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highvern · 3 days ago

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Steam II

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitutionSmut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~16.4k | Fic Length: ~60k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: part 2 is here! pls reblog and lmk what you think. also! the poem mentioned near the end. part 3 will be up friday because wednesday is reserved for a very special bday fic for one of my favorite people.

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Wonwoo’s first day as your personal guard was a case study in public humiliation.

Your grandmother sat high on her dais in the council debate hall with you seated on a slightly lower platform at her side, stiff as a board. The meeting had already taken hours. Councilmen and nobles argued back and forth across the aisle, every topic of debate hammered into the ground for them to ultimately agree to the same terms the proposed at the beginning of the discussion. It was a waste of time and energy to argue superfluous details but it kept them content which was a priceless luxury. Better to let men yell their silly insults across the debate chamber than across the battlefield.

Their raucous chatter served another purpose: preventing you from falling asleep. When that stopped working, your nails stung into your palms and you pinched your thighs, hands hidden beneath the sleeves of your gown.

Wonwoo moved into the servant’s quarters of your apartment last night and you hadn’t slept a wink, tossing and turning all night. He’d arrived and disappeared into his new room without so much as a glance in your direction. It shouldn’t have confused you as much as it did. Nothing could ever happen but it didn’t stop the tension from thundering through the entire suite; knowing you fantasized about having him in your room only for him to actually be there.

Then that morning when you rose, servants and lady's maids fluttering about to prepare you for the day, you felt his judgment even though he never vocalized it; a heavy weight around your neck. Face hot, you shoved the new found shame down as far as you could and tried to ignore it.

The burden didn’t lighten as he followed a pace behind you throughout the day, to every appointment and lesson. He watched in somber silence as the royal jeweler presented fine gems set into crowns, necklaces, and rings. He stared at his shoes while your seamstress pinned and unpinned in a new dress. And now, he hovered somewhere behind you in the very meeting you wished would end.

“And now our last order of business,” Chancellor Dak started, scanning the long document before him. “Lord Belaor, you have the floor.”

Lord Belaor rose from his seat at the end of the chamber and approached the wide center aisle. The billowed sleeves of his robes resembled a peacock. He was dramatic as ever, demanding full attention for whatever gripe possessed him.

“As we all know, it is customary that the 25th birthday of an heir to the United Islands’ throne is a matter of great significance. It—”

“‘It signifies that this heir is eligible to assume the throne’,” Chancellor Dak finished. “Of course we are aware of this Lord Belaor, but Princess Y/N and Her Majesty agreed she would delay her ascension until she felt comfortable assuming the throne. This has been long discussed.”

Murmurs of agreement whispered across the chamber, nobles and councilmen rolling their eyes.

“It is not Princess Y/N to whom I was referring,” Lord Belaor said. “Last month, on the occasion of his twenty-fifth birthday, my nephew, Duke Tsao, became eligible to assume the throne.”

A terrible silence filled the room. Nobles and councilmen gaped like fish as what their peer suggested: treason.

“I beg your pardon?” you gasped.

Belaor turned his head not towards you, but your grandmother. “My nephew is ready to take his place as United Island’s rightful king.”

Your jaw clenched so tight your teeth threatened to crack. Tsao, that bumbling idiot, wasn’t fit to pour water in a bucket without supervision, couldn’t bend to save his life. Tsao flaunted his mistresses without shame and starved his tenants with burdensome taxes to fund his affairs. He’d get the throne over your dead body.

“Princess Y/N is the first in line for the throne, a direct descendent of royalty. Are you challenging the line of succession, Lord Belaor?” Lord Gaha asked. Of all the nobles, he maintained the most influence and he didn’t seem sold on the idea Belaor presented.

“I am simply providing a potential consideration given that Princess Y/N is of age and yet remains unmarried. Not all of the council is completely confident she is the most suitable choice to govern our great nation with that information in mind.”

Freezing Belaor and his Spirits forsaken nephew until their hearts stopped became more and more appealing. If that didn’t work then drowning was another solid option; however, it’d require far more work. Murdering a noble would be frowned upon but Lord Belaor, frozen to the far wall, bloody and bruised from your fists was a satisfying image. He probably hadn’t considered that outcome before opening his mouth.

Your grandmother appraised Lord Belaor, a look you were familiar with. “We have never required princesses to marry in order to rule our country and I will not start now.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty. But my nephew is already married with several children. His line is secured in the event something unfortunate happens. Can we say the same of our dear princess? Spirits protect her, but we must prepare for the worst possible outcomes.”

He didn’t mention that six of Tsao’s ten children were bastards with rumors of more.

“I will take your concerns under consideration, Lord Belaor. You are all dismissed.”

Chancellor Dak echoed your grandmother’s sentiment and followed your grandmother to her private office, whispering urgently.

Princesses did not rush, or stomp. They did not slouch or shrug. They did not fantasize of murder no matter how righteous. But of all the things you were not allowed to do, you refused to break in front of self important nobles.

You marched through the palace, pulse hammering in your ears with each step. If you were born with your mother’s fire instead of the late king’s water, then the palace would’ve crumbled to cinders. But you were in control. You just needed to get to the private pavilion at the edge of the gardens and then—

Your attendant, Lin, struggled to match your pace. “Your Highness, you have a tsungi horn lesson with—”

“Cancel it. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.”

“But!” Lin objected but you already turned the corner before she could attempt to argue.

Wonwoo watched you destroy the training pavilion in fury. Targets exploded like fireworks from ice blades the size of his torso. When there were none left you bent ice into the shape of what looked suspiciously similar to the noble from earlier and started destroying those as well.

He was…terrified. You were not the poised princess he met at the barracks, nor the crafty opponent he met in the warehouse. This was something new. Something volatile. The leash of carefully crafted control slipped from the typhoon that waited beneath the surface. You held back all those times he watched you bend. Were all princesses trained to be so deadly?

A small part of him, a piece he didn’t know existed, felt relief when the nobles revealed you were unwed. He wasn’t a part of some grand betrayal. His only crime was being overly friendly with a woman above his station which shouldn’t really be considered a crime. Wonwoo hadn’t compromised you no more than you compromised him.

“AH!” you screamed and the remaining effigies shattered into a million pieces.

Despite the noise, no one came. This far edge of the gardens, so far from the palace that the hedges blocked the spires, seemed to be the one place not crowded with servants.

Wonwoo remained in agonizing solitude as you collapsed on the ground, closed your eyes, and huffed like a toddler. You looked so similar in the orange and pinks of sunset as you did in moonlight and yet nothing was the same. The eerie calm you maintained during a fight, the confident sureness you’d win, had waned into whatever he had just witnessed.

You made a disgusted noise and rose to your feet, surveying the damage. When you finally turned, you gazed at him as if you forgot he existed. “Can you go away?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Then do you have to be so loud about it?”

“I haven’t spoken to you since I got here.”

Here as in the palace, simply because he hadn’t known what to say last night and chose to hide in his room instead. A room larger than any he had before, even those he shared with others. It was all so new and strange. He imagined you alone in your room, just down the hall. The benign realization that he was effectively alone with you returned those horribly vivid memories; the feelings of longing.

Wonwoo kept his mouth shut because he wasn’t sure what would come out. Another teasing jab, or something more damning. Now with witnesses in every corner and maids who liked to barge in without a care, he couldn’t afford to slip.

You glided across the pavilion where there was a stack of towels and began wiping away the dirt and sweat clinging to your face. “Yeah, well, I can feel you judging me.”

“I’m not judging you,” Wonwoo sputtered.

“Yes, you are!” you argued.

Wonwoo really wanted to say he was judging those old men and their unabashed scheming. He knew Lord Tsao, or of him. Knew he wasn’t fit to rule a pile of dirt let alone a kingdom; heard the stories of his tenants going hungry season after season to pay the lord’s gambling debts.

But Wonwoo did not say those things. He doubted fanning the flame of your ire would have much benefit other than more destruction of more unfortunate targets and he’d prefer not to become one. Besides, he really does not want to talk about politics and marriage; he wants to go back to your apartment and take a long bath and try to find the sleep that evaded him last night.

“I’m just not used to having servants do everything for me,” he said.

“They’re doing their jobs,” you snapped before mumbling, “We’re all just doing our jobs.”

With the sun sinking below the line of the hedges, the pavilion cast in deep shadows.

“Can you at least tell them not to be so thorough? One of them offered to help me bathe last night.”

“That's Han’s attempt at flirting. She thinks you’re handsome.” A blip of amusement crossed your face, so brief it could have been imagination but he savors it all the same.

“Glad I’m making a good impression,” Wonwoo said. He looked to the sky above, the stars already dappling the sky. They’re more visible here than in the city. “So if you’re old enough to be queen, why aren’t you?”

You deflated and Wonwoo instantly regretted the question. “All I’ve done since I was a child was learn what it was to be queen. I’ve studied history, war strategy, tax reforms. I’ve attended council meetings since I was twelve. It is all I am, all I have been raised to do from the second I was born. And yet… there is so much I do not know.”

“So you sneak out of the palace?”

“Partially,” You admitted, taking a seat on a nearby bench. “If I told them I wanted to see the city it would take days of planning, countless staff and guards. A full royal procession. Even then I’d only be allowed to see what's considered ‘proper’ which excludes pretty much everything. I wouldn’t have known there were places like the Red Lanterns or the homeless encampments near the warehouses. They all pretend those issues don’t exist so they can spend money on stupid parties or whatever else they want.”

“So you want to be a queen of the people.”

“My decisions affect those people. They are my people. Every war we enter, every tax collected, they pay for it while I sit on a throne behind ivory walls and treat them as numbers on a page. I will not let those arrogant old ass holes run my country into the ground while people suffer.”

“Such language from a princess,” Wonwoo gasped in mock shock.

“Shut up, before I freeze you to a wall.”

“How scandalous!”

You looked genuinely thrilled at the idea of sticking him to a wall and leaving him there until morning.

“So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I am going pray there is at least one suitable man at next week's festivities and marry him. My grandmother won’t make me but I know it’s why she’s decided to host every single dignitary, ambassador, and wealthy noble she could find. I have a stack of dossiers back in my apartment to review before bed.”

In his world, marriage was for love. Sometimes duty if there was a kid involved but mostly love. Two people choosing each other above all others, for the rest of their lives. That did not appear to be the case for royalty. Marriage was another political decision, picking someone from a catalog after ensuring they checked whatever important boxes.

“Oh. That’s…a good idea.”

“Yes,” you huffed like a petulant child refusing to eat their vegetables. “I can’t wait to have some random spoiled prince try and boss me around my own kingdom.”

“Then don’t marry a prince, I guess.” Wonwoo shrugged. “Or just make him watch your attack some targets again, he’ll be too busy pissing himself to think about telling you what to do.”

“Or I could freeze him to a wall,” you said but when Wonwoo risked a look at your face all he could see was sadness and defeat.

He didn’t like it. Defeat fit you like a jacket six sizes too small. Wonwoo didn’t have words of comfort, what could he say? But when words failed him, he had action.

“Alright, get up. Enough moping.”

“I’m not moping!” you argued, eyes locked on his with defiance.

Good.

Wonwoo strode to the center of the pavilion without looking back, smiling at the click of footsteps following. “You are and it’s freaking me out.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you.”

“You’re a bad liar, Your Highness.”

You fumed, “I told you not to call me that.”

“And just what are you gonna do about it?” Wonwoo tensed, already prepared for the hit of ice against his skin. It felt good. Familiar. If you were fighting him then he knew what to do instead of feeling that odd desperation to make you smile. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Two hours later, the pavilion was covered in soot and ice. The ground was scorched in some places and flooded in others. You finally tired and called for a truce that Wonwoo eagerly agreed to. How intimidating it must have been for the princess and her personal guard to limp back to your apartment together, covered in sweat and filth.

Wonwoo slept like a baby.

The welcoming procession lasted hours. All manner of speeches, gifts, and presentations from the different delegations blended together into a dull thrum.

Cheeks sore from smiling and butt numb from your perch on your throne, you thanked Prince Bavruq for the abalone chest filled with jewels that reflected light like the sea; greens, blues, and whites projected across the throne room as sun filtered in from the large windows. They were truly beautiful. Just like the other chest of rubies and diamonds from Admiral Gyan or the ensemble of lapis carvings from Senator Maoki. Or any of the other gaudish presents serving as a means to impress you and your grandmother and soften your opinion towards one of them.

Perhaps you would have been impressed if your neck didn’t ache from the heavy combs of silver and gemstones littering your hair.

Dinner was an entirely different fiasco.

A feast in the name of camaraderie served as an opportunity for all the guests to appraise and gawk at you like a prized komodo horse. It wasn’t unusual or new sans for the unabashed way they all seemed to be sizing each other up as well. There had been a stand off for the seats directly across and beside you; grown men acting like children wanting first turn with their favorite toy as they shouldered one another and mumbled threats under their breath.

Your wine glass sat empty before the first course ever arrived.

“Your Highness, I hear you are partial to the tsungi horn. I would be honored to play for you.” A man beside you, dressed in a fine coat that clung to his broad shoulders, said. His golden eyes gleamed like a falcon’s.

“That would be lovely, Lord Char. Thank you.” You lifted your spoon once again from the full bowl of cold soup. Everyone else at the table had nearly finished but your guests insisted on keeping you occupied with conversation rather than eating.

“Princess!” called another man across the table. “I’m not as skilled on the tsungi horn, but perhaps I could play the dramyin for you?”

“I would be delighted, Commander Raza.”

You hated the dramyin.

Someone else began speaking and the edges of your bowl frosted, ice crystals floating across the oily surface as you tried to gain composure. A servant intervened before you could follow through on the idea of throwing it at the scraggly bearded noble boasting his accomplishments in poetry. Princesses did not launch their meals at unsuspecting men.

Others began clearing the remaining dishes before new plates arrived with thick slices of meat covered in peppered sauce and vinegared vegetables. You were quick to take a bite before someone new could interrupt to discuss another dreadful instrument.

“We shall make an event of it,” your grandmother clapped from the head of the table. “A night to display the unique talents of your kingdoms. My granddaughter is partial to cultural affairs.”

“What a lovely idea but I don’t believe we have the time with—”

“Nonsense! Night after next we shall have a splendid performance,” she gazed at you with a bright smile as if to say deal with it. “But tonight, we will eat.”

You bit your tongue until dessert came. A terrible coincidence that the moon peach tarts with cream were your favorite. Maybe Han can bring some up to your room. A servant passed by, filling Lord Char’s glass. You waited with both hands tucked beneath the edge of the table for Lord Char to grab for his cup. When he did, you tugged at the blood in his veins, barely enough to make the muscles jump.

