted to see Maggie again, even if that meant he had to agree that it was fate after all.

SPENCER: And if we don’t?

Maggie pauses to answer his question. 

MAGGIE: Then we will eventually. 

Before Maggie opens the door, she notices Spencer pulling money out of his pocket to pay for his coffee. She stops him.

MAGGIE: It’s on the house. 

She says with a small smile that’s returned with a grin that creeps upon Spencer’s face. When she fully enters the cafe, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts. 

. . .

It’s the next day. The BAU is seated at the round table. Penelope is presenting the case. Reid’s momentarily distracted. He plays with the napkin in his book. It’s the napkin with Maggie’s number on it. His fixation lasts for so long that he misses the presentation entirely. It’s only when JJ asks him a question directly does he tune in and snap out of his trance. 

REID: What was the question?

Reid shifts in his seat uncomfortably and tries to hide his confusion by opening up the case file. 

ROSSI: You’ve been awfully quiet this morning. A little too quiet. Care to share?

REID: Nothing. Just thinking. 

He’s lying and they all know it. The team exchanges suspicious glances.

REID: Sorry, Garcia, could you repeat it one more time?

GARCIA: Why of course! Anything for you, Boy Wonder. A week ago, Brynn Dryer disappeared from her home late at night. 48 hours after she was reported missing, a couple jogging past a lake found her body. In the M.E’s report, there was a terrifyingly large amount of evidence that she was brutally beaten and clubbed. The official C.O.D was blunt force trauma to the head and the lake was nothing more than a disposal site. Less than a day later, Eliza O’ Hara went missing after someone invaded her home. Yesterday local P.D found her in the middle of a  field by the highway. Same M.O. The police department is anticipating that when you land, another girl will go missing. 

Spencer notices something. 

REID: Wait, can you put their pictures side by side?

Garcia does so. Spencer makes a connection. 

JJ: What is it, Spence?

REID: The similarities between the two victims are uncanny. Notice the eye color, skin tone, hair style, even down to the freckles they have.  

BLAKE: Alright so he’s got an aggression toward brown eyed, tan brunettes with bangs and freckles. 

ROSSI: And I have an aggression toward telemarketers but you don’t see me clubbing them to death. 

HOTCH: The cooling off period between kills is getting shorter. He’s escalating and we’re going to put a stop to this before he hits his stride. Garcia, you’re coming with us. Wheels up in 30.

The team is leaving the round table. 

. . .

The team is on the flight. 

HOTCH: JJ, as soon as we land, I need you setting up a press conference to let the women in the area know to be vigilant. After that, we’ll interview the family’s of Eliza and Brynn. I need Blake and Reid working on the geographical profile. Dave, you and Morgan will take a closer look at the bodies and see if you can’t gather more information. And Garcia, 

GARCIA: Yes, sir?

HOTCH: Find as many more connections between these women as you can, and contact any other women who fit the victimology. 

GARCIA: Yes, sir. 

ROSSI: Apparently, it'll be 101 degrees when we land. Remind me again why people live in California?

Reid perks up. He didn’t even know he was going back to California. But now that he does, he’s even more on edge. 

. . .

Reid works on the geographical profile, while Blake assists from her chair. There’s something off about Reid, and she’s about to find out what. 

BLAKE: Hey, you alright, Reid? You seem like you’re a million miles away. 

Reid stops working on the map. He turns around to face Blake. 

REID: I met this girl yesterday. She was actually a former victim I resuscitated. And before I left, she said she had a feeling we would see each other again soon.

Spencer pauses and purses his lips. 

SPENCER: She looks just like the other victims.

BLAKE: So you’re worried that when you see her again, it’ll be because of this case. 

REID: Do . . . do you think I could call her? To let her know. 

BLAKE: I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to break the rules if I were you, but I can’t, in good conscience, advise you to let her know what’s happening. By doing so, you’re giving her an advantage other people don’t have. If she tunes into JJ’s press conference, I’m sure she’ll be safe. 

REID: I thought Maeve was gonna be safe too. Look how that turned out.  

Blake is at a loss for words. Here she is, the linguist, and yet she can’t find the right words to tell Reid to comfort him. 

. . .

JJ sits beside Garcia as Garcia sets up her system. 

JJ: Spence has been acting really weird today. 

GARCIA: So it’s not just me! I knew something must’ve been wrong because earlier on the flight, I asked if he wanted to play online chess with me and he said no. Can you believe that? I know he’s all anti-tech and everything, but he’s never passed up a game of chess. So that’s why I’ve already done some digging.

JJ gives Garcia the face of “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

GARCIA: Okay, but before you say I shouldn’t have, you should see this. 

Garcia pulls up a small window on her computer to show to JJ. JJ is shocked. 

JJ: A three hour call with his mom last night? Could’ve just been his regular check in.

GARCIA: See that’s what I thought, too, but look. 

Garcia scrolls further up the call list. 

JJ: He hasn’t called his mom in months. 

GARCIA: We all know Reid tells everything to his mom. Something must’ve happened yesterday. 

Unbeknownst to Garcia and JJ, Reid walks in. 

REID: Hey, guys - what’re you looking at?

It’s too late now. Reid’s already seen it.

REID: You’re keeping tabs on me now? How long have you been monitoring me? Huh?

Anger possesses Reid. 

GARCIA: Just since this morning. I only looked at your call history briefly. 

REID: Unbelievable. 

JJ: We were just worried about you. We all are. There’s obviously something going on. 

REID: So then ask me about it. Ever thought of that? 

JJ: We’re sorry. 

REID: Yeah no, I’m fine, thanks for asking. 

Reid storms off from JJ and Garcia. 

. . .

Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan all meet Garcia, JJ, and Blake before delivering the profile. Spencer’s missing.

MORGAN: Where’s Pretty boy?

BLAKE: I thought he was going to talk to Jennifer and Garcia.

GARCIA: He did, but something happened . . . he was upset and left. I thought maybe he went back to working on the geo-profile.

HOTCH: Garcia, when did you last speak to him? 

GARCIA: Oh, I don’t know, sir, um, maybe fifteen minutes ago?

HOTCH: Morgan, go find Reid. We’ll deliver the profile. 

MORGAN: Where should I be looking?

BLAKE: He went to a coffee shop yesterday. I’m not sure which one, but it’s a start.

. . .

Reid is frantically entering the coffee shop. He scans the room for Maggie but doesn’t see her. 

TONY: Hey, what can I get for you?

SPENCER: Is Maggie here?

TONY: Who’s asking?

SPENCER: (flashing his badge) I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. Let me ask you again, where’s Maggie?

TONY: Didn’t show up today. 

SPENCER: Did she call in sick?

TONY: Nope.

SPENCER: When was the last time you saw her?

TONY: Last night when we were working the closing shift.  

SPENCER: Do you know how she got home?

TONY: She walked. I tried to offer her a ride, but she said she likes to walk. Something about clearing the mind. 

SPENCER: Did she walk alone?

TONY: Mhm. 

Spencer’s mind swirls. He is living his worst nightmare all over again. When he turns around and sees Derek pulling up. Reid rushes out of the coffee shop and hops into the passenger seat immediately. Derek doesn’t even question it. 

REID: Drive. I need Garcia on the phone. 

Derek dials her.

GARCIA: Did you find Rei-

REID: (cutting her off) Garcia, I need you to look up Magnolia Tate. Get me her address. 

MORGAN: What is it, Reid?

REID: She didn’t show up to work today. Her coworker said the last time he saw her was when she was walking home. She fits the victimology. Garcia, the address? 

GARCIA: 178 Citrus Boulevard. Be safe. 

REID: Thank you, Garcia. 

GARCIA: Of course. And, Reid?

REID: Yeah?

GARCIA: I’m really super-duper sorry about earlier. 

REID: It’s fine. I know you guys were just looking out for me. 

Reid can sense Garcia smiling through the phone so he promptly hangs up knowing their business is resolved. 

MORGAN: Reid, there is a good chance this could just be a coincidence. 

REID: I’m telling you - nothing with this girl is just a coincidence.

MORGAN: Well, have you called her yet?

REID: No.

MORGAN: Then call her now, Reid. 

REID: I can’t. 

MORGAN: Yes, you can. 

REID: I can’t. 

MORGAN: Why not?

REID: I’m scared that if I call her, I won’t be able to stop, and I’ll want to keep talking to her, but I can’t do that. Not when I know what it’s like loving something death can touch.

MORGAN: Is this about Maeve?