“My dress!” you gasped.

The few people who had not been watching you like a petting zoo animal whipped around, mouths open in horror.

“Your Highness, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean…Let me help you!” Lord Char stammered, the contents of his drink puddled across the table and your lap. He grabbed for his napkin but floundered with the realization he couldn’t touch you.

“I believe you have done enough, Your Grace,” you bit out. Wine stained the front of your gown in large splotches, the blue of the fabric mixing with red to resemble a giant ugly bruise. A true shame, to destroy such fine silks. But ruining a brand new dress was worth escaping the evening. “Excuse me.”

You ignored the silent reprimand blooming on your grandmother’s face, allowing servants to crowd you with towels as they led you from the dining room swiftly. Her ire would be dealt with later when the voices of whiny nobles no longer rattled through your ears.

Lord Char followed spouting more apologies. “Princess Y/N, my hand slipped! I would never mean to—”

“Excuse me, Lord Char. I find myself needing to change out of my favorite gown since it is ruined.”

He deflated and stepped aside as you continued on your path.

“I am fine.” You brushed away the servants once the heavy doors shut, dismissing them back to their posts. “I will be retiring early this evening.”

Bending the liquid soaking your gown into a potted plant, you continued to your room with a pair of footsteps echoing behind.

Wonwoo watched the skyline of the city glow with light from your bedroom window while you…did whatever you did with your lady’s maids in your bathroom.

Logically, he knew but refused to dwell on such things. He had plenty of knowledge of what you looked like naked and soaking wet, at least from the waist up. And plenty of imaginations of the rest. There was no reason to add to his suffering by ruminating the gentle splashes echoing through the door.

Or the…giggling.

How many times had you looked at this same view? Watched a city you never experienced right at your feet thrum to life every night while you remained out of sight? Locked away in your tower night after night, wallowing and alone after your staff retired for the evening; imagination running wild with all sorts of activities might be taking place and wanting a slice for yourself.

And then you did just that. An incredibly foolish endeavor but his chest warmed with fond pride. He imagined what you would say if presented with that fact.

Only foolish if I was caught.

Wonwoo hadn’t considered the trouble you went through to sneak out the palace and down into the Middle district. It was at least an hour on foot assuming you didn’t encounter any delays, probably more since there was never a word of suspicious activity taking place in the Nobles Quarter. Foolish but not foolish at all.

Then he thought, how many nights had he paced the same streets just outside the palace walls, completely unaware that you were locked in this tower. That you ran straight across his path while he remained none the wiser. The night after he met you in the market, when he wandered the streets during his rounds consumed with thoughts of you; only for you to be right here.

Two people so close yet worlds apart.

After what felt like hours, your maids, Han and Sami, filed out to prepare your room, turning down the bed and stoking the dwindling fire.

Sami fed the flames another log and looked at him. “Mind helping?”

“I’m not a butler,” Wonwoo said but manipulated the dying flame until Sami waved him away.

Technically, Wonwoo was allowed to retire to his rooms now. He’d swept the windows and building tops for potential threats and found none (he never did). But Han and Sami were good company despite their constant teasing. It felt good to talk to someone other than you or Mingyu.

“So what did you think?”

“Of what?”

Han rolled her eyes as if he was an idiot to not understand exactly what she meant. “The suitors.”

Wonwoo could have said a great many opinions. Lord Char smelled like a brothel and Senator Maoki’s carvings looked rather phallic to be the sea serpents and lion turtles they were meant to be. Prince Jao’s singing made him want to jump off a building but not before pushing the man off first. Wonwoo especially didn’t care for the way they leered at you like starved wolves.

But his opinions did not matter.

“I’m not a matchmaker either,” he huffed.

“Men really undervalue the fun of good gossip.”

“What did you think then?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Prince Bavruq is so dreamy,” Sami crooned.

“He’s forty!” Han laughed.

“I’ve always liked an older man. He’s so…dignified.”

“Then maybe he’ll take you back to the North Pole with him,” Wonwoo added. It felt good to be a part of something again. In the barracks they played games and joked every night. He didn’t realize how much he missed it until now.

“A flower is only as good as its petals and my petals are too delicate to be locked away in the North Pole!”

Han snorted from across the room. “You’re as delicate as those rocks Chancellor Kabaar gifted her.”

“Now talk about a man,” Sami swooned.

You entered the room wrapped in a thick robe. “You are dismissed.”

Han and Sami bowed out but not before giggling again. When your face soured it only grew louder.

“Something funny?” he asked, watching the maids leaving through the door as they cackled to themselves.

You sat on the chair next to the window – eyes on the same sights Wonwoo watched earlier – and blew out a disgruntled breath.“Besides the fact that I was doused with wine in front of a hundred people?”

“Yeah, considering you did that to yourself.”

You raised an eyebrow. It was difficult to keep track of the masks you wore: a proper princess in front of others, the confident siren of the field, the force of nature from the training pavilion. They all slipped and rose so swiftly Wonwoo couldn’t keep track. “You dare suggest that I would purposefully sabotage dinner?”

“Based on past experience I can empathize with Lord Char on being made a fool at your hand.”

“Save your sympathies for someone more deserving than him. He is a terrible flirt with a gambling addiction which I supposed would be less of an issue if he ever actually won,” you said sourly.

At least he had a concrete reason to dislike Char besides his smell.

“So you admit you did it on purpose?”

“Of course I did it on purpose but if you want to go rejoin them then by all means. Jao is probably performing some of those Earth Kingdom poems still.”

“Are they always so self important?”

“They are princelings from the richest and most powerful families in the world. Usually they’re worse.”

You passed Wonwoo a tea cup, and without thought he warmed it between his palms until it was steaming before handing it back. “Hard to imagine that.”

“At my eighteenth birthday party a game of ice marbles turned into a wrestling match and they destroyed the south courtyard.”

“Well then,” he clapped. “At least the talent show will be interesting.”

Wonwoo turned to leave, the sound of your amused snort tugging at that warm place in his heart carved just for you.

If someone asked what he thought a princess’ day looked like before he came to the palace, he would have assumed it was days full of tea parties and mindless chatter. An easy life filled with nothing but comfort and luxury.

But the more time Wonwoo spent attending meetings and meals, the more he realized the palace was a viper pit covered in the finest lace and gold.

Meetings upon meetings upon meetings left his head swimming. Every conversation was layered with double meaning, from chatter on tea selection to the actual topics. It seemed like a knot that only became more tangled as he focused on unraveling it.

You seemed to navigate it easily though, the eerie mask of diplomacy firmly in place.

“Admiral Gyan, I understand that we have trade agreements,” you said, face smooth as a pearl but your eyes gleamed like you had your boot on his throat. “However, it is in the best interest of both of our people to make amends to terms that predate our births.”

Gyan picked at the spread of tea cakes and snacks, ignoring you completely in favor of snagging the last sweet bun. “All this talk of trade is rather tiresome, don’t you think? Tell me Princess, what is your favorite flower?”

Wonwoo watched you shut your eyes with a deep silent breath.

He prepared to intervene if needed; however, the admiral deserved to be knocked around a bit. An hour long discussion and all he asked was about your favorite sweets and candies (his were cherry nut tarts and jennamite), if you preferred the summer to winter (he liked summers), and your opinion on whether the Royal Theater’s production of Love amongst the Dragons outdid The Lost Slipper (nothing compared to The Echoes of Spirits).

Wonwoo made the mistake of implying the need for a chaperone for these meetings, considering most verged on courting rather than business, and he knew most guards waited outside the door during private meetings. Wonwoo was mortified to learn he was not only a guard but a nanny as well.

“Two birds one stone,” you said as Han smoothed the creases from your robe. “I need a guard and chaperone, and most leaders do not want to talk business with too many prying ears.”

The unsaid parts were clear; Wonwoo was a servant. Wonwoo was nobody next to these men who demanded respect for simply being born to the right people. The more appointments he attended, the more his resentment boiled. It was no different then the hundreds of times he stepped aside for men of higher status in the Nobles Quarter or the barracks. He never thought much of it before, it was simply something he’d been trained to do for years. So why did it bother him now?

Each dignitaries had done quite the same as Gyan, only perhaps a touch subtler; at least their attempts at flattery were related to trade agreements. Every asinine inquiry They were eager to make up for time missed at dinner the previous night, and your absence at breakfast this morning. Every single one began their time with a high chin and starry eyes, only to leave disillusioned from your insistence to discuss policy and finance. To their knowledge you were not officially seeking marriage, they were simply hopeful for the inevitable day you did.

How unaware they were of how soon that day came. Wonwoo read the dossiers; scanned them for anything of consequence: questionable relations, suspicious behaviors. For security purposes, of course. But one was the same as the last. Second borns never trained to take their own crowns who liked to spend their days indulging in hunting or drinking. Or, sons of rich families with strategic influence and holdings dating back centuries. And then, there were the well off military figures with armies more loyal to them than their nation.

Admiral Gyan happened to be all three.

“Ice lilies,” you sighed. “As I was saying—”

Gyan picked at some invisible lint at his sleeve. From his position against the wall, Wonwoo could see the way Gyan stared wistfully out the window instead of the papers you presented across the table. Not that Gyan could see them if he looked, his snacking left them covered in powdered sugar. Your attempt at serious political engagements turned into a place setting.

Wonwoo focused back on one of the paintings across the room. It wasn’t his concern and yet, despite everything, he’d begun to consider you a friend, or at the very least an acquaintance; someone he felt familiar enough with to feel annoyed on their behalf. But Wonwoo didn’t need much familiarity for the way these men talked down and disregarded your words to leave ash in his mouth.

“I’m allergic to ice lilies,” Gyan said pensively.

You blinked. “How unfortunate. Again, these trade—”

“If your husband did not like something you preferred, what would you do?”

“Not marry a man allergic to my favorite flower.” You stiffened, realizing the error of your ways. Then you dipped your chin and whispered. “However, a man that helps my country would be far more valuable as a husband than a man who can tolerate my…floral preference. Would you agree?”

Admiral Gyan studied for a long moment before speaking again.

The ink of the new agreements dried by that afternoon.

A long day of discussions left you irritable. It would have been different if any of the lordlings you met argued their terms on tariffs and trade, or introduced their own nation’s concerns. But no. They’d rather interrogate you on asinine details like your favorite teas and opinions on Earth Kingdom literature.

Perhaps that would be important after you officially took suitors into consideration but presently, they were invited with the intent of international diplomatic cooperation. Not eat all your food and ruin court records.

Dinner continued in the same fashion as the night before: too little eating and too much chatter. And since you couldn’t get away with bowing out early again, you were forced to remain through the entire ordeal. You managed a few bites between their lengthy monologues but after the meal you left with a grumbling stomach and a thunderous headache.

Back in your apartments, you fell into deep thought while Han and Sami flurried around as they pulled away your outer layers and plucked out the jewels in your hair.

“Any interesting developments today? Men declaring their undying devotion?” Han asked as she untied your slippers.

“Prince Bravruq promised he would perform some water tribe dance tomorrow night…shirtless.” You smiled at Sami’s reddening face. “But other than that, thankfully, no.”

“Not even our favorite broody guard?”

“For the last time, Wonwoo is simply doing his duty. He does not have…feelings.”

“I don’t know,” Sami sang. “He seemed upset when we asked him about all your new suitors last night. And after the council meeting? He is rather handsome when he’s all roughed up.”

“I think he’s handsome all the time,” Han said.

“Even if he did like me, nothing could come of it,” you reminded yourself.

“How many stories do you know where a princess falls in love with a commoner and they live happily ever after?”

“And how many do the princess and commoner lose their heads?”

“You’re always so serious. It’s not good for your complexion.”

“Well why didn’t you say that earlier?” you gasped. “There is nothing between Wonwoo and I. We are… friends. Maybe. But that's it.”

Sensing the end of the conversation, they drew your bath before you waved a dismissive hand.

The hot water soothed away your anger from the day, softening the tense muscles of your shoulders and back. Your eyes slipped shut as you sunk further into the tub, head resting back on the rim of the tub. Events of the day replayed, your mind sorting successes and failures, what agreements remained unsigned and how to do so. And then there was the matter of courting. Your intent to marry was barely a whispered rumor amongst staff and yet these men tripped over themselves like bumbling idiots.

But you no longer wished to think of business and wedding bells. You’d rather indulge in more relaxing imaginations.

At first there was nothing at all, just the lap of hot water at your throat sending prickles along your flesh. The water was adorned with different oils and soaps and felt like liquid silk. It allowed your hands to glide without friction, teasing drags of fingers against your sides until your nipples tightened. You remembered what it was like when Wonwoo touched them, first his hands, then his mouth, then the satisfying sting of his teeth. The times you tried to imitate those sensations only left you wanting.

Memories of the encounters had brought little satisfaction. Recalling how it felt was nowhere near as good as it actually had been, never brought the same pleasurable ending. And yet you tortured yourself with trying.

He really was handsome. Not just in the narrow cut of his uniform that clung to his shoulders, or when he removed his outer layers to reveal what hid beneath. He was most handsome when he didn’t realize you were looking. When whatever lordling tried to win your favor with overzealous compliments, Wonwoo couldn’t help rolling his eyes and biting back a laugh.

Or when his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through a particularly challenging form, muscles flexing and bunching; sweat gleaming off his skin, sticking his hair down.

Your hand ventured lower, a tease between your thighs, fingers soft against your clit just how he touched you. The bathroom is quiet sans your breath; miniscule sighs breaking through your lips as candles flickered around the room. It’d do nothing to think about the field but maybe what you needed was a new fantasy.

With firmer pressure, you imagined Wonwoo walking in, finding you touching yourself and offering to help; taking advantage of the slick glide between your legs, filling that horrible emptiness with the warmth of his hand. The tub was large enough for him to join. You could plant in his lap and ride his fingers like last time or, he could sit behind you, the heat of his chest firm against your back as he left those maddening kisses against your neck again.

You slipped a finger in, the tight squeeze nothing next to the desperation for more. The water muffled the sound of depravity as you fucked yourself timidly, only gentle splashes betraying movement and mute whines. Your chin tipped back as your hips rose in search of more. Rocking into the heel of your hand, you bit back a moan. The Wonwoo of your fantasy dragged you out of the tub and into bed, spread you beneath him to use his mouth against your core; kissing and sucking the same place you desperately touched. He teased how badly you needed him, eyes trained on your reactions from between your legs.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. Your muscles twitched again, clenching around your fingers, pretending they were his until your back arched and then—

The walls of the tub proved far too slippery as you thrashed into an orgasm, sinking beneath the surface unexpectedly.