REID: It’s always about Maeve! Morgan, I watched her die in front of me. And just knowing that right now I could be in the same position -

MORGAN: Listen, I know how guilty you feel about Maeve. Man, I feel guilty about her, too, but you gotta understand that if this is connected to our case, you’re gonna save her. Trust me on this. 

REID: Yeah, okay. 

MORGAN: So how do you two know each other?

REID: She was actually a previous victim of ours. Nearly a decade ago, I performed CPR after her ex-boyfriend pushed her off the boat, bound and gagged. They were out on the lake watching the Fourth of July firework show, but a witness recognized her from the news, which ultimately saved her life. Prior to that, he killed practically all of her next of kin because he believed they were responsible for the restraining order she filed against him. 

MORGAN: Why’d he risk taking her out in public?

REID: He was recreating their first date. How do you not remember this? 

MORGAN: Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember the case. Cause you made that stupid joke that he was trying to reignite a spark.

Reid makes an offended/sad face. Morgan smiles.

REID: You know, taking into consideration how much emotional trauma we’ve been through combined, there is a very real possibility that our relationship would be, for lack of a better word, doomed. She has no parents, my mom has schizophrenia. We’ve both been held hostage. I’ve been hospitalized, and she’s potentially been abducted for a second time. 

MORGAN: Seems like the perfect fit to me. 

REID: I’m being serious. 

MORGAN: I am, too. 

REID: Statistically, 40% of all long distance relationships end up failing in some way, including relationships where the partners are married. And of that 40%, 70% of these failures occur because of unplanned circumstances that happen to one of the participants in a relationship. Unplanned circumstances are practically a part of our line of work. Not to mention, most long distance relationships survive on two in-person visits per month. But relying on getting two cases in California per month is completely unrealistic. 

MORGAN: Kid, you can give me all the statistics and numbers to convince me why you shouldn’t be together, but the one thing you haven’t said is that you don’t like her. 

REID: Fine, I don’t like her. 

MORGAN: Then why am I driving to her house?

Reid pauses, not ready to admit he’s wrong. 

REID: Because this could be a lead on the case. 

MORGAN: Whatever you say, Pretty Boy. 

After a long period of time, Reid finally speaks.

REID: At first, I only noticed her because she looked like Maeve. Even when we were talking, it felt like I was talking to Maeve again. But then, she surprised me. She said that seeing me again felt like a “luck of the universe.” That’s when I realized, she’s not a girl who reminds me of Maeve. She’s her own person. She’s Maggie.

MORGAN: See that wasn’t so hard now was it?

REID: I will crush you.

. . .

Morgan and Reid are walking up the flight of stairs to get to Maggie’s apartment. 

MORGAN: Remind me again of the plan. Because realistically, she could just be playing hooky or be out somewhere else. 

REID: Once we get to her apartment, if she’s not there, I’ll call. 

MORGAN: Have we thought about what we’re gonna say if she is there? Oh sorry ma’am, we thought you were kidnapped.

REID: I’ll figure it out. 

Reid and Morgan are in her hallway. Morgan knocks on her door, but the door moves when he knocks on it. It’s open. Morgan and Reid exchange glances. Morgan reaches for his gun as he cautiously opens the door wider to enter. When they do, there’s no one inside. But there was an obvious sign of a struggle. A glass vase has been smashed.

REID: Call Hotch. I’ll call her. 

Morgan goes to the side to let Hotch know.

REID: (to himself) Please pick up. Please pick up.

MAGGIE: (her voicemail) Hey, it’s Mags. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I’ll call you back when I can. 

Hearing Maggie’s voice almost makes him want to break down in tears, but he composes himself. 

MORGAN: Reid, we gotta go. Garcia found something. 

. . .

Hotch, JJ, Blake, Rossi, and Garcia are all together in the conference room while on the phone with Reid and Morgan. 

MORGAN: What’d you find, Baby Girl?

GARCIA: Well after doing some digging, I unearthed Marcus Linden and Toby Forthword. Who are they you may ask? Good question. They are Eliza O’Hara and Brynn Dryer’s sons. And you’re probably thinking, they have children? Yes indeedio they do. The reason I didn’t find this earlier was because when Brynn and Eliza were teen moms, they set up closed adoptions for their sons before they were born. I’ve been trying to find any contact they might’ve made with the agency or their kids since the adoptions, but I haven’t been able to. I thought that was weird, but I started searching for other women that fit the criteria, and would you believe - there was one. 

The pause Garcia takes before saying it, tells Reid it’s Maggie. 

GARCIA: Magnolia Tate.

Reid is at a loss for words. His mind is trying to wrap about what he’s hearing, but it’s all so much. 

HOTCH: Could you find any more connections?

GARCIA: A week before the abductions, all three of them went to a clinic for women who were pregnant or planning to be. 

Reid bites his lips as he tries to grasp it all. 

REID: Is she pregnant? 

All of them know who he’s referring to. 

JJ: Spence . . . they all were.

If Reid’s jaw could be on the floor, it would. Even Morgan winced as JJ revealed the news. A moment of silence falls over the group as they all feel for Spencer. Hotch is the first to speak after nearly a minute of not.

HOTCH: Apply those precedents to teen mothers in the early 2000s and cross it with women that gave birth to sons who ended up in the system instead of being adopted. 

MORGAN: Baby girl, look at kids that are around 18-20 now. He would’ve been recently freed from the system. He’ll most likely have a history of anger management issues or disciplinary issues. 

ROSSI: The mother might also be recently deceased. 

JJ: There’s your stressor.

BLAKE: With the death of his biological mother, he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. He’d look for them from the women that his mother is similar to. Brynn, Eliza, and Magnolia all serve as surrogates. Garcia, he’d be aiming to work in the system. Not only would he want to prevent other kids from going through what he did, but it would also explain how he found them. 

JJ: You know the fact that all three women were pregnant could account for his anger. To him, that’s the ultimate form of betrayal. Giving their son up, only to have another child in the future to keep.

GARCIA: Got it. 

Spencer is still trying to process. He stays quiet as he fiddles with the napkin. It almost appears as though he might tear it.

. . .

Maggie’s balled up in a corner, hugging her knees. She’s badly beaten. She’s bleeding, her eyes are swollen from crying and she’s looking down at her stomach. The unsub is standing, watching this.

UNSUB: Don’t cry, Magnolia. I wouldn’t have done that if you just answered me. 

MAGGIE: You killed my baby!

UNSUB: And I’ll do more if you don’t answer me!

MAGGIE: Please . . . I can’t give you the answers you want. I’m not your mother. 

UNSUB: If you don’t answer me, I’ll hurt your little boy. I’ve been watching him very closely. His name is Elijah Martin, cute kid by the way. Quite the over-achieving 12 year old. He’s in soccer and track and field. Wanna see his school picture?

Maggie closes her eyes and turns her head so she doesn’t have to see. 

UNSUB: See, Magnolia, what you’re going through right now, is only a fraction of what I had to go through in my foster homes. I was tortured, bullied, abused. All because that old hag didn’t want to make the sacrifice to be a mother. So answer me this, how could you give him up?

MAGGIE: I may not have made the sacrifice to be a mother, but I did make a sacrifice the day I chose not to be his. I wanted to keep him. I cried when I watched him leave with that other family. But I couldn’t be the mother he needed.

UNSUB: Why haven’t you called him? Or tried to get him back?

MAGGIE: Reaching out would’ve done more harm than good. Not knowing who I am, or who his father was, meant that we could never stand in the way of his future. He can reach his fullest potential - free of mine or Charlie’s hindrance. 

The unsub understands Maggie. She’s gotten through to him. But he still carries anger. He groans in frustration and grabs Maggie by the collar of her shirt.

UNSUB: We’re gonna take a little trip.

. . . 

The BAU is at the local Police Department. Garcia is reading to them what she’s found. 

GARCIA: I know a textbook serial killer when I see one. His name is Ray Lewis-Fernandez. Throughout his time in foster care, he was a troublemaker. He never stayed for more than a month in a group home. Quite a Dennis the Menace, according to his foster families. It also says here that he got caught on multiple occasions trying to get his file so he could find his mother. Her name was Shawna Heights, and I say “was” because she passed away exactly two weeks before he was emancipated. 

MORGAN: So this guy is finally able to find his mother on his own, only to realize he missed her by two weeks. 

GARCIA: Talk about bad luck. But that isn’t even the worst of it. If Ray did do some digging after his emancipation, he would’ve discovered that Shawna had two sons and a daughter only a few years after he was born. 

JJ: Did he try to contact them?