You gasped for breath once surfacing again, flailing and splashing water onto the floor loudly. The bath had run cold in your mentally wandering and jolted you back to your senses. The delirious lull in your muscles fled as you kicked off from the bottom of the pool sized tub and back to your perch.

Wonwoo chose that moment to barge in.

He slammed the door open, rushing in and eyes scanning the room. “Is everything okay? I heard—”

“I’m fine!” you shouted, face heating as your voice bounced around the room. “I slipped.”

Wonwoo looked like he didn’t believe it. A waterbender having trouble in the bath? Unlikely. But he accepted it without question and straightened before asking, “Where are Han and Sami?”

Whatever warmth and longing rooted in your chest moments ago fizzled at his question. “Do you think I’m incapable of bathing on my own?”

“No, I…”

At that moment, Wonwoo recognized your state, eyes tracing the slope of your neck down, down, down until the surface of the water obstructed his view. The bubbles from earlier had fizzled to nothing, fine as sea foam and scattered like wispy clouds. If he stepped closer then everything would be visible. You were torn between sinking deeper and rising up, revealing your bare chest for his gaze. What would he do?

There was no one to interrupt, servants gone and the day done until sunrise. Wonwoo could touch you. You’d let him for as long as he liked, as many times as it took for that terrible clawing, demanding need to cease. You could drag him into the water and make every horrible dream and intoxicating fantasy plaguing you for weeks a reality.

But Wonwoo did nothing, simply stood there blankly, eyes trained on your throat. The warm light from dozens of candles danced over his face, flickering wildly but not revealing what was brewing beneath the surface of his glazed stare. You had an idea from the way his breath became labored and his fingers flexed but he didn’t move a muscle.

And then he promptly turned on his heel and strode back towards the door.

“Wait,” you called, startled by your own voice. What were you doing? “Can you warm this for me?”

Wonwoo stopped immediately. You watched his shoulders tense, slowly rising to his reddening ears before he responded, “Your bath?”

The candles around the room grew for a moment. But he didn’t turn around, instead he looked over his shoulder and pinned you with an expectant look. You began to speak, a dismissal at the tip of your tongue, but ultimately nodded. Silently, he approached, eyes glued to your face. A jolt of heat cracked through your veins. Ears ringing, your breath grew stunted with every step that brought him closer.

Wonwoo loomed over you, shrugging off his uniform jacket, still maintaining eye contact as each button loosed beneath his fingers. Your own twitched in response, aching to return between your legs for him to watch. He pushed the sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows. He only broke eye contact to perch at the edge of the tub, back facing you. His hand sunk just past his wrist beneath the surface of the water. He grazed your knee and jerked away with a splash. You bit your tongue to stop from pushing your knee against him again.

His hand bunched into a fist, heat blooming through the water until steam rose from its surface. The contrast of his skin next to your beneath the water made your mouth water as he forced out more heat.

As his hand rose once again, rivulets clinged to sinew and ligaments in his arm. You remembered how he looked in that field, soaked to the bone in the moonlight. The cling of his pants revealing the muscles below. Every ripple of those muscles when he moved, when he rolled into your grip on his cock.

“And this.” You nudged his hand with your wash rag, swallowing thickly when he accepted it. Again, Wownoo refused to look as his fingers flexed around the fabric, veins rising from the force of his grip, more of those tempting drops of water clinging to his skin. The strangest urge to suck them from his fingers rooted in your head. Steam rose from the cloth and he passed it back, hot and dripping.

“Anything else?” His hand remained floating between you. How badly you wanted to slide your fingers between his and tug until he found the arousal between your legs.

Now reach back into this tub and warm me, you thought.

“That–” you stuttered. “That's all. Thank you.”

Wonwoo left and the candles returned to their dim flutter.

After scrubbing your skin raw, you exited the bath. Despite your earlier fatigue, you knew there was no point in trying to sleep now. You’d only lay awake, tempted by the idea of sneaking down the hall to Wonwoo’s room and making your imaginations reality. There was no point sitting in your room, tossing and turning and itching and pining for something else. You could have slipped out your window and hid in the gardens, burn the restlessness in the training pavilion until exhaustion took over.

But Wonwoo would find you. You knew he would; he managed to do so repeatedly. When you refused to retire for the evening he would offer to train with you. And then it was back to square one, the same tension from the close quarters of the bathroom, except with the bloodrush of bending and memories of the last time you both fought beneath the moonlight.

The thick stack of papers balanced on your bed table; treaties and amendments forged during the day, signed in your own blood, sweat, and tears. Additionally reports from different advisors shuffled through the stack. If you couldn’t sleep then getting work done for tomorrow was the only solution.

In the dining room, you rung a servant to bring leftovers from dinner you never ate. They returned with a spread of stuffed cabbage rolls, salted meats, and other dishes. Far more piled on the table than you could ever hope to eat, despite your ravenous appetite. Without the pretense of formal dining, you nibbled and read a new batch of reports from Lord Gilen about the Lower Block hospital you’d invested in since the spring. The numbers provided little distraction as you heard Wonwoo move around the apartment like a ghost.

“Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Can’t.” You flashed the papers in his direction and went back to reading. You couldn’t look at him. Not sitting there in a robe and nightgown, skin still warm from the bath. He could part it easily, reach inside and—

He remained in the doorway, gaze like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

“Eat. It’ll go to waste if you don’t.”

Wonwoo hesitated but then shuffled forward and took a seat at the opposite end before piling a plate with food. Still, your eyes remained glued to another row of swirled ink that turned illegible to your distracted mind as he slurped and grunted. More horribly tempting thoughts seeded as he continued.

Appetite vanishing with your sanity, you focused on carefully sipping your cold tea and read on. Lord Gilen’s missive was long and detailed and a perfectly appropriate distraction from the fact Wonwoo hadn’t put his jacket back on.

“What are you reading?” Wonwoo asked.

“Reports for a hospital in the Lower Block I’ve been funding. Lord Gilen has been handling it for me.”

You continued reading. The lapse in judgment in the bathroom was just that, a mistake. You were a princess and needed to act like one; not some bumbling infatuated maiden.

Still, you wanted to snag the pitcher from the table and hurl it at the wall.

“A hospital in the Lower Block? Yeah, sure,” he snorted.

Your head snapped up. “I have the documents right here.”

“I’m telling you, there is no hospital in the Lower Block.”

“Look for yourself.”

Wonwoo scanned the pages, brows furrowed. A bit of sugar from the coconut puffs clung to his lip. You wanted to lick it off.

“I walked this street every time I went from the barracks to the warehouse. Unless he somehow demolished a condemned burnt out building and built a brand new one in its place in the time I’ve been here, then it doesn’t exist.”

The poise you’d painstakingly clung to since exiting the bath dissolved. If what Wonwoo said was true then Gilen was a liar. If the hospital didn’t exist then over twenty thousand gold marks were unaccounted for; twenty thousand gold marks vanished into nothing, and Lord Gilen was to blame. Lord Gilen who’d been in court since you were a baby, a favorite advisor of your grandmother’s, a close confidant. It was impossible.

Stacks of falsified documents with forged signatures, counterfeit invoices for materials to rebuild and train healers. Sketches and blueprints of the building. Patient records for people who didn’t exist. If Gilen was embezzling the money there was a paper trail of his misdeeds a mile long.

But he had encouraged your investments; presented multiple projects of his own design, touting the needs of the people with zeal. Managed the entire process with assiduity and constant progress reports down to the last detail. Gilen wouldn’t conspire a tangled plot like this. It only took a gentle tug at a loose end and the entire tapestry of his scheming unraveled.

And yet, Wonwoo never provided a reason not to trust him.

Whatever simpering girl you’d been in the bathroom holed up behind a hard mask of anger. “Show me.”

“What?”

Brushing the papers aside, you rose. “I’m going to the Lower Block and you’re going to show me.”

You didn’t wait for him to follow, blinded by rage. The rest of the apartment was empty of servants as you paced the seating area.

You ripped the overstuffed couches to shreds.

You screamed until your throat bled.

You stood in frozen silence and did nothing but stare blankly ahead.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“If you think I’m going to sneak you out of the palace you’re out of your mind.” Wonwoo said as he entered the room.

You turned towards him and stared for a moment. “Then I’ll go by myself.”

“You’re not going to the city this late at night, it’s at least—”

You rounded on him, until you were toe to toe with a finger digging into his chest. “You do not tell me what to do. I’m the princess and you are my glorified nanny.”

Wonwoo glared down at your hand twisted in his shirt. You began to withdraw it, realizing your mistake, but he snatched it with a firm grip and kept it between your bodies and met your gaze.

“I’m not one of your little lordlings you can push around and make agree just because you bat your eyes. Go to the city, and I will walk out that door and tell everyone.”

It wasn’t fitting for a woman of your age and rank to stomp and huff like a begrudged child but you did it anyway.

“Why don’t you just chain me to the bed and leave me until morning!” you sneered but faltered at the spark in his gaze.

“If you give me no other choice, I will.”

Yanking your hand back, you retreated to your room. “You are so infuriating!”

Wonwoo didn’t know how you got into the city. He didn’t know the passage in your office or the labyrinth beneath the gardens that lead outside the palace walls. Sneaking out your window was less convenient but no one knew the gardens better than you. If he chased, you’d lose him and he could only reveal your location by admitting he failed his one job.

You blew out the candles and sat in the dark for a long moment as the moon rose outside your window. Shedding your robe and nightgown, you donned the servants clothes and cloak you stole long ago then stuffed the robe and some pillows beneath the covers in the shape of a body.

Careful of the squeaky hinges, you cracked the window open slowly with baited breath.

“Going somewhere?” Wonwoo asked from the doorway.

You stiffened. “If you must know, I was feeling a bit stifled and thought a breeze would be nice.”

“And the breeze gave you a chill so you got dressed?”

“Is that so difficult to believe?”

He entered your room and dragged the covers back with a quirked brow as if to say ‘Do you think I’m that dumb?’

“If you recall, I’ve done this countless times without you and never been caught.”

“There's a line between bravery and stupidity.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” you gasped, even in the dark you could see the exhaustion on his face.

“I’m calling you heedless. You can’t just run down to the Lower Block on a whim. It’s dangerous,” Wonwoo said, voice thin. “Where Galin says the hospital is is no place for—”

“For a princess?”

“For anyone to go alone. I wouldn’t go there alone because I know what happens on those streets. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into and you don’t care.”

In your haste safety seemed like a minor concern. You held your own enough times and this would be no different. Wonwoo didn’t seem to understand this wasn’t a matter of pride, it was principal. You weren’t a puppet that nobles could tug at your strings however they pleased. And if Galin, trusted and venerated Galin, was playing you a fool then there was no telling what the other, less favored, nobles did in the dark.

Treachery was an infection in the open wound of your trust and you needed to amputate the limb before it could spread. But not without proof.

“I am being made a fool of by my own councilman,” you started. “He is stealing from me and thinks he can get away with it, that I would have no way of knowing because I’m kept under lock and key here. I need to see it with my own eyes. You do not have to come with me but you cannot honestly expect me to stay here."

Wonwoo watched for a long moment then stormed out of the room without response. You feared he ran to tell someone of your plan and raced to open the window.

“If we get caught I swear—”

You whipped around at the sound of his voice. Wonwoo strode in dressed in casual clothes similar to yours; trousers and a long sleeved tunic, a hood to conceal his face.

“You’re coming with me?”

“Of course I’m coming with you. Knowing you, you’ll blast some poor drunk with a canon unprovoked and we both know how that turned out. Let's go.”

You silently led Wonwoo through a secret door in your private office, down, down, down until the walls transformed from the stone of the palace to dirt with wooden slats supporting the structure. There were no lanterns so he kept a small flame alive in his palm. He tried to keep his bearings through each twist and turn but soon failed. He figured the walk had been long enough to be far outside the palace grounds but each switch back left him more unsure.

Suddenly, the dirt floor turned into cobblestone and the walls followed soon after and then an iron ladder leading up appeared from nowhere.

“This lets out beneath the crystal elephant statue in Emerald Park,” you said before climbing.

Wonwoo walked the perimeter of Emerald Park hundreds of times; circled the statue dozens of times and never realized there was a secret passage in all this time. He knew there were secrets the Nobles Quarter kept from him but not a path into the palace right under his nose.

The park was empty. Fountains bubbled and frogs croaked, the low light of gas street lamps providing enough cover to reach the southern exit towards the Middle District gates.

The shuffle of feet alerted him to a patrol up ahead. It was only another block to the gates leading into the Middle District and yet, he found himself having to crouch in an alley while a few guards walked past. You hid somewhere behind him. Truly, it was the last place he wanted to be with you after the incident in the bath.

He should have said no; refused to come anywhere near you while you were undressed. But he couldn’t help it. It was as if you were a siren singing straight to his blood. When you asked him to come closer, he tried not to look beneath the surface of the water but it was in vain. Even in his peripheral he saw the slope of your breasts, the pinch of your nipples. It hadn’t been better to look at your face. Your dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, bitten lips. Just like the night in the field.

It took all his willpower not to drag you from the tub, spread you on the bed, and taste you until all he heard were hoarse cries of his name; begging, praising, even a reprimand. He wanted them all and he half expected you to ask for them when he took his coat off; prepared to unbutton his trousers as well. A single glance would have told you everything, the tightness of his pants unbearable. But you asked him to heat your water and your rag and then dismissed him without another word.

When he heard you pattering about the dining room, he planned to ask just what game you were playing but you pretended nothing happened.

Now, he was hidden in the shadows of an alley with you less than a foot away and rather than worry about guards catching him, all Wonwoo’s thoughts were captured by images of you pressed between his body and the wall.

The patrol passed by without suspicion. Wonwoo signaled you to follow once again. The sooner you saw the imaginary hospital in the Lower Block, the sooner he’d be free to lock himself away until sunrise.

As the gates came into view, you tugged Wonwoo’s sleeve and directed him off the main road, through narrow side streets and more alleys until the stone wall separating the Nobles Quarter and the Middle District came into view. Here, there were no guards and Wonwoo didn’t remember ever circling this area during his years of patrols. Another secret.

The wall was a foot taller than him so he hoisted you up before following. Restaurants and shops backed up to the wall on the Middle District side. This late, few were open, most windows and open doors framed employees sweeping or cleaning up the last bits of mess. None looked up from their work as you both snuck past.

Wonwoo’s feet pounded against the cobblestone as he darted down the street, you behind him, footsteps echoing loudly. Physical exhaustion felt good. His lungs burned and muscles strained but it gave him something to think about other than the heat of your chest against his body when dipping into an alcove to hide from a passing group. Most of the streets this far out were still crowded with late night partiers.

“Take off your hood,” he commanded, removing his own.

“Why?”

“Because we look like thieves. No one will recognize you out here and it’ll be easier to get through.”