GARCIA: No, but that’s the surprising part. I profiled him wanting to reach out and be one big ol’ happy family, but then I remembered I’m not a profiler.

REID: Wait, that might actually be it.

Everyone is shocked to hear Spencer speak up. 

GARCIA: Wait, I’m right?

REID: Foster families mentioned he’d been trying to find his mother but at the core of its meaning - he’s trying to find family. If his mission is to find family, he wouldn’t stay away unless he had to. Garcia, check if there’s a restraining order on Ray. 

GARCIA: Bingo, Boy Wonder! Malcolm, Shawna’s husband, filed it against him just days after Shawna’s funeral. 

REID: The restraining order means he can’t come within a certain distance of the kids, right? So he wouldn’t risk it all just to have lunch with them or send a letter. Think about it - high risk, high reward. Ray would only violate the order, if he could have them completely. But in order to not get caught, he’ll use maternal figures to lure them. They just lost their mother and seeing or talking to someone so similar to Shawna would make them that much more susceptible. But Brynn and Eliza are both mothers who have given up their sons. This means they know what inadequate guardians look like. They’re aware the kids are better off with Malcolm, and they won’t be responsible for abducting them and placing them under Ray’s care. It would completely go against their own reasoning for giving away their children. Their refusal to help him execute the plan angers him to the point of murder. He isn’t just killing because they’re surrogates for his rage, but because they refuse to help him achieve his goal. 

ROSSI: The kids are his endgame. 

BLAKE: All he’s wanted is a family. Now that he knows he has one that hasn’t already betrayed him, he’ll stop at nothing to have them.

HOTCH: What’s the address, Garcia?

GARCIA: Already sent it, sir. 

The BAU rushes out of the conference room. 

. . .

Maggie and Ray are sitting in his car. They’re watching the three children play - staking them out. Malcolm - their father, is nowhere to be seen. We’re to assume he’s at work while they’re at home. 

RAY: You see the boy with the red hoodie? That’s Malcolm Jr. He’s the oldest. Same age as your boy. Then Evan is the middle child. He’s eight. But the baby - she’s my favorite. Her name is Ariel cause of her red hair. She’s six. 

Maggie smiles for a split second before frowning. 

MAGGIE: You don’t have to do this. 

RAY: And I’m not. Because you will. 

Maggie breaks her gaze from the children to look at Ray with shock. 

MAGGIE: No, no, no I’m not kidnapping them. I won’t do it.

Ray retrieves his gun and points it at her stomach. 

RAY: You had a chance to have your family with Elijah. But you gave him up. Now that I have a chance, you’re gonna help me. 

MAGGIE: What if I don’t?

RAY: You’re smart. Figure it out.

MAGGIE: I will not be taunted with death if I don’t help you take someone else’s babies away. So go ahead, kill me. I’ve got nothing left to live for anyway. 

A gunshot. 

Standing in front of the car, is Malcom with his shotgun. The windshield is shattered by a single bullet that penetrated it. Malcolm fired a shot right through Ray’s head. Maggie is alive and in complete and total shock. Once Malcolm knows he’s dead he rushes to her door to help her. 

MALCOM: You have to unlock it. 

Maggie is forced to reach over Ray’s dead body and unlock the car. When she does, Malcolm helps her exit the vehicle. Maggie’s seen putting pressure on her stomach to stop the bleeding. 

Within seconds of escaping, police SUV’s arrive. Spencer is the first to run out of the car. 

Relief overcomes Maggie. 

MAGGIE: Spencer!

She stops him before he can hug her.

MAGGIE: No wait! I’m bleeding. 

Spencer ignores this and embraces her. Maggie sobs hysterically when he does. 

MAGGIE: He . . . he killed my -

SPENCER: Shh, I know. I know. I’m here now, okay?

Neither of them pull away. 

MAGGIE: Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re here. I knew I’d see you again. 

SPENCER: Yeah, you did. You were right Mags. 

These words make Maggie shut her eyes and smile. 

Hotch approaches the pair from behind. 

HOTCH: Miss Tate, there’s an ambulance here for you. Let’s get you to a hospital.

Maggie nods as Spencer helps her limp to a stretcher. 

When she situates herself and is lifted into the back of the ambulance, Spencer turns to Hotch. 

SPENCER: Can I - 

HOTCH: Yes, yes, go. We’ll meet you there. 

Spencer enters the back of the ambulance and sits beside Maggie as they ride to the hospital together. 

MAGGIE: You’re coming?

Spencer nods and gives a small reassuring smile. 

Another tear escapes her eyes as she smiles through the oxygen mask to thank him. 

. . .

The entire team is seated in a waiting room. Spencer is standing up and pacing as he waits for the doctor. 

A doctor soon enters. 

DOCTOR: Is there a Spencer Reid?

Spencer comes over quickly. 

SPENCER: That’s me.

DOCTOR: Come with me, sir. 

Spencer follows the Doctor. 

DOCTOR: Luckily, the lacerations didn’t travel far enough to do a significant amount of damage that would require surgery, but we did have to perform a blood transfusion due to the amount of blood she lost. 

SPENCER: How’s the baby?

DOCTOR: It was too early to tell the sex of the baby before she miscarried. She’s awake now and has been asking for you. 

SPENCER: Thanks. 

The doctor leaves as soon as Spencer knocks on the door. 

SPENCER: (quietly) Maggie?

Maggie’s face lights up when she sees him. 

MAGGIE: Hey you. 

Spencer pulls a chair closer to Maggie’s bedside to take her hand and kiss the back of it. She smiles as he does this. 

SPENCER: How are you feeling?

MAGGIE: Is it possible to feel incredibly lucky and incredibly lucky at the same time?

Spencer gives her that small reassuring smile. 

MAGGIE: I’ll be okay.

SPENCER: Good.

MAGGIE: I’m starting to regret not letting Tony take me home. 

Maggie and Spencer share a laugh. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I think you should let him drive you from now on. 

MAGGIE: Yeah, you’re probably right, but I don't think I want to work there anymore. Or even live here for that matter. 

SPENCER: I don’t blame you. 

MAGGIE: I grew up here, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

SPENCER: Where are you thinking of going?

MAGGIE: Well, I completed my bachelor’s degree to become an English teacher, but I never applied to any schools. I think in my gut I knew I didn’t want a job to tie me down here, otherwise I’d never leave California - no matter how much I should. So realistically anywhere that’s offering positions to English teachers is ideal. 

Hearing Maggie’s an English major doesn’t surprise Spencer. 

SPENCER: You know, when I go back to D.C, I can find open teaching positions for you. Moving there would be a big change, but I think you’d feel safer at least.

MAGGIE: I think I would too. And I wouldn’t mind the change. Getting a couple thousand miles closer to you doesn’t sound so bad.

Spencer cheekily grins. 

SPENCER: Yeah?

Maggie nods. 

Hotch enters the room.

HOTCH: It’s time. 

Reid nods and turns back to Maggie. 

SPENCER: I’ll see you soon.

MAGGIE: Can’t wait. 

SPENCER: Goodbye, Maggie. 

He sits up and kisses her forehead. For a moment, he rests his forehead on hers. Maggie smiles when he does this little gesture. 

MAGGIE: Thank you. 

Spencer nods and shuts the door behind him when he leaves. 

With a heavy heart, Spencer leaves the hospital. 

. . .

On the plane back, everyone is asleep besides Spencer and Hotch. 

HOTCH: How is she?

SPENCER: She’ll be okay, but I can’t seem to figure out why. I thought she’d be broken. And I think deep down she is, but when she smiles, she isn’t faking it. 

HOTCH: “Sometimes the ones who have the brightest smiles are the ones who have known and endured deep darkness.”

SPENCER: Dodinsky. (the author of the quote)

. . .

It’s been a week since Spencer has visited Maggie, but he’s back now. Maggie is lying on her hospital bed, with Spencer entering her room. He hides something behind his back.

SPENCER: Knock! Knock! I brought you something.

MAGGIE: Oooh, fun!  

Spencer pulls out headbands with the words “Fourth of July” in block letters. 

SPENCER: Here. 

He slides one on top of her head and puts the other on himself. 

MAGGIE: What’s this for?

SPENCER: Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, we subconsciously link the tragic event with the date it happened on. It happens most often with death anniversaries, birthdays, or in your case, holidays. But I want to make the Fourth of July a good holiday again. So earlier, I asked the doctors if I could take you up to the roof to watch the fireworks. 

MAGGIE: Spencer . . .

SPENCER: Humor me. 

Maggie’s reluctant but she still reaches out her arms to have Spencer help her out of bed anyway. He wheels over the wheelchair to her and she groans. 

MAGGIE: Are you actually gonna make me use that?

SPENCER: I mean, you’re welcome to walk around the hospital with your backless patient gown.

Maggie laughs and complies. Spencer begins to wheel Maggie out of her room and into the elevator that goes up to the roof. When they finally get there, Maggie’s face lights up. There’s a whole picnic set out for the two of them. A blanket with small fixings is laid out for them. 

Maggie rises from the wheelchair and turns around to engulf Spencer in the biggest hug. 

MAGGIE: Thank you. This is like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. 

Spencer hugs her back even tighter. His hand is on the small of her back, and for a second he can feel her smooth skin, but like the gentleman he is, he tightly wraps Maggie’s hospital gown to cover her exposed skin. A small gesture that to Maggie, does not go unnoticed. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer's backs are lying flat against the blanket. They’re in the middle of a conversation where each of them are smiling.

SPENCER: JJ said that Henry wanted to dress up as his favorite profiler, and he came into the office as me. I even gave him my badge.  

MAGGIE: That is adorable! I can’t wait to have kids and celebrate Halloween with them. 

Spencer goes quiet, making Maggie realize what she said. 

MAGGIE: Oh, gosh, sorry I did not mean for that to take a dark turn. 

SPENCER: Do you want to talk about it? 

Maggie pauses. 

MAGGIE: Um, I mean, sometimes I get sad, but for the most part I’m okay. I think I’ve finally accepted that it happened. You know, I’m actually sort of relieved that I didn’t carry the baby full term, because could you imagine how complicated that would be? Yeah, it’s . . . it’s better this way. And I’ve always wanted a family, but if I had that sperm donor’s baby, I wouldn’t have a family, it’d just be me and the baby. But I want my child to grow up with a father, you know?

Yes, Reid does know. He wishes his father was around. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I do. 

MAGGIE: What about you? Do you want kids?

SPENCER: Absolutely. It’s funny because I always say that I could never picture myself leaving my job and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But if I had kids, they’d be the exception. I, uh, 

Spencer lightly laughs and looks down. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I don’t know, I just really want to be a dad one day. 

MAGGIE: You’d be a really good dad. I mean that. 

Originally, Maggie and Spencer were both looking up at the sky, but after Spencer turned his head and Maggie turned hers, their faces were only inches away. Spencer licks his lips as he contemplates kissing her. But he pivots. He smiles and kisses her forehead. 

Simultaneously, a firework goes off, startling the duo. Maggie laughs in excitement. 

SPENCER: Did you know that at MIT, one of the lessons they taught students earning their degree in chemistry was how to make a firework?

MAGGIE: You know how to make one? What do they use to make the colors?

SPENCER: Good question. To create certain colors, different physical elements are used. Magnesium creates a bright white light, like that one right there. While strontium and lithium each showcase a different shade of red, like the first one we saw. But the most dangerous colors to form, blues and greens, are formed from barium and copper. 

Spencer’s explanation continues for a little longer. The view above the pair zooms out. They’re just two small people on the roof of the hospital. 

. . .

Spencer is in his apartment. He’s on the phone with Maggie. 

MAGGIE: So I’m looking at an apartment in Manassas right now. It’s only half an hour away from the school and it’s a 45 minute drive from your apartment. 

SPENCER: You’re not very good at changing the subject, Maggie. Even now, I can read your body language. 

MAGGIE: I’m not changing the subject. I’m just mentioning my other options that are unrelated to the one you proposed. 

SPENCER: Wow, is the idea of living with me really that bad?

MAGGIE: No! I would love to live with you. 

SPENCER: But?

MAGGIE: But you’ve already done so much. You’ve saved my life twice, visited me every week I’ve been in the hospital, made the Fourth of July fun again, and helped me find a great teaching job over there. So I am sincerely grateful, but moving in with you would feel like taking advantage of your good heart. You’ve done a lot for me already, okay? I can take care of myself from now on. 

SPENCER: Okay, think of it instead as a mutualistic relationship. We both receive net benefits from moving in. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me because I’d be gaining something from it, too. I’d have a roommate and my rent would dichotomize. And for you, you’ll only be driving 15 minutes to work instead of 30. 

MAGGIE: Did you ever consider being a lawyer? You’re quite convincing. 

SPENCER: So is that a yes?

MAGGIE: It’s a “Yes I’ll move in with you but only if Plan A doesn’t pan out.”

SPENCER: Promise me you’ll think about it. 

MAGGIE: Okay, fine. I’ll think about it. 

SPENCER: Say it. 

MAGGIE: I promise. 

Spencer yawns. Maggie hears it. 

MAGGIE: What time is it over there?

SPENCER: 11:54. 

MAGGIE: Spencer! Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve been asleep like two hours ago.

SPENCER: I’ll be fine. I don’t have to be at work until 7.

MAGGIE: You of all people know how bad it is to get less than 8 hours of sleep. I’m gonna hang up now so you can at least get 6. 

SPENCER: Then I’ll call back.

MAGGIE: Then I’ll decline. 

SPENCER: Fine, if I go to sleep, you have to agree to consider living with me as more than a Plan B.

MAGGIE: I already said I would! 

SPENCER: Mmm no. I’m not really feeling it. You have to say it nicely.  

MAGGIE: If you sleep now, I’ll consider living with you as more than a backup plan. 

SPENCER: Music to my ears. Sleep well, Maggie. 

MAGGIE: Sweet dreams, Spencer. 

Spencer lets Maggie hang up. Let it be known, that he has never once ended a call. 

. . .

It’s a few weeks later. Maggie’s finally out of the hospital. It’s official that she has the teacher job - no interview required thanks to Garcia. Currently, she and Spencer are packing the last of her things away into boxes in preparation for the cross country move she’s making tomorrow. 

MAGGIE: I know I’m still a little fragile, but the doctor said I’m all clear to resume normal activities. So would you please let me help you with the boxes?

SPENCER: Mmm, I don’t think so. 

MAGGIE: Need I remind you that I’ve been through worse than packing?

SPENCER: That would violate our designated jobs! I pack the boxes - you label them, remember? 

Spencer picks up a book from her shelf and reads the spine of it. From the looks of how empty the bookshelf is, he’s been packing away the books this entire time they’ve been packing.

SPENCER: By the way, I love your book collection. Very diverse. But the way you’ve organized them is peculiar, though. 

MAGGIE: What do you mean? Each shelf is categorized by genre. 

SPENCER: No, I figured that out, but why not in alphabetical order? Cause, see, you have several books from Dickens, but they’re sporadic on your shelves. And again with Austen and Steinbeck, you have several of their books, so organizing by last name means that all the books by the same author would be together. 

MAGGIE: Alright then, when I move, you can organize my bookshelf. 

SPENCER: Sweet!

MAGGIE: I was joki-

Maggie notices that Spencer actually takes pleasure in organizing her books, so she refrains from saying she’s joking. 

MAGGIE: Can I see a box? I forgot I have stuff on my fridge still to take down. 

SPENCER: Here. 

Spencer hands Maggie a box. Maggie begins to fill the box with her fridge magnets, postcards, and small reminders she put on her fridge. Only one picture is left on the fridge - a sonogram picture. Maggie had completely forgotten it was even there. But she drops the box immediately and pulls it off, placing it close to her chest. 

SPENCER: You okay?

Maggie pauses for a moment cherishing the picture. 

MAGGIE: Yeah.

SPENCER: What is it?

Spencer comes over. 

MAGGIE: I thought I threw this away, but I guess I didn’t. It was my first sonogram. 

SPENCER: Oh, from a few weeks ago?

MAGGIE: No - years ago. This is Elijah’s. 

Maggie smiles when she sees the picture. 

SPENCER: I think you should keep it - the picture I mean.

MAGGIE: Yeah, I think I might. I mean, if it’s stayed with me all these years, no sense in throwing it away now. 

Maggie puts the picture at the top of the pile in the box. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are on the plane heading to Virginia. Reid’s reading and Maggie is sorting through some papers with an earbud in one ear.

MAGGIE: Before we left, I contacted the landlord for that apartment in Manassas weeks ago, but he never got back to me. 

SPENCER: I guess it’s a good thing you have a Plan B then. 

Spencer smirks. 

MAGGIE: Remind me again that we mutually benefit so I don’t feel so guilty that you’re constantly helping me but I can never find the opportunity to pay you back. 

SPENCER: Stop it, okay. I want you to move in with me. 

MAGGIE: I snore really loudly. 

SPENCER: Completely okay. 