Your hood came off, and Wonwoo was struck by how similar you looked to the night at the market. Hair fluffed around your face, the sheen of perspiration for the balmy night. He wanted to kiss you.

He stepped out from hiding and started down the street.

“I’ve never been this way before,” you shared. The crowd grew thicker and forced you to remain tight to his side or risk drifting away.

“You have. Down that street,” he gestured, “are the Red Lanterns.”

In all fairness, Wonwoo wouldn’t have known about the seedy avenue unless he stumbled on it as a teenager. It was the first time he saw…many things and he’d avoided it ever since. They were not memories he ever thought of voluntarily.

The crowd flowed further away from the palace, until the stacked buildings of Merchant’s Row transformed into warehouses and empty lots. The people changed too. No longer did couples of all ages and children flitter about, gone were poets and musicians and artists busking on the corners. The only light came from the waxing moon and windows, not the gas street lamps up the block.

The Lower Block was a slum.

Wonwoo kept walking as you looked around as if the street was a zoo full of exotics; eyes wide and shining in the light like coins. The streets used to be pristine, organized chaos at all hours. Guards, manufacturers, and merchants would weave between the buildings like armies of ants, raw materials pouring in from carts and goods immediately replacing them for transport. The Lower Block used to be pristine.

Now, old men crouched around overturned crates as they played cards and drank from green glass bottles; wiry kids chased stray dogs across the poorly paved street; vendors hawked fruits and vegetables more rotten than fresh, cloying the air with sickening sweetness. Uneven cobblestones hosted potholes large enough to bath in when it rained.

Luckily, no one paid much attention to a couple stumbling about like drunkards, they were all too absorbed in themselves. However, one glance and the entire charade would unravel. Your posture was straight as a razor edge, chin tipped back; as if you owned the world. You did, Wonwoo guessed. Everything – from the smallest pebble to the gigantic steamers in the western harbor – was yours.

Wine houses lined the street, dirty alleys wedge between. Wonwoo knew the wine houses well enough; where other fighters from the warehouse went after matches to find another conquest for the night or drink themselves numb. He’d done both enough times to fear being recognized.

“Come here,” he commanded. You gave in easily when he hid his face in the curve of your neck. The scent of wildflowers and soap tickled his senses, and Wonwoo barely contained himself from pressing his nose more firmly beneath your jaw.

“What are you doing?” you murmured but didn’t push him away.

“Hiding.”

“What for?”

“Not all of us have the benefit of being anonymous.”

“You’ve been to these places?” you said. Wonwoo followed your gaze to a brothel, scantily clad women and men lounging around the wide porches, attempting to lure passersby.

He didn’t answer.

“Is that why you said I’d be a bad prostitute? Speaking from experience?”

“I never paid anyone,” he argued.

“It’s okay if you did,” you laughed. “Not everyone can be so lucky with women.”

Even through his frustration, Wonwoo wanted to bottle the sound of your laughter; taste it on his tongue, feel it against his lips. He wanted to push you back into the darkness of the alleyway and remind you just how lucky he’d been not so long ago. He wanted to rip his hair out because agreeing to spend more time with you tonight was a horrible idea.

At the next intersection, Wonwoo turned you down a narrow street. The lively crowd’s absence left a hollow silence. A handful of people milled about, shifting through the shadows like sharks. The warehouse Lord Gilen posed as a hospital stood halfway down the block. Covered in rotten boards and rusted chains, there was no trace that anyone had been near it in years.

You pulled away from Wonwoo as you approached the ransacked building. “You’re sure this is it?”

“Even if I wasn’t, do any buildings here look like a hospital to you?”

Your fist clenched and he stepped back slightly. Wonwoo expected tangible anger like in the training pavilion; icicles the size of a human, a flood pulled from the humid air of the night. But you stood silently, unmoving. If your anger in the pavilion was a storm, Wonwoo felt as if he was in the eye of a hurricane.

Hurricanes always brought wreckage.

You drew some water from a pouch at your hip, weaving it into the lock before it cracked and the chains slouched. Wonwoo didn’t wait for an invitation to follow you inside.

There was no light inside, the windows were caked in thick dust. He lit a flame in his hand but there wasn’t much to see. An empty warehouse full of garbage: broken machines, rotten newspapers, broken crates. Something rustled beneath a heap in the corner. A fat elephant rat scurried out and darted out of sight.

Again, you stood still like a statue, soaking in the realities. Silence spread into the warehouse like an ink stain.

“Let's go.”

The walk back to the palace was in thick silence; not the silence of before when Wonwoo couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or turn around and renounce his assignment for the sake of his sanity. It was the unnerving silence just before something went horribly wrong.

You kept ahead, shoulders square, head high. It wasn’t the performance you gave nobles, or the wildness from when bent your element. This was a new mask Wonwoo couldn’t decipher.

In your apartment, you walked straight to your room and Wonwoo watched as the door shut with a quiet click.

Wonwoo woke covered in sweat. Even hidden behind a curtain of dark clouds he could feel the sun just peaking above the horizon.

He wasn’t sure what the day held but he showered and put on his uniform like every other morning. When he exited his room, maids and footmen fluttered about like every other morning, you at the center of the storm. You acted the same as every other morning as well, sipping your tea and scanning a stack of documents.

Wonwoo hovered in the hall entrance, unsure of what to do. The anger charged atmosphere of last night vanished from the sitting room though that might be due to the presence of others than anything else. Displays of emotion were reserved for private, when no one but Wonwoo paid witness. Your face was impassive in the early dawn light, completely unperturbed. Unlike other mornings, he noticed the usual jewels pinned in your hair and clinging to your throat were absent. Only a pale ribbon tied around your neck. Your dress was a modest lavender, no flashy embroidery or outlandish cuts; but it was more to do with the woman wearing it than the dress itself. He didn’t know when he started paying attention to such things. But the first lesson you taught him was looks can be deceiving and you would bank on that fact.

“Stop hiding in the shadows like a ghost, it's off putting,” Sami said as she strode by him.

“I’m not hiding,” Wonwoo argued. If he was hiding it was for good reason; a man never knew he stepped foot into a riptide until it was too late.

“Like a little boy afraid Koh is hiding under his bed,” she teased.

“Leave him alone, Sami,” you called from the table.

Sami turned and stuck her tongue out at him. This must be what it was like to have sisters.

“Everything in the Solarium is set and this,” Sami placed an envelope on the table in front of you. “Han is making copies of the records now.”

“After she’s done, Mingyu is to escort her to the archives after the meeting. Make sure people see them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Finally, you looked at Wonwoo. “Let’s go.”

You glided through the palace hallways, greeting everyone who crossed your path. Again, just like every other day. The longer you pretended last night didn’t bother you the more unnerved he became.

He’d never been in the Solarium and wouldn’t soon return back if it could be helped. It was a spectacular enclosed glass structure on a terrace overhanging the gardens. That was not the problem. The Solarium was a greenhouse turned into a meeting room with a low table in the center surrounded by cushions, with a tier of teacakes and pitchers precariously placed. Gigantic plants with leaves the size of dinner plates crowded so thickly around the walls it was like entering a forest. Blossoms in shades of red and blue and white and yellow peppered throughout, their floral scent thickening the air like a putrid perfume. There was no wind to move the smell, it stagnated in the humidity as fountains bubbled cheerfully in the background.

“What are we doing here?”

You ignored the question. “Can you firebend in here?”

Wonwoo conjured a small flame in his palm but with the abundance of moisture it swiftly began to choke and flicker. “You came to a greenhouse for what exactly?”

You started to answer but a knock at the door interrupted.

As the footman entered to announce Lord Galin’s arrival, Wonwoo moved towards the wall next to the door; his station where he oversaw your meetings time and time again. Best to play his part even if you refused to share the script you were operating from.

“Lord Galin,” you smiled in greeting. Every inch of you reverted back into the meekness Wonwoo witnessed that first day in the barracks. A delicate flower, so beautiful you forgot it’s filled with poison.

“Your Highness,” the old man bowed deeply. “You look more radiant than the last time I saw you.”

“I apologize we couldn’t meet in the Azure Chamber. It flooded sometime last night.”

Whatever happened in the chamber last night, Wonwoo figured you fashioned it somehow.

“No apologies necessary, the Solarium is just as magnificent though it is quite humid here.”

“I forget not everyone is as unbothered by it as I am.” You led Galin to the table, taking the far seat so you faced Wonwoo. He kept his gaze trained on the back of Galin’s head.

“Let us eat first and then we shall talk business, yes?” You sat and plucked a slice of pear from a serving plate. “How are your grandsons?”

“Citree just began his tutoring. He’s a very gifted firebender.”

You glanced at Wonwoo over the man's shoulder. “Like his grandfather.”

The puzzle pieces clicked into place in Wonwoo’s head. This was where you’d confront Galin, it’s why you chose a room so humid no flame could survive or thrive in its cradle. You wanted to ensure if Galin thought to retaliate, he’d have no ability to do so. Wonwoo rested a hand on the pommel of the blade at his hip and titled his chin in understanding.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” Galin hummed.

You continued to chatter about all matters; Galin’s other committees, his wife’s health, the plum orchard on his property in the East. The man talked about himself too eagerly; bumbling through long anecdotes that made Wonwoo’s eyes glaze but you kept a warm smile on your face the entire time.

A knock interrupted and Sami entered with a new plate of desserts and a wink at Wonwoo.

“Your Highness, Your Grace,” she bowed and placed the treats in the center of the table. Wonwoo noticed she slipped something from her pocket into your hand.

But Galin didn’t seem to notice, too entranced by the pastries placed before him. “You remembered my favorite!”

“Of course, my Lord. My cook was worried they wouldn’t come out in time but it seems she is a miracle worker.”

You did not eat and Wonwoo wondered if you had them poisoned.

“Fickle thing, star lace. You can spend all the time and money on the best ingredients, preparing them just right, but if the cook isn’t careful to see the process through then the entire thing is for naught. And then, you have hungry people who are only able to eat their disappointment.”

Wonwoo couldn’t see Galin’s face but his body tensed. He wasn’t sure what new role he was playing in your game. Not a chaperone and certainly not a protector. A witness? An insurance policy?

You continued, “And if those people were royals, princesses perhaps with the ability to make assassinations look like accidents, well it wouldn’t be very wise of a cook to disappoint her, would it?”

“I have no idea—“

“I’ve heard recent reports of wildfires in the northern provinces. Uncommon but not exactly rare I suppose. How unfortunate would it be for one of those fires to consume the temple Citree is studying at?”

Despite sitting, it was as if you grew an inch taller with each word. Staring down your nose at Galin, Wonwoo wondered how anyone doubted that you were born to rule.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Lord Galin,” you cooed. “I’m only speaking in hypotheticals. However, I suppose that if someone decided to steal twenty thousand gold marks from the crown and leave a trail of evidence, then I’d be left with few options. Strip him of his title, take everything he values…really the possibilities are only as limited as my imagination.”

“What do you want?”

“Forty thousand gold marks and the names of any other nobles who have been cheating the crown.“

“Fort—forty thousand?” he sputtered. “I haven’t got forty thousand gold marks.”

“How unfortunate. You know what I’ve got? A condemned building in the Lower Block and months of documents pretending it’s not. So find forty thousand gold marks by tomorrow evening or you will find yourself mourning your grandsons by the next day.”

So this was diplomacy. Wonwoo’s skin prickled at the realization. It was as if he was witnessing a tsunami preparing to crash into land, taking everything and leaving nothing behind in its wake. Unforgiving. Ruthless. Brutal. Wonwoo softened towards Lord Galin but swiftly remembered the only reason the noble became the target of your rage were his own deeds. Galin was a thief and a liar. This was justice.

“You haven’t told Her Majesty about my deeds, have you?”

“No. I am offering you my mercy but if you prefer to beg for hers then so be it.”

“Fine, but I have no names. I don’t know the other ministers’ deeds.”

Wonwoo doubted that. Where one went, the rest followed. How many other projects were nothing more than shams to line their own pockets?

“Forty thousand gold marks returned to my coffers and a list of names with proof of crimes. Or is there a price too high for your family’s safety?”

Galin tensed, hands flexing at his sides. You warned him Galin was a firebender and Wonwoo recognized the signs of his element. He stepped forward to intervene but found your eyes over the old man's shoulders, a single look and he knew you didn’t need his help. The temperature in the room dropped until his breath puffed in a foggy cloud. Wonwoo didn’t need to see the tea cups to know they were frozen too; the glass walls and ceilings frosted despite the harsh sun beating down outside. The fountains silenced, and the plants twisted like snakes poised to strike. Wonwoo had been terrified of you before, but now he found himself too impressed to think beyond the fact you could send an ice blade through Galin’s throat before either of them realized what happened.

“You will sign these confessions,” you said, passing over the papers Sami slipped you earlier. “In the case you do what is required, then no one will ever discover them. But if you don’t…then I’m sorry for your loss.”

The plants relaxed and the fountains began bubbling enthusiastically once more. Frost receded, and you sat primly, plucking a fig from the tray of fruits as if you were discussing the weather. You wore as many masks as Wonwoo had teeth and the ever shuffling nature unnerved him.

Lord Galin glowered, “I was unaware royalty resorted to blackmail these days.”

“I won’t fault you for it, you don’t seem to be aware of much these days but I’m honored to bring you up to speed.”

After signing the confessions and sealing them, you dismissed Galin, face smooth, the wave threatening to destroy everything in its path receding beneath the surface without a ripple. As if it never existed to begin with.

Galin rose to his feet, wrinkled face red as rose petals, ink staining his fingers. His mouth opened to say more but shut when you raised a brow in question. Wonwoo became a new victim to his indignation.

“Filth!” Galin spat, chest puffed. “Get out of my way!”

You didn’t rise from your seat, or shout, or freeze the air again. Your voice was unnervingly calm, gaze as cold as ice. “Lord Galin.”

“Yes, Your Highness?” he bit without turning back.

To Wonwoo’s horror, your fingers bent at a rigid angle and Galin jerked to face you like a grotesque puppet.

Bloodbending.

It didn’t matter if Galin could bend or even if he had a knife hidden in his pocket. A flick of your wrist turned him into a living marionette, doomed to do whatever crossed your mind.

Wonwoo’s stomach sank.

One hand held steady and you poured yourself a cup of tea with the other, spoon scraping the bottom of the porcelain cup when you added sugar. “I’ve heard the strangest tales of people drowning on dry land in the Umber Islands. It might do well to warn your daughters of such a phenomenon. They’ll be celebrating the festival there this year, won't they? I’d hate for anything unfortunate to happen to them.”

Galin’s eyes widened with horror and Wonwoo knew his face must have looked the same but you remained unaffected; sipping from your cup.

“Thank you for sharing, Your Highness.”

“You may go,” you said, hand dropping to snag one of the pastries and pop it in your mouth with a pleased hum.

Galin scurried from the chamber and Wonwoo nearly followed.

Wonwoo realized, among a great many things, that your threat to Galin is on his behalf; you’d go to the same lengths to get your money back as you would to settle an insult against him. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it’s a drop in the bucket of your ire at the noble, at everyone, at circumstance. Maybe you’d been looking for an excuse to put Galin in his place, flex your power over him completely.

Wonwoo didn’t need anger on his behalf.

But he also realized he’d like if you were.

In the garden, the scent of honey suckles and damp earth perfumed the air. The clipped bushes and hedges stood proud, like rows of miniature soldiers as they carved a maze towards the ornamental pond bustling with turtleducks. You sat in silence with Wonwoo, pretending to read a novel by a new poet while he actually read his own. It felt odd to have him stand at attention while you relaxed, same as when Han or Sami or Mingyu hung around waiting for some task to do when all you craved was company; more friend than servant but Wonwoo felt more something than friend.

You weren’t sure what he’d think of the ruthlessness you wielded in the Solarium, and a part of you wilted at the idea that you cared so much for his opinion. It’s what had to be done.

It didn’t stop the sick satisfaction knowing Galin wet himself when you yanked him around by his veins.

Han and Mingyu ensured Galin’s footman witnessed them delivering the fake confession envelopes to the archives while Sami hid the real ones throughout the palace. When Galin visited the archives that night hoping to destroy evidence against, he’d realize the fool he thought you to be was a grave miscalculation. And when he sent a messenger to ensure his grandsons’ safety, you had a spy set to follow; same with his daughters. He’d play right into your web just as you had his but this time you’d win; it was up to Galin to define what that meant.

Wonwoo had not spoken to you since leaving the Solarium and you wondered if it had been worth it. You felt like a child playing pretend; the first trial of being queen, what it would take to keep the nobles in line. You could have turned over his confession to your grandmother and been done with the entire ordeal but you wanted to beat Galin on your own; needed to outmaneuver him without her help.

Only time would tell if you had.

Now, you sat in the gardens and tried to carry on as normal as if you didn’t owe this success to your guard. You trusted him. Not just to protect you if someone should attack, Wonwoo would do that for anyone. You were sure of it. Even with Sami and Han’s constant teasing he would protect them if needed. But it was beyond expecting him to do his duty. He gave you proof, put himself at risk of getting into trouble if you were caught together. He helped you in a way no one else ever could.

You’d have to find a way to thank him later, when the rush of the day wore off and you didn’t replay the hundreds of things you could have done differently.

You knew he wouldn’t appreciate the money from Lord Galin, he’d insist it went back to the people. He liked to read, you knew that much. Maybe a book? But that didn’t feel grand enough to convey the level of your gratitude. Recommend him to Aiko for a promotion? You’d have to ask him.

There were other things you could do for him. Indulge in the urges that plagued you since you spotted him the first night at the warehouses; let him touch and taste and tease as much as he wanted; finish what started against that wall in the market and rekindled last night. It’d be an entirely inappropriate reward but you wanted him and it was a convenient excuse to let him have you.

Wonwoo interrupted your spiral. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

For a moment you thought he meant the fantasies flashing in your head. Yes. Without question. Wanna run to the gardener's shed right now? But when you looked away from your book and towards his face, something unfamiliar clouded his face. Something like awe and fear and disbelief morphed into one.

He meant Galin.

“Yes.”

“Is it that easy?”

You shut your book with a snap; no point in saving the page, you’d have to start from the beginning anyway. “It's not easy.”

Galin’s daughters had been your playmates as a child, before they married and went with their husbands. You attended Citree’s and his brothers’ first birthdays, sent gifts for the Winter Fete every year. It was not easy but Galin made it necessary. Wonwoo didn’t understand. He never would.

Rising with the intent of excusing yourself to somewhere he couldn’t follow, you found one of your guests approaching.

“Your Highness,” Senator Maoki bowed. “I apologize for interrupting you but I was hoping I may accompany you on a walk through the gardens? I’m told you know them best and I’d be honored with a tour.”

I would rather hang upside down completely naked and recite my family lineage back fifteen generations.

Senator Maoki was several inches shorter than you with a boyish face, baby fat firmly in place despite his age. He didn’t look old enough to drink let alone wed, and he wouldn’t; not to you at least. But Maoki could serve a purpose now.

You smoothed a hand down your skirt. “That would be lovely.”

He trailed behind as you swept towards the arch leading back to the palace; a short tour through the more impressive parts of the garden, then you could hide away in your room until night came.

“I’ve been trying to introduce myself but your schedule is so packed, Your Highness,” Maoki huffed.

“Lots to do when running a country.”

“It’ll be grand when you're married,” Maoki said. “then you won't have to worry about such things.”

You stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean to say,” Maoki stammered, “you’ll be busy raising your children so your husband would naturally step in as king.”

“The man I marry would be Prince Consort, not King.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Maoki must have sensed your discontent and scrambled to change the subject. He looked over his shoulder and turned back to say, “Does he follow you everywhere?”

You continued down the pebbled pathway, flowers exploding in the greenery like vibrant fireworks, Maoki and Wonwoo on your heels. “He’s my guard, it’s his duty to protect me.”

“I could protect you, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t protect a block of ice in the South Pole.

Maoki puffed up his chest but looked more like an baby otter penguin than something intimidating. There was a noise behind you that sounded suspiciously like a snort. At least Wonwoo found him entertaining.

“I’m sure you’re very capable,” you dipped your chin to the orange blossoms, their sweet scent offsetting the sour taste of that lie.

“I’ve never understood women’s affinity for flowers. They’re just silly flowers.”

You drew back to full height, your chin an inch or so higher than the top of Maoki’s hair. “These flowers will become fruit that will feed everyone at the palace. That hardly seems silly to me.”

His eyes rolled. “I guess but not all flowers turn into something useful.”

“So you only see value in things that may be of use to you.”

“No! I mean, yes, but I wouldn’t—”

“Some things’ only use is the comfort they bring by having them near.” Like Wonwoo. The realization jumped at you like a bolt of lightning in broad daylight; you shove it away before thinking too much of it. ��Did you not have a favorite toy or blanket as a child?”

“I had a rock.” Maoki declared proudly.

“A…rock?”

“My favorite rock, come I’ll show you.”

Maoki trudged past, leaving you and Wonwoo alone for a moment. When you look up at him he’s smiling; an amused twist on his lip like he too can’t believe Maoki cuddled with a rock as a child.

That comfort you described crept up, the warmth in your chest, the knots in your muscles loosening. All by just standing there with him as the birds chirped and the breeze rustled the leaves and swirled the scent of fresh rain and the blooms. You knew the want he brought with him; the urge to touch and be touched, to be pressed into the wall and drag him against you. But this was different. A new urge to stand in silence, knowing Wonwoo stood only a few inches away, and enjoy the gardens in soft silence; share looks you both understood without speaking; laugh at nothing and everything and look to see if he was laughing too.

“Your Highness?” Maoki called.

“Coming.”

Next to the fountain, Maoki held a stone the size of a fist. “A good rock is a lot like a woman. Some may be unassuming from the outside, but, if you take the time to look at what's within, it can dazzle. Look.” He cracked the stone open and the inside glittered in the afternoon light like a thousand stars captured together.

“That’s beautiful.” If you didn’t have hundreds of things that sparkled then you might have been more sincere in your compliments. You might have bitten your tongue. “Does your rock do anything?”

Maoki frowned. “No, Your Highness. It’s meant to be admired for simply existing, a thing of great beauty and great value that lasts far longer than flowers.”

“But it doesn’t smell as nice as flowers,” you sniffed.

“No, I think flowers might have the advantage there,” he joked back. “Shall we walk some more?”

Walking the gardens is nice even if you’ve traced the same paths so many times there are permanent footsteps to follow. It’s the time of year the grass is as soft as feathers and you wish to toss away your shoes and to feel it beneath your feet; you would if Maoki wasn’t there and it was just Wonwoo.

Another fountain came into view; water trickling down the many tiers in thick sheets to the basin where turtleducks paddled across the surface and fish swam just beneath. Maoki led you around the edge and the turtleducks and fish followed close, expecting the treats you frequently spoiled them with. You focused on ignoring whatever Maoki rambles about, thinking through meetings and to do lists.

That’s when something crashed into the water behind you.

“Wha—” you gasped.

Wonwoo sat in the fountain, soaked from head to toe, the fabric of his uniform dark and clinging like a second skin. His eyes blazed, trained on Maoki. “I tripped.”

“You should go change, Captain Jeon. Wouldn’t want you dripping all over the gardens.” Maoki straightened, back rigid as if he was sizing up Wonwoo. A ridiculous sight; like a puppy sizing up a wolf.

The birds no longer sang, and the wind held its breath.

“Are you alright?” you asked, extending a hand.

Wonwoo ignored it, rising to his feet. “I’m fine, Your Highness.”

The correction is on the tip of your tongue but you bite it back. The last person needing to witness your familiarity with him was Maoki, the horrible gossip. You wanted to laugh; you would have if Wonwoo didn’t look so vicious and Maoki’s face didn’t burn red with fear.

You tried not to stare as he tugged off his soaked coat, revealing the fabric of his undershirt nearly translucent from the water. Tried as did, you failed spectacularly. What was a woman to do when a man as handsome and defined as Wonwoo stood in front of her practically naked from the waist up? It wasn’t fair to expect anything other than gawking and imaginations.

You could have bent the water from his uniform and left him perfectly dry, continuing your walk with the senator as if nothing happened. You could have turned around and left Wonwoo standing there to dry his uniform with his own body heat. Of the many things you could have done, you decided to leave Maoki to his rocks and give yourself privacy before you scandalized the rose bushes.

“I think I’ll retire with Captain Jeon, I must prepare for tonight's festivities anyway,” you said.

“But, Your Highness!”

You turned on your heel, a soaking wet bodyguard following behind. What you didn’t see was Maoki and Wonwoo sneering at one another but you guessed as much. You hid your satisfied smile in your sleeve.

Wonwoo soaked in the tub for what felt like hours but knew the sun barely began to set when he returned to his room. You had been whisked into your room by Han and Sami for last minute alterations with the Royal Seamstress and he was clearly not invited by the door slamming in his face. Fair enough, he didn’t need to see you naked. Not after what happened in the bath.

He didn’t have many possessions in his room: a few books, his clothes, a framed picture of his family. It’s why he noticed someone left something on the unused desk in the corner so quickly.

A pristine copy of The Pearls of Drak sat on his desk; not the one ruined by the fountain or more specifically Maiko. The pages were aged and the cover softened, but far nicer than the one Wonwoo owned.

He brought his books from the barracks with the assumption he’d have a little free time, not realizing he’d need to ration their entertainment. Wonwoo had nothing but time these days. Mornings started late, and you seemed to prefer ending the evening early – at least publicly. He couldn’t sleep well knowing you were just down the hall, or the nights he heard you pacing in the sitting room.

There was another book beneath it. Poems of Stars. The title had faded to the point it was nearly illegible, the leather cover worn to the point it thinned around the edge. Many of the pages were nicked or ripped at the corners, and as he flipped through he found stains from tea cups and smudged ink, the spine creased and broken that it laid flat on almost any page.

He never read it before but someone clearly loved it, poured over the text over and over again. As excited as he was about the books, his heart squeezed at the orange blossom, petals dried and browned, pressed between the pages.

Some things’ only use is the comfort they bring by having them near…

He knew they were both from you. Were these gifts or loans? Wonwoo needed to ask. The poems were well loved and he doubted you part with it but the fact you left it to him at all, even only temporarily, made him flush.

One second you were asking him to heat the bath you sat in, the next threatening nobles on his behalf, and now you gifted him something you held dearly. Wonwoo couldn’t begin to think what any of it meant.

The idea of you in his room made him nervous, seeing the few things that belonged to him in the space that certainly wasn’t his own. What did you think of it? Of him? How little he had in comparison to you?

Maybe if he had the money to study he’d be at a university and not in the palace; and if he was at university then he’d never be guard, and if he had that kind of money he’d never have stumbled into the warehouse that one night to fight and lose. He’d never have gone back to fight and win. Never would have fought and lost against you, never would have found you again in that field.

There was no point in obsessing over what ifs or hypotheticals. But if Wonwoo had, then he supposed if none of this happened, he’d never have a book with a silly flower with no use at all other than the comfort that it came from you.

He dressed and left his room, entering the hive of the main apartment buzzing much like the morning. You were tucked away in your room, out of sight but not for long.

You came out in pink silks, so pale they looked white, and the jewels absent from this morning were back in place, woven intricately through your hair.

Wonwoo found comfort in the fact he wasn’t required to speak, he had no idea what would have come out of his mouth if he did. You didn’t seem in the mood to talk either. After this morning he couldn't blame you.

Rows of chairs filled the Grand Room, a makeshift stage at the front for each man to present his talent. Most of the seats were already full but two upfront were left empty for you and the Queen.

Servants wove through the clusters of nobles and dignitaries with trays of lemonade and wine, others with plates of cookies.

Wonwoo stationed himself against the wall at the side of the room, a clear view of you and the performances from the shadows. He didn’t want to miss the bumbling fools embarrassing themselves; it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

It started innocently enough. Lord Char played a ballad on tsungi horn; Admiral Gyan recited a long winded ode from Poems of Laghima and ended up making up the latter half after he clearly forgot the words; Commander Raza’s dramyin performance was loud and off beat, impressive given he performed solo. Maoki turned a rock into a turtleduck figurine which was almost realistic if the turtleduck’s body had been flattened but its head enlarged.

You accepted it with a tight smile and a small dip of your chin. Someone else would have thought it modest but Wonwoo caught the shake in your shoulders, and the clench of your jaw.

More followed with less than impressive routines: hoop rolling, card tricks, and slight of hand that wouldn’t impress a toddler. Polite claps filled the hall after each stint.

The entire time Wonwoo cut glances at your face, waiting for flashes of amusement or confusion to match his own. Admiral Gyan danced on clunky feet without music and you hid a smile in a glass of wine, a private smile you look at Wonwoo to share and he’s happy for the shadows because he’s gnawing on his lip to keep from reciprocating. Prince Jao sang, loudly and off key, the look that passed between you and Wonwoo nearly ended with you both in tears of laughter.

Then, Prince Bavruq’s turn came around.

Sami would be disappointed to miss the man shirtless, chest obviously oiled. You peaked back at Wonwoo with an arched brow as if to say ‘Seriously?’