MAGGIE: I take long showers. 

SPENCER: Not a problem. 

MAGGIE: Late at night, I’ll get random bursts of energy and get really hyper and bothersome. 

SPENCER: So do I. 

Maggie groans in frustration. 

MAGGIE: I feel like you know the reason why I don’t want to move in with you, but even I don’t know why. 

SPENCER: It’s quite simple actually. You’ve spent nearly a decade living alone. And because of that, you think you prefer isolation over having company. But in reality, you’re just scared. Because the last time you were surrounded by a lot of people, they eventually died, essentially abandoning you. And it might not seem like it, but I know exactly what that feels like. To be scared of abandonment. 

MAGGIE: Really?

SPENCER: When I was three, my dad left me and my mom. And a year ago, my girlfriend was shot in front of me.

Maggie’s speechless. 

SPENCER: You and I - we’re scared to let people in and get attached to them. The reason is because we’re afraid to suffer or let go. So, we think, in order to protect ourselves, we have to stay away from the people we’re getting attached to - which is hard because it is equivalent to avoiding the privilege of becoming happy. So we’re caught in the middle of which pain we’d rather endure - the pain caused by unhappiness and loneliness, or the pain that we know, nobody will ever be strong enough to stand against - the pain of letting go. 

Maggie’s astonished. 

MAGGIE: If our love could’ve saved them, they would’ve lived forever. 

A tear rolls down Maggie’s cheek. Spencer uses the pad of his thumb to brush it away. 

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are at the baggage claim of the Virginia Airport. Maggie yawns and leans into Spencer, who puts his arm around her and comfortingly rubs her. 

SPENCER: Tired?

MAGGIE: Extremely. 

SPENCER: We can get coffee on the way home. 

MAGGIE: Are you reading my mind right now?

Spencer laughs.

Maggie sees her suitcase come through on the conveyor belt. Maggie lifts her baggage up, and they begin to exit the airport. 

. . .

Spencer is driving and Maggie is in the passenger seat, trying to fight her sleepiness. 

SPENCER: Tell me about your parents. 

Maggie’s surprised by not unwilling. 

MAGGIE: My mom’s name was Amina. She met my dad, Sonny, in college, and had me when she was 24, but he took off when she got pregnant. At first, I didn’t mind it just being the two of us, but when I was seven, there was a father-daughter dance at my school. I wrote him a letter inviting him to it. He didn’t show up, of course. Not that I really expected him to, but ever since then, I’ve resented him. My mom used to say that he was the reason why I dated Charlie. She said that I never got to see an example of what a good man looks like or how a girl should be treated. In hindsight, she was totally right. 

SPENCER: How did she react to your pregnancy?

MAGGIE: Well, at first she said she was gonna slap Charlie, but she wasn’t even really mad at me. Instead, she just said that if I wanted to have a future and if I wanted the baby to have a good future, I should set up an adoption. Later that same year, she helped me file a restraining order on Charlie. My mom was always looking out for me. It felt like she always knew what the right choice was.

SPENCER: She sounds like a really good person. 

MAGGIE: And she was. I just wish I told her that more often. Growing up, I thought one day I’d get a job and become rich enough to support the both of us. I’d even buy her a range rover - it was a car she wanted since forever. I never got to do that for her, but she used to say to me, “Some people are so poor, all they have is money.” And I think about that everyday. I was never spoiled or born with a golden spoon, but we were so rich in love. She loved me so much, that she’s the reason I wanted to have a baby. Just days after her death anniversary, I visited the clinic. It’s silly, but I just wanted to be half as good a mother as she was.

SPENCER: I feel the same way about my mom. I wanted to grow up and create a cure for schizophrenia by the time I was 29. And even though I’m far from doing so, I’m not giving up hope that I still can. 

MAGGIE: Does she live here?

SPENCER: She’s in a facility in Vegas. 

MAGGIE: Well, if I ever find myself in Nevada, I’d really like to thank her for raising the perfect son. 

Spencer gaily smiles.

SPENCER: Would you maybe want to visit her with me one day?

Maggie nods.

SPENCER: You two would have a lot to talk about. She was a former professor of 15th century literature. 

MAGGIE: Does she still hold lectures?

SPENCER: She does. I attended one of them years ago. It completely changed my perspective. I realized that I owe all of who I am today to her. 

MAGGIE: Then we have to attend one of her lectures when we visit.

SPENCER: She’ll be so happy when I let her know. 

Maggie and Spencer continue to talk about literature. 

. . .

Now in a coffee shop, Maggie and Spencer are nursing their drinks at a table in the corner of the cafe. 

MAGGIE: Earlier, we were talking about your mom a lot, but on the plane, we spoke about your dad leaving when you were really little.

SPENCER: Yeah, um, eventually he wrote a letter saying that he just didn’t know how to be a dad to me anymore. That and he couldn’t deal with my mom’s paranoid schizophrenia anymore. 

MAGGIE: I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s not easy growing up without a dad. 

SPENCER: He’s partly the reason I want to have kids. I want to be the dad mine never was.

Maggie nods. 

SPENCER: I’m not as mad as I used to be about it. Over time, I slowly stopped caring about him. 

MAGGIE: As you should. 

SPENCER: Um, we still have an hour before we’re home so-

MAGGIE: Yeah, no of course. Lemme just use the bathroom really quick before we go. 

Maggie leaves her phone and her coffee cup at the table. Spencer sips from his drink but stops when he sees Maggie’s phone ringing. The call’s number has a familiar area code. Spencer instantly recognizes it from Manassas. He realizes that the caller is the landlord from the apartment in Manassas that Maggie said hadn’t gotten back to her. He looks at the bathroom and sees Maggie isn’t back yet, so he declines and deletes the call. 

He wants Maggie to live with him, and knowing the landlord called her back would ruin any chances of that happening. And Spencer wasn’t taking any chances. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are finally at his apartment. They’re climbing the flight of stairs, with Spencer carrying Maggie’s backpack for her - like a gentleman. When they reach his door, Spencer unlocks it and opens it for her to walk through first. In that same breath, confetti comes flying. 

Maggie is startled by this, but comes to realize that the entire BAU is in his apartment. A banner hangs behind the team saying “Welcome!”

She laughs and goes to greet each of them.

JJ: I’m JJ. 

Maggie shakes her hand. 

MAGGIE: Maggie Tate. Nice to meet you. 

MORGAN: Derek Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you. 

MAGGIE: All good things I hope. 

HOTCH: Aaron Hotchner. 

MAGGIE: Right of course. I remember you from the day you guys found me. 

BLAKE: Alex Blake. Nice to finally meet you. 

MAGGIE: Likewise.

ROSSI: David Rossi. Spencer’s Italian grandpa. 

Maggie laughs and Rossi greets her by kissing each of her cheeks. 

ROSSI: Got any Italian blood in you?

MAGGIE: Oh, I wish. Half Filipino, half Mexican. 

ROSSI: A beautiful mix nonetheless. 

Finally, Maggie meets Penelope. Before Maggie can even say anything, Penelope envelopes her in a huge hug. 

MAGGIE: You must be Penelope!

She pulls away.

GARCIA: At your service. 

MAGGIE: I really like your glasses. Cool color. 

GARCIA: (to Spencer) I love her already. 

Maggie returns to Spencer after all the greetings.  

MAGGIE: Did you know they were gonna do this?

SPENCER: I might’ve. 

Maggie turns back to everyone.

MAGGIE: I wish I would’ve known I was meeting you all, I would’ve worn something nicer than leggings and jet lag. 

They laugh and tell her that it’s not a problem. 

GARCIA: So we thought you guys might be hungry, so there’s chips and guac as well as other little snacks. 

MAGGIE: It’s crazy, because I was craving just that.

Penelope gasps and smiles. She extends her arm for Maggie to wrap her arm around. 

GARCIA: Well then let’s dig in. 

Garcia leads Maggie arm in arm to the food. While Spencer draws back to set her things down. JJ waits up for him. 

JJ: She’s pretty. 

SPENCER: She is, isn't she? And she’s more than that, too. Everytime we talk, she never fails to surprise me with her wit or mind. She reminds me a lot of you. 

JJ smiles as Spencer and her rejoin the group. 

. . .

It’s almost the evening now, and Maggie and Spencer are bidding each guest goodbye. The last one to leave is of course Penelope. But when she does, Spencer and Maggie are alone again. Spencer shuts the door behind Garcia, and turns and presses his back to it and sighs. Maggie exhales too. 

SPENCER: I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think this would last for as long as it did. 

MAGGIE: No, no don’t apologize. I like spending time with them. I’m pretty sure Garcia’s energy cured my jet lag. 

Spencer laughs and walks back to Maggie.

MAGGIE: I think I’m gonna go shower now. Try to wash off the flight from me. 

Spencer nods and leads her to the bathroom. 

SPENCER: Just turn this knob to the left if you want it hotter, and to the right if you want cold water. When you’re done just press down on this. 

Spencer presses on the little knob, and when he does, the shower sprays him with water and sprays Maggie, too. She squeals and begins to laugh when she sees Spencer’s hair is drenched. It’s all stringy and in his face, so she pushes it back to see his smiling face. She leaves her hands around his cheeks, cupping his face. 

MAGGIE: Well that’s one way to get wet!

SPENCER: Oh yeah? What’s the other?

The delivery of his innuedo is so subtly seductive. Maggie dismisses it and laughs instead. 

MAGGIE: Um, just tell me where the towels are and I can bring you one to dry your hair. 

He points her in the direction and Maggie promptly leaves the bathroom. When she does, Spencer sees himself in the mirror and realizes just how ridiculous he looks. But on the inside, he feels doubly ridiculous. He’s so embarrassed from what he just said that his cheeks turn red. 

. . . 

Spencer is cleaning up what was left of the welcoming party. He’s in the kitchen, when he hears Maggie exit the shower. Her hair is damp and stringy, and she’s drying it with a towel. Spencer notices the clothes she’s wearing. She has on sweatpants and to his surprise, his shirt. 

MAGGIE: I forgot my pajamas were with the moving truck. I hope you don’t mind. 

SPENCER: Not at all. 

Maggie thanks him with a smile and walks a little more into the living room. She notices that the couch has a blanket and pillows on it. 

MAGGIE: What is this?

SPENCER: What do you mean?

MAGGIE: Are you gonna sleep out here?

SPENCER: Yeah, why?

MAGGIE: No. 

SPENCER: No what?

MAGGIE: No, you’re not sleeping on your couch in your own apartment. I won’t let you. 

SPENCER: It’s fine really. I’ve slept on it before. 

MAGGIE: Do you not want to share a bed?

SPENCER: No, it’s not about that. I just want you to have the bed to yourself. 

MAGGIE: If anything, I should be sleeping on the couch because I’m a guest.

SPENCER: No, I’m serious. I’ll sleep out here. 

MAGGIE: Okay fine. 

Maggie dramatically flops onto the couch. 

MAGGIE: Then I’ll join you. 

Spencer sighs and shakes his head. 

SPENCER: You’re really gonna sleep on the couch with me?

MAGGIE: Mhm. 

SPENCER: Why are you being so stubborn?

MAGGIE: Why are you being so stubborn?

SPENCER: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

MAGGIE: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

SPENCER: You’re acting childish. 

Spencer comes over to Maggie. He stands in front of her, towering over her small figure. 

MAGGIE: You’re acting childish. 

SPENCER: Stop repeating what I’m saying.

MAGGIE: Stop repeating what I’m saying. 

SPENCER: I mean it, Maggie!

She shoots up from the couch and makes a grumpy face to imitate Spencer. Their bodies are so close. 

MAGGIE: I mean it, Maggie!

Spencer takes the opportunity of their closeness and uses it to put his arms behind her back and swoop her up - bridal style. Maggie squeals and tries to squirm out of his arms, but he resists and carries her all the way into the bedroom. He tosses her onto the bed and starts to tickle at her sides. 

MAGGIE: Stop! Stop!

Maggie’s laughing so hard, she’s breathless. 

SPENCER: Not until you agree to sleep in the bed. 

MAGGIE: I want to sleep on the couch with you!

SPENCER: Well I guess I’m gonna keep tickling you then. 

Maggie laughs so hard she’s almost in tears. Suddenly, she sees a window of opportunity to escape. When she does she runs out into the living room. Spencer chases after her through the apartment. Maggie dodges some of his attempts to capture her, but is ultimately outrun by him. He gets her to fall flat on the couch as he hovers above her. Both of them are smiling and breathless. 

SPENCER: You’re not gonna give this up are you?

Maggie shakes her head no. 

SPENCER: Alright, I surrender. But if in the morning, you wake up and find that you’ve magically teleported to the bed after falling asleep on the couch, it wasn’t me. 

MAGGIE: Deal. 

. . .

It’s sometime late at night and Spencer has finished showering. Maggie’s traveling through his apartment and looking at everything closer. She notices he has a record player. And all the records are classical music.

MAGGIE: Interesting record collection. Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. Why am I not surprised?

SPENCER: Am I that predictable?

MAGGIE: Just a little. Care if I try to expand your music taste? 

Maggie pulls out her phone. After some scrolling and typing, she begins to play “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron. Spencer is unfamiliar with this song, but it’s abundantly clear Maggie loves it. 

MAGGIE: Do you dance?

SPENCER: Oh, no, no. 

MAGGIE: Just dance with me. I’ll teach you. 

The song plays in the background as Spencer shyly approaches Maggie. Maggie puts one arm out and Spencer takes her hand. Then he timidly puts his hand on her back, but with confidence, Maggie slides his hand down to her waist. Maggie puts her hand on his shoulder. Promptly, Spencer and Maggie both peer down at their feet as Maggie leads the dance. She does the classic box step, and after fidgeting around, Spencer gets it. 

MAGGIE: There you go. You got it!

They dance a little more. 

MAGGIE: Do you think you can lead?

Spencer nods, and Maggie lets him lead. As the song reaches the chorus, Spencer finally gets his confidence. He doesn’t have to look down at his feet anymore. He finally looks at Maggie. To her surprise, Spencer spins her and dips her. They stay put in this position. Neither of them break eye contact.

MAGGIE: You sure you don’t dance?

Spencer sheepishly smiles and shakes his head. He brings her up from the dip. Maggie’s flustered from the thrill of dancing with him, so much so that she pulls away.

MAGGIE: So, did you um, did you like the song?

SPENCER: Yeah, I did. 

MAGGIE: You know, that, that could be like our song. 

SPENCER: Our song. Yeah, okay. 

. . . 

It’s the middle of the night now. Maggie is sprawled across the couch, asleep. Spencer is at the table reading. He only has one dim light on so as not to make it harder for Maggie to sleep with a bigger light on. He peers over the couch and sees that she’s sleeping so he picks her up and carries her bridal style again. When he lays her in the bed, she stirs and mumbles. 

MAGGIE: (quietly) Spencer?

SPENCER: (whispering) Sorry, I was trying not to wake you. 

MAGGIE: Can you just sleep in the bed? I don’t want you on the couch. 

SPENCER: Yeah, yeah. I’ll sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep soon, but I’m just gonna be outside reading. Goodnight, Maggie. 

Maggie’s already fallen fast asleep again. Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. 

As Spencer approaches the table, his reading material can be visibly seen. A thick stack of papers within a manila folder labeled “CONFIDENTIAL.” He opens it to resume reading the contents. On the very front, a scanned picture of a man’s driver’s license is paperclipped to another paper. The name on the driver’s license reads, “S.J Glover.” a.k.a Sonny Jr. Maggie’s dad. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

[ieattaperecorders]

Notes on Causality - Chapter 3: Motherfucking Jurgen Leitner

Oh yeah, that guy. Whatever happened to him?

Epilogue for Something's Different About You Lately is coming, will be posted either sometime tonight or tomorrow! In the meantime here's the Jurgen Leitner centered chapter literally no one asked for.

Read on Ao3

---

"You were ready to do it for Gertrude!"

"Gertrude made arrangements to smuggle me to a secure location outside the country. Arrangements which are now long expired . . . and I was afraid of her."

The Archivist laughed, a wry, empty sound. "Hmn. You're in good company there, at least."

"Please understand, I have no place to go. None of my safehouses are left anymore . . . I'm entirely willing to help thwart Jonah's plans, but you have to allow me something . . . ."

Frustration seemed to overtake the Archivist for a moment, then he sighed heavily. He tore a page from the notebook he'd been carrying and scribbled down an address, then took a ring of keys from his pocket and held the two of them out.

"It's not exactly a safehouse, but it's a place to stay. Some of Gertrude's things are there, there's basic amenities and several locks on the doors and windows. It's . . . better than nothing," he said. "Not as if I'll be needing it anymore."

---

Jurgen sighed with relief as warmth ran down his scalp. It had been a while since he'd had the luxury of a proper shower with hot, running water. It might be his last for a while as well, so he imagined he ought to enjoy it.