Bavruq flexed and stretched through different tumbles, commanding the water from two large barrels rolled in for his performance. Wonwoo watched with admiration. Obviously the man was a skilled bender but he couldn’t help thinking you were better. Bavruq dropped into a low stance, two arches of water spiraling overhead, and your head tilted in interest. In the light of the candle chandeliers, the water glittered much like the stone Maoki presented in the garden.

Your eyelids dropped, head tilted in thought. If he didn’t know better then it’d appear you were enamored with Bavruq but Wonwoo saw the challenge. You were sizing Bavruq up, like a predator assessed potential prey. If it came to it, Wonwoo bet on you.

Bavruq froze the water in a spectacular arch, bowing for applause. You clapped politely and Bavruq left the stage. The dread of Sami’s comments later tonight started to root in Wonwoo’s stomach.

“Wonderful!” the Queen turned towards you, her next exclamation echoing through the hall. “You are all so impressive, I don’t know how you will choose a husband.”

Your eyes widened as you floundered. Wonwoo couldn’t believe it himself but he knew this was the plan from the start; however, the Queen clearly desired to speed the entire thing along. All the men that just performed swooped to surround you like moths to a flame, you sneered something to your grandmother before looking at Wonwoo with pleading eyes.

It wasn’t his place to intervene, even if you wanted him to, even if he wanted to. Standing on the sidelines, Wonwoo watched you navigate the viper pit as your grandmother smiled boldly.

Another hour passed before the swarm dissipated. Your smile remained fixed the entire time but Wonwoo noticed the strain in your cheeks, the dull glaze cast over your eyes, the clench of your jaw. When you were finally able to get away, he followed you back to your suite ten paces behind like he always did.

Back in your apartment, you dismissed Wonwoo and others with a wave of your hand, locking yourself in your room without a word.

In his own room, try as he might, sleep evaded him. Every time he came close Maoki’s sniveling face flashed in his mind, or the panicked look on your face in the crowd of hungry suitors. Or the way you looked at him in the garden, like there was a joke just for you two.

He couldn’t sleep and he refused to call the kitchens for tea to help so Wonwoo decided to read. He read The Pearls of Drak enough to recite the entire thing in his sleep so he grabbed the new book and flipped through the pages until his eyes caught on “The Belle Dame.”

I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful—a spirit’s child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.

Well that certainly sounded familary.

Wonwoo scoured page after page of the poem. How the man yearned for a woman he couldn’t have, enchanted by her to the point of despair. Wonwoo’s chest ached as he read on, hoping for some happy ending. And then the poem ended; no happiness, no peace. The man woke up on the hillside – alone – wandering in ruins forever looking for the woman he loved who will never be found.

Wonwoo read over and over again, obsessed in his own way, trying to work out a new angle, some way to spin the story into one he’d be satisfied with. But finding that ending proved as easy as finding sleep. After the tenth time, Wonwoo snapped the book closed and shoved it beneath his bed.

He didn’t sleep very well. Every time he verged just on the seam of sleep, a pair of wild eyes stared back at him.

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3rdgymbros · 2 days ago

Text

━ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈, 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

— pairing; itoshi sae x reader

— summary; in which you and sae meet again in japan after a messy breakup in spain. set in the blue lock manager au.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s not really something you like to broadcast, how you and Sae were close when you were in Spain with your parents for that brief, wonderful period of time. While he honed his skills with football, you would balance your studies while helping out at Re Al.

❋ Things had been so simple back then. Late-night walks in Madrid, your fingers intertwined with his. Sneaking kisses in quiet corners, away from prying eyes. Sharing popsicles and everything else. Sae was cold to the rest of the world, his softness reserved entirely for you.

❋ You were each other’s first everything — first kiss, first love, first heartbreak.

❋ Some part of you had to have known that this was only temporary, considering how often your parents travel for work. But it still comes as a shock to you when you parents abruptly decide to return to Japan to help fund the Blue Lock project.

❋ And Sae, so full of potential. Sae, whose career is finally taking off. You aren’t about to let him leave it behind; and Sae, too driven, too focused on his dreams, wasn’t about to throw it all away and return to Japan either. Not like this. Not for you.

❋ You hadn’t expected to see him at the airport to see you off. Sae’s expression was closed off, and it was like the two of you were strangers once again, the distance and silence already stretching endlessly between you. As if your relationship had never existed in the first place.

❋ The breakup was messy, yet silent. Both of you knew instinctively that this was the end. And just before Sae left without looking back, his final words to you were, “If you’re going, don’t expect me to wait.”

❋ The last image you have of him is his retreating figure, back rigid, leaving as the words die on your lips.

❋ And that was that.

❋ You’d returned to Japan with your parents to work as a manager at Blue Lock (Ego had agreed to take you in under the promise of free labour, apparently). Ego’s lectures aren’t fun, but you’re actually learning something under him and Anri when you’re not being driven insane by a group of rowdy, immature teenaged boys.

❋ You try really hard not to think about Sae. Even if the occasional headline reminds you of his burgeoning career in Europe. But the memory of him is a quiet ache in your chest that surfaces in random moments — when you see the colour teal, or hear a song he’d used to like.

❋ You’ve been to JFA headquarters only once or twice before, but it’s bustling with activity as always. Your purpose here is purely business; you’ll act as a secretary for Ego and Anri while they finalize plans for the U20 match with the top brass.

❋ You didn’t think that he’d be there.

❋ Right at that very moment.

❋ In that very room.

❋ Fate is cruel, sometimes.

❋ He looks . . . The same, yet somehow different all at once. His hair’s a little longer, his expression sharper, but those piercing green eyes haven’t changed at all, and the realisation makes your chest throb painfully all over again.

❋ You wonder how you appear to him, underneath your professional blazer and veneer of carefully controlled calm. Does he think you still look the same? Or does he think that you’ve changed, become a total stranger to him, much like how he is to you right now?

❋ His gaze is intense, scorching. You can feel it the second you enter the room, but you keep your head down and try to pay attention to the meeting. (The thought of having to present incomplete notes to Ego certainly does a marvellous job at helping you focus.)

❋ A breath of relief soughs out of you the moment the meeting ends. Quickly, you gather your things, following Ego and Anri out the door. You’re eager to avoid the lingering eyes of the association’s board members.

❋ And perhaps most of all: you’re eager to avoid unnecessary small talk with Sae.

❋ But you catch a final glimpse of him out the corner of your eye; Sae, still staring at you. His expression seemingly softer, almost hesitant. It’s almost as if he wants to call your name, to stop you from leaving, but something — Pride? Anger? — holds him back.

❋ The door to the meeting room clicks shut behind you with a cold finality, and this time, you’re the one leaving first.

#sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi imagines #sae itoshi headcanons #sae itoshi angst #sae itoshi x y/n #sae itoshi reader insert #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock reader insert #blue lock x y/n

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gluion · 2 days ago

Text

almost, but not quite — leehan

pairing — leehan x reader genre — friends to lovers, fluff, crack, university au wc — 8.5k misc/warnings — loser!leehan with avoidant tendencies, slight mutual pining, bonedo group dynamics, also architecture student!leehan... heh, a lot of aquatic and ponyo references, a pov switch happens between leehan and myungjae, getting froyo to avoid confessing, alcohol consumption, kissing playlist — heavy by the marías // nervous by the neighbourhood // halley’s comet by billie eilish // patutunguhan by cup of joe // intro (end of the world) by ariana grande // i know you by faye webster // tsunami by niki // ikot by over october // take a chance with me by niki note — please know i have dropped this and pick it up in multiple instances because i'm not built to write fluff. still, i hope you enjoy because i see myself in leehan :]]

synopsis — if there’s one thing leehan didn’t understand, it’s the gross, sticky emotions he feels with you. yet, there’s an undeniable warmth that lingers—and that’s when he knows he’s screwed.

(in other words, the five times leehan found himself at a crossroads and the one time he decided on what he wanted with you.)

if the world were to end, leehan believes it would start with a meteor shower. before they crash against the soil, their trail of flames would catch on tree branches, the fire spreading through forests. their craters would swallow civilizations, and the floor would crack beneath his feet. the world will go up in flames within the blink of an eye; how dinosaurs met their demise would be the same fate he would face.

jaehyun finds it stupid, arguing it would be through an alien invasion. (“there’s too much proof! i mean, have we forgotten about area 51?” is the same point he never fails to make.) it didn’t help that he believed leehan could be an alien in disguise, regardless of how many times leehan showed him his birth certificate.

but how the world ends for leehan happens without him even knowing, waking up in the middle of his fall into the never-ending void. the harsh light morphs into amber tones with every descent as heat prickles his nape. leehan imagines the sting of lava hitting against his skin, burning him alive to a slow death, but it’s his descent into the ocean.

how leehan’s world ends is not from a meteor shower or an alien invasion, but with his plummet past the ocean floor all the way to the core.

yet, the center of his earth doesn’t happen to be molten lava.

it’s you.

“who’s jaehyun talking to?” sungho frowns in confusion before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

leehan looks up from his phone and attempts to find his friend among the students who fill up the cafeteria. as he cranes his head past unacquainted faces, he spots the familiar boy talking with a stranger. “no clue.” before he can go back to doom-scrolling, jaehyun bursts into laughter.

it shouldn’t be a big deal; the sight of his best friend doubling over is an everyday occurrence for him, but not anyone can achieve it unless they knew the spectrum of jaehyun’s humor.

jaehyun catches leehan’s puzzled look and shoots him a smile. his hand lingers on the mystery person’s shoulder. before leehan can look back at his phone, you turn around.

leehan freezes.

if there’s a view that could beat the great barrier reef, it would be you. (even if leehan has never seen it. he just knows.)

“oh, they’re coming our way,” sungho points out.

like a human meeting a siren, leehan couldn’t rip his eyes off of you. your graceful strides resemble the movement of sea creatures. a coral forms on your nose with every laugh. yet, it’s sea of jellyfish in your eyes that could make him crumble.

before he knows it, you stand in front of him with your eyes on jaehyun. if his friend was saying something, he never catches on—except for your name. “this is y/n.”

he repeats your name to himself; a song to be sung.

“hi! it’s nice to meet you.” your smile is made of the sun and sea. the expanse of blue glimmers as it crashes against him—out of enchantment and back into reality.

“how do you know jaehyun?” sungho asks.

you glance at your friend. “we’re in the broadcast club together. you know, he’s basically made to host.” from your compliment, jaehyun rolls his eyes and nudges your shoulder.

leehan rips his gaze from you, his hand finding a spot by the back of his ear as he fiddles with the last strands of his composure. he’s out of his mind. what’s he even thinking about you? for all he knows, you could be dating jaehyun.

oh god, are you dating his friend? what if you two have been going out for years and he never knew—wait, it shouldn’t even matter.

leehan doesn’t know anything about you so he feels indifferent towards you, right? right?

sungho tilts his head in curiosity. “oh! what do you do?”

in the process of glancing at you, leehan briefly locks eyes with his best friend. jaehyun’s eyes glance dart between you and leehan as a smirk makes its way to his face.

whatever his friend is thinking of, leehan only assumes the worst. is jaehyun going to misunderstand the situation? how does leehan explain to him that he’s just nervous around you? would his friend take it against him for looking at you?

leehan thinks it’s over for him.

“tech. you know the people who manage the mixing board?” as you imitate yourself moving the sliders, leehan lets out a giggle without a second thought. as you smile at him, leehan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. he looks back down to his phone, hoping you can’t notice the pink tint all over his face.

“that’s cool! even cooler than what jaehyun does.”

sungho’s joke only brings jaehyun to smack his arm. “hey!” he frowns before glancing at you. “he’s kinda right.”

“not even kinda, he is right,” leehan remarks as he ignores the sea in his stomach.

jaehyun groans as his two friends fist bump each other. before they can ruin his reputation any more, he looks at you and says, “i’ll see you after class?”

you nod. “bye! it was nice meeting you.” you glimpse at his friends before locking eyes with leehan.

your eyes are seas that leehan wishes he could swim in. he would hold his breath just to stay in them, undergo the sting of his lungs just to admire them.

but it’s your smile that snaps him out of your possession. when he realizes he’s staring at you, his elbow slips off the table.

“are you okay?” sungho’s question is accompanied with a frown of confusion. while concern paints your features, the same, all-knowing smirk rests on jaehyun’s face.

leehan clears his throat as he fixes his posture. “yeah, i’m good.” he can’t bear to meet your gaze, not after his slip-up and certainly not after jaehyun’s reaction.

“okay, well i’m going. nice meeting you both!” with your farewell, you leave the group of three.

once jaehyun finds his spot next to leehan, the worst possible scenarios flood leehan’s mind. the last thing he wants to do is ruin his friendship with him.

yet, he’s dumbfounded when jaehyun chuckles. “dude, if you’re going to have a crush, at least make it discreet.”

leehan’s eyes grow wide over jaehyun’s accusation. “i do not like y/n.” he snickers. “what are talking about?”

his friend clearly misread his actions. how could he even like you when he barely knew you? over one interaction, too? jaehyun needs to have more faith in him.

the disbelief in jaehyun’s features tell leehan otherwise. “are you seriously going to play that card? sungho, back me up.” he looks at the boy across from him who’s too busy eating away to even help him out. “didn’t you notice his eyes? they were practically hearts!”

he shrugs as he finishes his food. “beats me. leehan’s always been an oddball.”

“no, but he’s not like his usual silly self!”

leehan grumbles, nudging his shoulder against his troublesome friend. “quit it. stop making this weird.”

“whatever.” jaehyun rolls his eyes before jabbing his finger against leehan’s chest. “just know that i know your little secret.”

leehan grows annoyed at jaehyun’s accusations. he’s already said he doesn’t like you that way. how could jaehyun even think that? leehan swats away jaehyun’s hand before getting off his seat. “i’m leaving.”

“what? why?!” his friend clings onto his arm. the pout on his lips attempts to hold him back from his departure. “did i tease you too much?”

leehan shakes his head as he shrugs off jaehyun’s grip. “no, i’ve got a plate to cram.” he slings his backpack and drawing tube on his shoulders. “i’ll see you guys later?”

sungho only musters a hum before shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. as leehan takes his leave, jaehyun rests his chin on his crossed arms. despite the sigh that leaves the dejected boy, sungho pays no attention to him. “you’re not even going to ask why i’m sad?”