After several minutes under the spray, he turned off the water, dried off and dressed in his old clothes. As an afterthought, he swiped the towel across the floor, sopping up the water he'd dripped, and tossed it into the laundry hamper. He might as well go through the motions of being a considerate houseguest, though he wasn't quite sure 'houseguest' was an accurate description of his situation.

He doubted that Gertrude's successor would be amenable to his presence in this apartment for long, now that he planned to continue living in it. But it wasn't as if there'd been a wealth of options left to him. With the tunnels gone, coming here had seemed favorable to standing in the London Streets and waiting to be killed.

In the kitchen he made himself tea, then returned to the sofa to drink it. He tried not to be nosy about the various personal items strewn haphazardly around the place, though his gaze did linger over a bookcase. Nothing of his, fortunately. Just some record books, popular nonfiction and a number of cheap, shoddily bound journals that –after carefully glancing over them to confirm that none were supernatural– he didn't examine the contents of.

He knew he would have to leave sooner rather than later. The possibility of a former Archivist returning to throw him out was the least of his concerns. He'd had to travel out in the open to get here, and even behind four walls he felt exposed.

It was possible he still had allies in Spain and Russia. Not the sort he could really depend on, but some that might still do him a kindness out of pity, or for old time's sake. There were a few he suspected might even help out of a grim sense of reciprocity, since the horrors they'd unearthed or meddled with had been forever branded with the name Leitner, and thus washed clean of any association with them.

But to reach any of them he'd need to travel. He had no money left, few resources, and by design no identification. Getting across London without attracting attention was daunting enough, how could he expect to manage international travel? Even then, anyone he reached might have moved on, or died, or might simply close their doors in his face. And then what would he do?

Ruminating on his meager chances, he almost didn't hear the door opening behind him. Almost.

"The infamous Jurgen Lietner . . ." the voice scraped at the back of his mind like teeth on glass. "Rather unimpressive when seen in person, aren't you? But I suppose that's only to be expected. . . ."

He turned to look, standing and taking a step back. The Distortion had taken a new face, he noticed, a woman he didn't recognize. Not that it especially mattered what it looked like. The core of it didn't change.

Jurgen turned to run, but stopped immediately when he saw what should have been the front door. It opened just enough for a glimpse of the smiling face behind it, before one twisted hand slipped out mischievously to curl around the frame, and the part of it that looked human stepped out.

"After all," it continued as if it hadn't been interrupted, "when someone's reputation is so horrific, such a litany of ruined lives, when one's name is all but synonymous with evil, well! That's got to be hard to live up to for anyone, hasn't it?" It smiled broadly, and Jurgen felt his heart sink.

". . . I'm not going to be escaping this time, am I?" he asked rhetorically.

"Oh, but you've got me all wrong!" It placed a palm against its chest in a theatrical gesture of offense. "An escape is exactly what I'm here for. You need a way to travel discreetly, and it just so happens that's a service I offer. No need to thank me, just happy to help a pitiful soul in need."

It patted the frame of the door, smiling. He wondered if he had the courage in him to leap from the window. It might be an easier end than wandering through dizzying hallways until he was consumed.

"No, thank you," he said. It was worth a try. "I'm fine on my own."

It began walking casually around the room, and Jurgen tried to resist the urge to follow its movements. The more he looked at it, the more it blurred and twisted before his eyes, making him feel unsteady. But when he looked away its voice felt like it was coming from just behind him, and that was worse.

"A lovely thought," it said with predatory affection. "But we both know that's a lie, don't we? How many enemies did you make back in your glory days? All those nasty little cultists whose precious tomes you stole, only a matter of time before one of them finds you've emerged. It's going to be quite the race to catch you, isn't it? But there won't be much fun in watching if you're caught too soon. You ought to have a sporting chance. A head start, at least."

He closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from nausea, and reluctantly considered the possibility that it might be offering a genuine escape. Not a safe escape, he imagined, nor remotely ideal. Possibly it would deposit him just a few paces ahead of his enemies, or in other inhospitable conditions to see how he fared. Or it might let him wander for days, leaving him half-alive and out of his senses by the time it released him. But any of those fates might still be better than what he had at the moment.

There was a kind of honesty, after all, in something that only ever harmed you. It was predictable, you knew where you stood with it, and that wasn't what the Distortion was. It was entirely possible the creature in front of him was in fact his best chance to survive. Or he might be deluding himself out of desperation, and if he walked through its door it would do nothing but swallow him whole. Perhaps that uncertainty was the entire point.

"I suppose you don't trust me," it grinned. "But you don't really have much in the way of options, do you? Take up my generous offer or sit here in this sad, uninteresting little flat and wait for someone to kill you."

He looked at the dark yellow wood of the door, considering his miserable options.

". . . Am I permitted at least to ask where I'll be taken? Or request a destination?"

"Oh, Jurgen, dearest! You can ask for anything," it laughed, and he felt acid rise in his throat. "I don't know why you'd think it would make a difference, though.

He paused, regarding the creature's stolen face with unease. A police siren sounded in the distance outside . . . not a strange thing to hear in any city, likely nothing related to him. But the sound cut through him all the same, and a harried, hunted part of his being twisted itself closer to panic.

He opened the door.

---

The two of them eventually formed a wacky sitcom spinoff, Worst Friends Forever: Jurgen and Helen’s Bogus Journey. /j

[lochrannn]

Relationship: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts  

Characters: Lila PittsDiego Hargreeves  

Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content; Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot; Porn with Feelings; Smut; Choking; Undernegotiated Kink; but with ongoing negotiation; everything is explicitly consesual

-

Lila has never told Diego that the hottest thing about sleeping with him is the way he looks at her.

That’s not quite accurate, really, the whole endeavour is stupidly sexy because Diego is built like a tank, but limber in a way you wouldn’t necessarily expect from someone of his size, and he is always eager to please and prove himself.

That she has actually mentioned to him. How it feels just a little bit like he’s in competition with himself sometimes. She didn’t tell him because she has any real objections, she is the beneficiary of this habit, after all, she just worries for his sense of self-worth sometimes.

Diego walks around with a confident swagger and a fuck you attitude, but late at night in bed, when he’s sure she can’t see his face, he tells her about the humiliations he suffered under his father and how much it actually did hurt to be kicked out of the police academy.

Nevertheless, he inevitably sulked for a couple of days and when they had sex the next time, he tried his best to be as lazy about it as possible. It was so silly that it made Lila crack up and that, in turn, cracked Diego and they spent the rest of the evening seeing how little effort they could put in and still get each other off. It was so stupid but it’s become one of Lila’s fondest memories.

And even that time, when they finally sank into each other, he looked at her like she had hung the moon, like she was someone worth worshipping.

That’s also how he’s looking at her now.

Soft, full lips slightly parted, his warm brown eyes big and round and full of emotion. Lila can’t look away.

Diego’s staring up at her where she’s sat straddling him, undulating her hips slowly, and she can’t resist squeezing her pelvic muscles just to watch his eyes slip closed and a soft groan fall from his mouth.

His grip tightens where he has one hand on her bum and his other hand that’s splayed out on her belly pushes against her a little harder and the sudden added friction and pressure inside her make Lila’s thigh muscles spasm and she involuntarily lifts herself up and tips forward just a bit, a moan on her lips.

When she catches her breath and looks back at Diego, she sees how just the slightest hint of smugness has snuck into his expression so she sits back down on him hard, making them both gasp, but this time he doesn’t close his eyes, instead keeping his penetrating gaze on her and fuck if it’s not the hottest sight she’s ever seen.

Diego moves his hand up her body as they lazily continue rocking against each other, savouring the moment.

He splayes his hand out over her ribs, then moves it further up to cup her breast, catching her nipple between two fingers and squeezing them together, causing a delicious sting to zing along Lila’s nerve endings.

She bites her bottom lip and moans again softly and hears a rush of a breath leaving Diego’s mouth that sounds distinctly like a curse, but maybe it’s a prayer.

Lila still can’t believe that during what ended up being one of the most tumultuous and tragic weeks of her life she also forged what has now become the most intimate connection she’s ever experienced.

And despite everything she put him through when they first met, he trusts her unconditionally. And Lila’s never trusted anyone as deeply as she does Diego. Even when she still believed in her mother, she knew the woman always had an angle, that she could never trust her fully. But not Diego, he’s never been anything but honest with her.

Lila often wonders whether she tells him enough just how much that means to her.

That thought sparks an idea and without ceasing her movements she grips Diego’s wrist, pulling his hand away from her breast and then she puts it to her throat and covers it with her other hand.