“just let him be. i’m sure he doesn’t like them.”

jaehyun groans in response.

if there’s one thing he’s certain about, it’s leehan’s crush on you. sure, his friends don’t see it, but one thing he knows for sure is leehan’s interest in you—he’ll do anything to make sure it comes into fruition.

and if there’s one thing leehan hates to admit to, it’s jaehyun being right in his suspicions, so he’ll keep going—deny, deny, deny, whatever he’s feeling because it doesn’t mean anything.

it shouldn’t.

but to leehan’s dismay, his mind would always drift back to you.

leehan swears he hasn’t thought about you. unfortunately for him, he never crossed paths with you since that one fateful encounter.

it shouldn’t be unfortunate. after all, he knows nothing about you.

(except for your name. and your course. and that you’re in the broadcasting club with his best friend. and that you’re a big fan of ghibli movies. and that every spotify playlist is perfectly curated to fit every mood, from the “slow mornings” to the “rageful evenings” as you’d like to put it on their descriptions.)

absolutely nothing, really.

as he found himself in the middle of midterms, the idea of you started to slip away in between papers and unfinished plates.

leehan likes the library during exams season; place filled with students who are struggling like him. as night has dawned upon them, bulbs of yellow light up at every table. he’s always been able to work better at the library. after all, it doesn’t help that jaehyun is lounging in their dorm, enjoying his freedom from academic obligations.

still, leehan cannot deny his exhaustion as he attempts to finish one of his many essays. it works in his favor that his hoodie does its job in concealing his fatigue from others, allowing him to isolate and make sense of the words on his screen.

perhaps it’s for the best for you two. if he found himself entangled with you, maybe he wouldn’t get any work done. he already begged his professors for an extension, and he’s starting to think that might be the last time they’d understand. the last thing he wants on his mind is you—

“leehan?”

the source of his sleepless nights stands right before him. it seems like you’re unscathed from what this season brings but your laptop and bag filled to the brim with readings suggest otherwise.

still, it’s the same jellyfish-like glow in your eyes.

“o-oh, hi!” at his voice crack, his eyebrows shoot up. “sorry, hi again.”

“no, it’s fine! i understand.” you smile in a poor attempt to suppress your laugh. “i just wasn’t expecting to see you here. wait—you do remember me, right?”

he’s surprised that thought comes across your mind. “of course i do, y/n. how could i ever forget jaehyun’s cool friend?”

you roll your eyes at his flattery, trying to ignore his comment, but the smile on your face says otherwise. “at least. it would’ve been embarrassing to approach you and find out you don’t remember me, which i understand but i think i would’ve run away.”

your shy demeanor causes waves to crash against his heart, the sound of your voice enchants him, and—snap out of it!

he shakes his head in an attempt to regain his composure. “what brings you here?”

“i’m here to work as well, but i’ve been walking around trying to find a table and i can’t find a vacant spot.” as your eyes flicker to the empty chair across him, he’s quick to move away his scattered things, some pens falling off the table.

“you can sit with me!”

“are you sure? i’d understand if you need your own space, really.”

leehan can try all he wants to shake off the thought of you, insist that he doesn’t have a crush on you (because he really doesn’t), but he isn’t going to have you leave this library in defeat. you two are in the same boat, trying to meet deadlines while running on a few hours of sleep and caffeine. he isn’t going to leave you stranded.

“yeah, i’d be happy to have someone join me. i can’t be the only one going crazy here,” he reassures you. you take that as your sign to sit with him.

(and this isn’t his attempt to spend time with you. really, it isn’t.)

he tries to continue where he left off on his work. if he continues to put off this essay, he wouldn’t only lose another hour of sleep but risk receiving a failing mark.

yet, his eyes are drawn to you. regardless of all the risks, of all the threats that loom in the deep ocean, he can only look at you.

which is why it comes to his surprise when you meet his gaze.

leehan is quick to break eye contact and act like he’s working. heat rises to his cheeks. in the sea of typing, your giggle reaches his ear.

now, he isn’t sure how red he’s become.

“i didn’t know you like ponyo.”

a hum of confusion leaves him. as you stare at the stickers plastered over his laptop, your finger darts at a jellyfish one. “that’s from ponyo.”

his face flushes. “oh! yeah.” the last word trails into a whisper.

“is that your favorite ghibli movie?”

leehan melts into his seat. not from the nerves but pure embarrassment—because he has no clue what ponyo is. from what he’s gathered, it’s a ghibli movie, has jellyfish in it, and… that’s all he got. after all, he bought that sticker at a convention a few months back.

(it’s starting to make sense to leehan why the artist showed him a collection of anime characters back then, and it didn’t help that he asked to see more fish stickers instead.)

he should be honest with you; if he doesn’t know what the movie is about, then maybe you’d indulge him with everything you like.

yet, another lie is said. “yeah!” it leaves leehan in shock, in embarrassment, in a situation he could’ve avoided. he should’ve tried to save himself from the unfolding mess, but the beam in your eyes outshine all sea creatures he’s studied up on. “what about you?”

your smile grows bigger. “i love that movie! you know, there’s supposed to be a symphonic concert happening in a couple of months.” leehan only musters out a hum, trying to cover up his anxiety with interest. as you learn on the table, you ask, “who do you think you are between ponyo and sosuke?”

leehan’s absolutely fucked, but he knows how to keep his act up; avoid answering and throw the question back. “who do you think i’m more like?”

you take a moment to think. as your fingers tap against the table, a small hum leaves you. “based on vibes, i think you’d be ponyo.” leehan can only nod.

once silence settles between you two, leehan thinks he’s in the clear. he’s ready to put this interaction behind him, even kick himself for lying to you—

“now, what about me?”

“uh,” he mumbles as he discreetly searches up the movie.

with your wide-eyed gaze, the pressure to answer is multiplied by ten-fold. leehan thinks this is even worse than answering an exam worth 40% of his final grade. he wish he could be swallowed up; it pains him to keep the act going.

by some miracle, you read his thoughts. “you don’t know anything about ponyo, do you?”

he sighs in relief. “oh, thank god, i couldn’t keep this up any longer. i only got that jellyfish sticker because i like fish, and no one told me it’s a reference to a movie until you pointed it out.” the frown painted across your face makes him feel like he’s been stung by a jellyfish. “i’m sorry. i should’ve just told you that i had no clue what you were talking about, but i panicked and i didn’t want to ruin the conversation with my ignorance and—”

you burst into laughter, causing neighboring tables to glare at you. as you throw an apologetic smile to those you disturbed, you try to hold yourself back from laughing any more. leehan wishes you didn’t stop then; those few seconds turned into a song stuck in his head.

“i’ve never met anyone who’s into sea creatures.”

leehan’s breath hitches. is he weird for liking fish? would you be freaked out by his tank filled with corydoras? is it over for you and him—

“but i think that’s cool.” your words snap him from his thoughts. “do you have some as pets?”

the question brings him to grin. “corydoras and snakeheads.”

“you wanna tell me more about them?”

leehan thinks you might be it—the one, as riwoo likes to rave on about when imagining his unfolding future—for him.

but he’s gone through weeks filled with stress and the exhaustion gets in the way of his work; it’s probably the same case for his feelings towards you. before he can spiral into a never-ending hole filled with delusions, he shakes off the idea. “maybe another time.”

“you’re right. sorry about that. we both came here to work and i’m clearly distracting you.”

his eyes grow wide, scared to send you the wrong message. “no! you’re okay. i like talking to you.” as your expression shifts from apologetic to shock, he quickly adds, “about my fish! yeah, about them.”

while a nervous chuckle leaves him, you smile. “i like talking to you, too.”

leehan’s skin heats up.

“about ponyo, even if you didn’t know what i was talking about,” you tease. “maybe we can watch it together when we’ve got time. i don’t know what it’s like as an architecture student, but i can spare a few hours.”

leehan’s senses elevate—not from your suggestion but over the mention of his course. “how do you know my course?”

he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, really, but he can’t control his mind from jumping into conclusions. did you search him up right after the first meeting? were you curious about him?

were you interested in him the same way he is with you?

“myungjae mentioned it.”

his hope dissipates. “oh, that makes sense.” disappointment is evident in his tone.

still, your smile remains. “myungjae talks about you quite a lot.”

leehan’s groans as his mind jumps to the embarrassing stories that his friend could possibly say. “i would hope it’d be good things.” after all, jaehyun knows too much about leehan, and he didn’t want him to influence your perceptions surrounding him for the worst.

a quiet moment stretches between you and him.

“yeah, all good things.”

it’s a silent agreement for the two of you to get back to work; crunch out sentences filled with grammar mistakes and words derived from google searches of synonyms.

still, leehan’s eyes drift back to you every once in a while.

if there’s one thing jaehyun is set on proving, it’s leehan’s crush on you.

it’s been weeks since he first saw his friend freeze at the sight of you. the first time leehan’s eyes held a certain glow that resembled the jellyfish sticker on his laptop.

on the other hand, sungho’s grown tired of jaehyun’s supposed baseless accusations; all jaehyun needs to do is show the signs to prove it all.

he stands in sungchan’s kitchen, swishing around a mix of alcohol and mixers in his cup. the bartop is filled with bottles of liquor and drinks, a variety for him to choose. while everyone is off to enjoy the party, he stands with riwoo and sungho. as sungho shares about the gossip he’s heard, his fingers playing with the hem of his crop top, riwoo’s pink antennas bounce with every laugh. while they’re caught up in their own conversation, jaehyun’s gaze shifts between leehan, who stood by the corner of the living room with taesan, and the front door that swings open every five minutes.

“dude,” riwoo’s voice snaps jaehyun back into their conversation, “what’s gotten into you?”

sungho frowns at jaehyun who only takes a sip from his drink. jaehyun’s odd but never to a point that he’d stop himself from enjoying a party.

“are you waiting for someone?”

from riwoo’s question, sungho manages to connect the dots, and a frown settles on his face. “are you kidding me? even at this party? is that the only reason you begged us to come?”

jaehyun believes that he’s a mastermind. it was easy to convince his friends to show up to sungchan’s halloween party; the mention of alcohol and familiar names seemed did the trick. after all, they all saw the opportunity to de-stress from finals and end the semester on a high note.

the icing on top of his plan was your agreement to show up.

“is this about leehan’s supposed crush?”

sungho’s hip rests against the counter as he looks over at his friend from a distance. “we don’t even know if he likes them, but jaehyun’s so insistent on saying he does which, by the way, isn’t cool. don’t make it weird between them.”

in all other instances, jaehyun would agree with his best friend, but he shakes his head before saying, “just watch and see. by tonight, i will change your minds.”

“if only y/n shows up,” riwoo snickers.

regardless of his friends’ comments, jaehyun stands tall. “trust me. i know they will.”

sungho rolls his eyes at his friend’s confidence. “what makes you say that?”

“jaehyun!”

the familiar voice rings in jaehyun’s ears. “speak of the devil.” with a smile on his face, he looks over to see you approaching his group of three, all dressed in a mustard-yellow shirt, grey shorts, and a green pail bucket hanging on your arm.

“sorry! i was finishing up my last requirement a few hours ago.”

jaehyun slings his arm around your shoulders. “i’m just glad you made it.”

“yeah, mainly because you begged me to do so.”

“he did the same to us,” sungho snickers.

jaehyun rolls his eyes. “we all know that’s not true. you just won’t admit that you wanted to party, too.”

“i’ll have you know that sungchan invited me before you did,” you remark before you grab yourself a clean cup. with jaehyun’s arm still wrapped around you, you drag him along in staring at the selection of drinks on the counter. “what’re you drinking?”

“oh, the perfect mix!” you don’t think twice about jaehyun’s words until you watch him grab on different bottles of liqueurs and mixers. “like juice, i tell you.”

“that’s dangerous.” a nervous chuckle leaves you before he shakes his head.

“you’ll be fine, tipsy after one drink at most.” you roll your eyes at your friend being the cause for your impending doom. “by the way, this is sungho, as you’ve met before, and riwoo.” jaehyun’s introduction has you turning around to greet the two.

“you’re dressed as saiki k! i love that anime.” riwoo chuckles at your exclaim. as you look at sungho, you spot the neck of an electric guitar peeking from behind him. “you play?”

he snaps out of his trance and hums in confirmation. “sorry, i was trying to figure out what you’re dressed up as and i still have no clue.”

“oh!” you reach out into your bucket before pulling out a small keychain of a gingered-folk dressed in red. “i’m sosuke, from ponyo.”

riwoo’s hands come together. “i see that now!”

once jaehyun hands you your drink, you take in his costume; a purple sweater that drowns his figure with rock n’ roll girl plastered at the front. “who the fuck are you?” you sip on jaehyun’s concoction. the sweetness of the drink masks the taste of alcohol. it’s a mistake to drink this, not because this will lead you to an incurable hangover but because of jaehyun’s answer.

“i’m darla from finding nemo.”

you choke on your drink. jaehyun’s quick to rub his hand against your back. in the middle of your coughing fit, laughter slips in between. “what the fuck?! i wouldn’t have guessed that.”

jaehyun clicks his tongue before holding your arm. “which is why i have a partner to complete my outfit! come.”

before you know it, he drags you through the crowd of people. whenever your bucket crashes against someone, you’d quickly apologize before jaehyun hauls you five steps forward. you don’t understand the rush, but jaehyun’s smirk makes you believe otherwise.

jaehyun believes he’s a mastermind; he isn’t going to miss the perfect opportunity to push his plan forward.

“leehan!” his friend, dressed in a fish outfit with yellow and white stripes, rips his gaze away from taesan and settles on the two of you. his relaxed smile morphs into a thin line as his droopy eyes turn wide. it’s moments like these that make jaehyun question how his other friends fail to see the signs.

taesan’s eyes follow. “jaehyun! you came at the perfect time. i just needed a refill of your mix.” the moment he spots you, he straightens his back. “i don’t think we’ve met before. i’m taesan.”

“y/n.” the makeshift cat ears formed by his hair bring a smile to your face. “didn’t know i’d meet a catboy today.”

“yeah, well—”

“taesan, come with me.” jaehyun grabs his arm.

taesan and leehan frown at him. “huh? can’t you just make it and bring it here?” as taesan swings his empty cup, jaehyun rolls his eyes before dragging him to his side.

with your confused expression, he forces a smile. “no. i need to introduce you to someone, anyway,” he lies behind his teeth. while you accept his words at face value, leehan’s eyes grow wide at his friends’ escape.

before his lovesick friend can protest, jaehyun and taesan take their leave.

“what the fuck was that?” taesan shouts the question as they make their way back to the kitchen.

jaehyun shakes his head until they reach riwoo and sungho. “that’s the person i was telling you about! the one leehan likes.”

taesan glances at the two before bursting into laughter. “nah, i think they’re just friends.”

“i’ve been saying that for the past weeks,” sungho complains before he sips his drink. “every time jaehyun teases leehan, it almost looks like he’s going to kill himself.”

riwoo hums as he observes his friend. “what even makes you so sure that he likes them?”