Diego freezes. “What are you doing?” A small crease appears between his eyebrows.

Lila is suddenly unsure of herself and tries not to let too much of the defensiveness that boils up in her come out when she says, “What does it look like?” with a bit of a sarcastic smirk.

Diego’s features don’t relax and instead he says, “Lila, I don’t… I don’t know if this is a good idea.” His long fingers flutter just a little under hers, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

Ok, so they should have probably talked this out beforehand and Lila regrets acting on the spur-of-the-moment just a bit, but they’re here now and it’s not uncommon for them to just have a full blown conversation in the middle of having sex. They usually just pick up where they left off once they’ve sorted out whatever has come up.

It’s not like Diego should be particularly worried about her, either. She’s a Commission trained assassin. They’ve even fought each other often at his gym and quite brutally at that. But Lila has to concede that outside of the ring, Diego has never touched her with anything but gentleness and care.

Maybe she’s never fully considered how important that is to him.

She tries to lighten the mood, “Oh c’mon, it’s not like anything can happen, I’ll just tap into your whole not-breathing thing and I’ll be fine!” she smiles at him brightly, hoping that will reassure him.

His concerned expression turns into one of confusion. “That’s not how this works,” he says, cocking his head to the side where he’s lying against the pillow.

“It’s not about restricted airflow, it’s about cutting off blood circulation to the brain.” As he says that, Diego strokes his thumb along the underside of her jaw, pressing ever so slightly into her jugular.

Lila’s breath hitches maybe a bit out of surprise and a lot out of excitement and she drops the hand that was covering his down to his chest and rubs his pec seductively, “You know an awful lot about this,” she says, putting on a sultry voice, and gives him a wicked smile.

Diego considers her for a moment then chuckles and says, “I learned how to choke out grown-ass men when I was seven and I bet you weren’t any older. Don’t bullshit me, I know you know how this works!"

“See, so we both know what we’re doing. Nothing to worry about, then!” She gives him another smile, a more innocent one now, she’s pretty certain she’s brought him round anyway.

“You really wanna do this, huh?” Diego asks and brings his other hand back around to lay it over hers where she still has it resting on his chest.

“Uh-huh! I trust you Diego!” Lila says as earnestly as possible.

There’s a flutter in her stomach and she’s suddenly reminded that Diego’s still been inside her this entire time. Yeah, she’s been thinking about trying something like this out for a while, but it’s also true that it’s never even occurred to her with anyone else. She would never have been able to let her guard down like this. Now she craves the vulnerability.

“Okay,” Diego responds, his voice a bit breathy, maybe a tad overwhelmed, but he’s clearly willing to give her this. “But you keep your hand around my wrist, alright? And if your grip loosens cause you’re about to pass out, I stop! And if you say anything that sounds in any way like stop, I let go, okay? We’re not picking a word or whatever, anything that isn’t a clear keep going, I stop!”

“Yeah okay!” Lila concedes. She feels like Diego is mostly reassuring himself, but she is grateful for him to be setting his own boundaries.

“Okay,” Diego repeats and his fingers on her throat flutter once more before they tighten just a bit right under her jaw. That’s the thing, it doesn’t actually take a lot of pressure.

Lila uses the hand she still has on his chest for balance and lifts herself up a few inches, before dropping back down and they both moan at the sensation.

It doesn’t take them long to find a rhythm and Lila can feel her arousal building more and more.

Diego’s not taken his eyes off her face once, as if he’s afraid that he could miss any sign of her discomfort.

Lila, in turn, can’t look away from him, either, because again he’s looking at her like she’s something fragile, something worth protecting, things she doesn’t believe about herself at all, but she loves that Diego does, and it makes her heart stutter in her chest.

But soon she realises that she’s getting a bit light-headed, losing focus, that her movements are getting slower, disjointed.

Diego’s apparently noticed the same thing because he stops rolling his hips up into her and loosens his grip on her throat.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lila says. She smiles at him and hopes that he’s reassured even if it comes on just a bit slowly.

“You wanna stop?” Diego asks then, completely letting go of her throat and resting his hand at the base of her neck.

“No, c’mon, I’m okay!” Lila replies, trying not to whine. She can’t really put it into words, but the feeling she’s experienced in the last couple of minutes was weird, sure, but new and hot and she just wants to see how far she can take this, how much more turned on she can get. “Grip on your wrist’s still strong, see!'' She squeezes his wrist to demonstrate.

“What’s it like?” Diego asks almost conversationally and Lila chuckles in surprise.

“It’s good! It’s a bit weird as well, but it’s mostly good. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m sure you’ve been choked out before, you know what that feels like.” she tries to explain.

“Yeah never like this, though, and usually not for this long,” Diego shoots back his brow creasing a bit.

“I really am okay, Diego!” Lila says emphatically. “I'm just finding it a bit hard to focus, but please don’t stop!”

Diego sighs heavily, gives her a curt nod, and then, taking her entirely by surprise, he rolls them over so that he’s on top, only keeping some of his weight off her, propped up on one elbow, the other arm on her chest, hand back around her throat.

“I’ve really gotta do everything around here, huh?” he says with the hint of a smirk, eyes crinkling a bit, and then thrusts into her hard.

It doesn’t take long for Lila to see stars, but somehow the restricted blood flow to her brain now has the opposite effect from before. Now that she’s no longer under any strain to keep herself upright her focus zeroes in on all of the ways Diego’s making her delirious with pleasure.

The stretch and burn of where he’s pushing into her. The way his pelvis occasionally rubs against her clit. His forearm resting between her breasts, putting pressure on her lungs, making it even harder to breath, yet that actually turns her on still more.

The squeeze on her throat, just enough to keep her on the edge, but not enough to actually hurt. Somehow, what should evoke memories of violence and fear in her, feels like the most gentle caress when it's Diego's fingers.

She's clinging onto him, gripping his forearm with both hands and her thighs are pressed against his hips, barely giving him room to move.

And most of all she’s almost driven to distraction by the way he has his lips right up to her ear, gruff voice whispering filthily about how well she’s taking him, how much he loves her, how tight she feels, and how hot it is that she’s trusting him to do this to her.

And then Diego uses his flexibility to pull one of his knees up beside her hip, pressing her thigh into her stomach with his own, changing the angle so he’s hitting spots so deep inside her, and all of a sudden it’s too much for Lila to hold on, as a blinding orgasm rips through her, making her whimper. She squeezes her eyes shut and can vaguely feel tears slip out of the corners as she comes. Her whole body tenses and shivers with the intensity and in the end she does lose her grip on Diego’s wrist and his hand instantly disappears from her throat, but she remains breathless all the same.

She feels his elbow settle just next to her head. He slots his lips over hers for a deep, messy kiss while he continues to fuck her through her orgasm, as she scrabbles at his sides for any kind of purchase. And her muscles are still contracting when he finally comes inside of her with a grunt and one last punishingly hard thrust that rips a sob from her throat.

Lila hasn’t opened her eyes since she first collided with her release, so, panting heavily and going off of feel alone, she puts her hands to either side of Diego’s face, in a way he will often do with her, and drags her thumb along his bottom lip where she can feel his breath rushing in and out fast as well.

Their bodies are still pressed so tightly together that Lila can feel his heart racing in his chest, mirroring her own.

Diego then lets out a shaky exhale, kisses the pad of her finger and rolls off her.

He loses no time in gathering her up in his arms and dragging her to rest half on top of him.

Lila finally opens her eyes as Diego begins stroking her hair and kissing the corners of her eyes, presumably to erase the slight damp patches her tears left there.

“You okay?” he whispers into her hair, his voice still not quite steady.

“Yeah,” she breathes out, “Fuck, yeah, definitely okay. More than okay, really!” Then she adds, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… Jesus, that was intense, but I’m good,” he mumbles against her cheek and Lila laughs gently at the way his stubble tickles her face. Then he goes on, “Fuck, Lila, I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“So you keep saying,” she says with another gentle chuckle and a yawn, as she lays her face in the crook of his neck, but apparently Diego’s not quite ready to let her drift off as he lifts her up slightly by her shoulders, so he can look her in the eyes. He doesn’t even say anything, just stares at her imploringly, so she brings up her hand to his cheek and says, “I love you too, you old sap. Can’t even dick down and choke out your girlfriend without making it romantic!”

She only catches the beginning of his smile because then she presses her lips to his for one more languid kiss before she settles back down on his chest.

They will clean up later, but for now she’d just like to bask in her post orgasmic bliss for a bit.