“oh, i’ll show you.” jaehyun pulls out his phone before going through his contacts.

as sungho peers over, he frowns at the contact name. “what’s he going to know?”

“hey, can you at least make my drink—”

the call is picked up by their friend, whose eyes are shut and hair ridden into a mess. “hello?” he groans.

“woonhak, do you think leehan likes y/n?”

a pause ensues.

“who?”

sungho smacks jaehyun’s arm, causing him to hiss at the contact. “why’re you bothering the kid? can’t you see he was sleeping?!”

“at 10:34 p.m.? the night’s still young!” taesan jokes as he sings out the last sentence. “anyway, about my drink—”

“this is about the person i was telling you about! the one in the broadcast club.” despite jaehyun’s attempt to jog his friend’s memory, he’s met with a confused and sleepy groan. “the one who likes ponyo.”

for some reason, that piece of information clicks in his drowsy friend’s brain. “oh, yeah! what about them?”

sungho shakes his head. “this is pointless. he’s clearly too sleepy to have this conversation. bye—”

“no! woonhak, you are going to help me prove that i am right about leehan and y/n.”

riwoo laughs in disbelief. jaehyun’s persistence is not new, but it’s the first time they’ve seen it involving their friend. “and how are you going to do that?”

“like this.” jaehyun flips the camera, showing woonhak the view of leehan. woonhak’s face moves closer to the camera in an attempt to focus on his friend, who rocks back and forth in place as he talks to you.

like clockwork, leehan leans forward. “see! don’t you think they’re so close to each other?” jaehyun points at the view.

sungho chuckles before resting his hand on his shoulder. “it’s a party. i’m sure they can’t hear each other that well, especially since they’re near the speakers.”

“he’s right. i mean, they are close, sure, but it doesn’t really mean anything.” although woonhak shares the same sentiments as sungho, jaehyun doesn’t admit defeat. he’s secured in his suspicions; the last thing he’ll allow is for him to be swayed until he shows them all signs affirming it.

“okay, but look at his thumbs.” his friends dart towards leehan’s hands that are wrapped around his cup. “he’s twiddling them! don’t you think he’d fidget around someone he likes?”

riwoo sighs. “i’m sure he’s just nervous because he doesn’t know y/n that well.”

yet, jaehyun shakes his head at riwoo’s assumption. “but that’s the type of anxiety you expect from someone with a crush.”

“that is true.” taesan’s comment brings all eyes on him. i’m kind of just agreeing at this point so that jaehyun can make my drink.” everyone groans and scolds the alcoholic.

“okay, but he could still be warming up to them. i mean, they’ve only known each other for a few weeks now,” woonhak adds on. it’s clear that calling him isn’t helping jaehyun’s case. woonhak’s two more comments away before the call is dropped on him.

at this point, jaehyun’s desperate. he couldn’t have his plan fall through or he would never live this down. if anything, he might end up getting scolded by sungho. (“this is what you get for being so hard-headed!” jaehyun can imagine sungho’s harsh tone that would be accompanied with flared nostrils.)

yet, it’s like the universe heard jaehyun’s plea. leehan does the unimaginable—a gummy grin takes over his features.

“holy shit,” taesan whispers.

riwoo looks back at his friends. “there’s no way, right?”

leehan’s never the type to grin easily, always sticking to tight-lipped ones and smirks. such smiles are different from whenever he'd laugh; a beam in the middle of a conversation comes like bioluminescent waves.

“wait, the quality is so bad. i can’t see why you guys are shocked,” woonhak complains from the other end of the line.

“it’s just that leehan is smiling, like really smiling,” sungho briefs the confused fellow. his head tilts as he continues to watch you two interact. “i mean, y/n could’ve told a joke. like, that possibility is still there.”

jaehyun’s patience runs thin the more sungho remains dismissive. “why don’t you want to admit that i’m right? is it that hard to just say, hey, jaehyun, you might be right about leehan crushing on y/n. sorry about that! like, is it that hard?”

despite jaehyun’s frustration, sungho sighs. “it’s not that, really. i just don’t want to assume anything about his feelings.”

jaehyun’s frown falters. when sungho puts it that way, he recalls all the times he might’ve made leehan uncomfortable, going lengths to ignore what his friend says; he must’ve been a terrible friend to leehan. and for once, jaehyun admits defeat. “yeah. you know what, you’re right. i shouldn’t assume whatever he feels.”

“what makes you so certain about those two, anyway?” woonhak asks.

jaehyun looks over at you two, backs against the wall and shoulders pressed to each other. from leehan’s grin to the crinkle by your eyes, jaehyun smiles to himself. “because i’ve never seen them that happy unless they’re together.”

because to him, you two are a match made by the seven seas—handcrafted by the gods that rule the oceans with the intention of having you to stick together like corals and fish. while his friends can’t see that, he hopes with enough high and low tides that they’d start to see the same vision as him.

yet, the waters hear his final plea; one final sign that might affirm jaehyun’s suspicions.

as you walk away from leehan, making your way to the washroom, his eyes never leave you. his grin resembles the softness of sponges he’d ramble about, and the jellyfish-like glow in his eyes didn’t leave.

“oh my god, leehan likes y/n,” sungho gives in to jaehyun’s conviction.

“wait, what? how’d we get here? what happened?”

jaehyun doesn’t think twice about dropping the call. (only to pick up and earn an earful of complaints about leaving woonhak in the dark, especially after waking him up.)

leehan thinks he’s dreaming.

he’ll wake up in a classroom to his professor’s lecture on parametric design or urban revitalization. before he’ll know it, he’ll watch the clock tick away until the bell rings. if not to a lecture, leehan might wake up to jaehyun’s knocks, only to groan and doze off once again.

he should be dreaming, really, because in no universe would he be seated on the couch of the living room and watching ponyo with you—except for this one.

leehan can’t find the words to explain how he got here. since his last class was canceled for the day, he was going to rush home and take a long needed nap. yet, the waves managed to bring you to him at the right time.

the thing about leehan is that could never say no to you. whether it be for a small favor or rearranging all his plans for the day, he thinks it’s only right to accept anything you throw at his way. you’re his friend, after all, which is why he didn’t think twice about having you over for the long-awaited ponyo watch party.

now, he finds himself seated on a sofa with you, speakers blasting your favorite film. the space is littered with all forms of knickknacks, sea-like or music related. it’s filled with leehan’s and jaehyun’s personalities, showing an apartment filled with love. when leehan’s free time lined up with jaehyun’s, they’d make it a habit to lounge and watch all sorts of films.

while he’s never had issues getting invested in what he watches, it’s only now that he faces that issue.

he swears from the bottom of the ocean that he wanted to focus on the movie, but it all seems impossible with you. the smell of your laundry detergent. your skin against his arm. the quiet, steady breathing of yours that syncs with his.

“leehan.” as you tilt your head in curiosity, he holds his breath. “are you watching?”

and the thing about you is that you always saw right through him. over the course of a few weeks, past the seafoam and algae, you always read him.

he clears his throat before scooting away from you. “of course.” as he stares right at the television screen, a chuckle leaves you.

silence hangs between you two.

leehan glances at you. you’re eyes are already on him.

“gotcha.” heat rises to his cheeks.

you sink into the couch with a pout. “if you didn’t wanna watch, i would understand.”

“no, it’s not that at all!” as your eyes snap to him, he sighs. “i really want to watch this with you. my mind’s just over the place.”

you face him, concern painting your features. “what’s going on then? why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

what you don’t know is that you’re his distraction. even at this moment, leehan can’t form an answer to your question. he can never think straight with you; the jellyfish you spoke of in your favorite movie could never compare to the ones in your eyes.

he takes one glance at your lips before breathing out. “nothing.” as he shifts his attention back to the movie, he tries to shut down the conversation. “it’s fine.”

leehan expects for the subject to drop, go back to watching your favorite movie in silence, until your hand rests on his thigh.

“leehan.”

when he looks at you, the distance between you two is enough for the seafloor to crack. the waves in his stomach roar. his breathing halts, almost scared that one exhale will cause you to crumble like a coral reef. when you lean towards him, hot water rushes out of the splits.

yet, you stay still.

the waves won’t carry him to you; all he needs to do is pull his feet from the wet sand to close the distance.

“hey, do you want to get some—oh!”

you pull away from him. as you attempt to resume watching the movie, leehan looks back at the intruder. there stands a shocked jaehyun whose eyes dart between you two.

“uh, i should probably go.” you get off your seat. “i still have some papers to work on, you know.”

leehan shakes his head in reassurance before standing. “of course. i can go with you back to campus—”

“no need!” you interject before shooting an awkward smile. “it was nice seeing you two!”

without any second to spare, you exit out of leehan and jaehyun’s shared apartment.

“were you guys about to…”

leehan’s eyebrows shoot up. “no! that would never happen,” he says as he shuts the television.

a moment ticks by.

before leehan knows it, jaehyun drops to his knees. “no!” his head finds its spot behind his hands. “why did i walk in? i should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut!”

leehan rolls his eyes before walking to his distressed friend. his distraught state should bring concern but it’s an everyday behavior that leehan expects. “nothing was going to happen.”

yet, jaehyun continues to wail.

leehan grabs hold of jaehyun’s arm and helps him stand up. “c’mon, what did you want to get?”

jaehyun groans before fixing his posture. “i literally saw you two about to ki—”

“we weren’t!” leehan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks back to today’s events. “nothing is going on between us.”

and there shouldn’t be anything because you two are just friends.

despite his defense, jaehyun frowns. “well, something is definitely going on!” he crosses his arms. “i saw it with my own eyes, so you better start saying something if you like them.”

but leehan shouldn’t like you. to him, you’re still jaehyun’s friend before anything—even before his friend—and he should respect that.

his silence speaks volumes, bring jaehyun to sigh. “i mean it when i say there’s nothing wrong with liking y/n. why are you scared?”

leehan has always admired his friend’s sensibility. jaehyun welcomes emotions, allowing himself to run on its highs and lows, walking around with his heart on his sleeve. admittedly, it’s something leehan wishes he could say the same about himself.

all his life, he’s learned to run away from vulnerability. he believes that emotions are inherently disgusting, almost sticky, and should be avoided at all cost. after all, what comes after vulnerability is a moment of inevitable embarrassment.

yet, it’s from jaehyun’s confrontation that leehan realizes he can’t run away from the waves anymore. soon enough, he’ll have to run to the ocean, allow himself to be consumed by the water, and let himself bathe in whatever he feels towards you.

but it’ll take steps for him to get to the sea. “let’s go get some froyo.”

so for now, he’ll continue to run until he grows tired.

leehan remembers the last time he felt this nervous; stomach churning and heartbeat racing with every second. it was for his final defense for his research study. he spent days locked up in his room, piles of clothes found left and right with a corner stacked with empty coffee cups. jaehyun likes to describe it as the great pacific garbage patch that leehan rants about.

who could blame him? with the panel of nitpicky professors, he only had his index cards filled with chicken scratch and his trusty fish keychain to rely on.

when he came out of the defense victorious, the keychain became a lucky charm. for difficult assessments. for life-changing decisions.

for you.

it shouldn’t be a big deal to leehan, but he holds on to the charm as he waits for you to pick up his call.

ever since he opened up to jaehyun about his confusing feelings, the situation is impossible to avoid. jaehyun claims that the tides leehan rides on are from his crush on you. although leehan still denies it, his friend takes it upon himself to push him across the shore—so long as he’s closer to sea.

“hello?”

“y/n!” his voice cracks, a cough following to cover it up. “hi.”

“oh! how’d you get my number?”

he drums his fingers against his desk. “i, uh, got it from jaehyun.”

“oh, okay. what’s up?”

leehan takes a moment to breathe as he grabs hold of the tickets. maybe he shouldn’t ask you. it would be better for taesan and sungho to go to this event like they originally planned. yet, he would only receive an earful of complaints should he back out now.

“leehan?”

“sorry, i just…” he shuts his eyes. “are you free this weekend?”

“yeah.”

his friends have pushed him across the shore. now, the water is close to his feet. all he needs to do is ask.

“do you, i don’t know, wanna watch the ponyo symphonic concert with me?”

a beat passes.

leehan’s heart races.

a moment of embarrassment.

he should’ve known better. how could he allow himself to be talked into doing this? he should run farm away from the sea—

“you got tickets?! how?” your squeal breaks him from his trance.

leehan chuckles, breathing unsteady, and says, “it’s a secret.”

“keeping secrets from me now? thought we were friends.” somehow, your playful nature and curiosity never fails to lighten up the mood—even if you never fail to make him nervous.

leehan could never think properly with you; he loses all common sense or composure, catching him off guard with every impulsive decision. “which is why i’m asking you out.” his eyebrows shoot up at the implications of that phrase.

“asking me out?” you giggle on the other end of the line. “like a date?”

“sorry, i mean—”

“i’m just messing with you,” you cut him off from his tangent. as he sighs in relief, you say, “but i’d love to go with you. send me the details.”

he smiles to himself. “i’ll see you, then.”

“okay, bye.”

once the call drops, leehan flops down onto his seat. as he stares up at the ceiling, he plays the phone call back in his head, and his cheeks start to hurt.

for once, vulnerability awarded him with something.

the sea has grazed his feet.

leehan thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb in the theater. considering that he’s never been here before, he’s grown conscious of his attendance to the symphonic concert. in these moments, he would’ve run away, ditched the event and locked himself in his room, but he made it through the night—all thanks to you.

in the unfamiliar, he’s able to find comfort through you.

“that was amazing!” there’s a skip to your feet as you exit the theater with leehan. “i think my ears were blessed.”

leehan chuckles at your joy. “i’m happy you think that.” as much as he would like to share the same enjoyment, his happiness stems from you.

people continue to make their way out, knocking shoulders against you two. “you don’t think the same?” you throw the question over the loud chatter.

“i’m sure you appreciated it more than i did.”

your nose scrunches at his accuracy.

the bustling crowd doesn’t die down, swarming the lobby even further with every second that passes. while you attempt to stand tall within the busy crowd, your faltering smile gives leehan enough reason to protect you.

he loops his arm with yours. “hold tight.” before you know it, he dashes out of the theater with you.

the breeze of the night hits his cheeks. a sigh of relief leaves you as you find yourselves in the open space. “thanks. i was scared that i was gonna trip,” you mention.

“i could tell.”

you laugh as you nudge your elbow against him. “oh, shut up!”

in these moments, leehan’s feelings towards you were pushed to the back of his mind. in these moments, you two are friends; nothing more, nothing less.

still, you latch on his arm, like tentacles, like sea anemones, almost like you can’t imagine letting him go.

leehan walks on the edge of the pier; between embracing or ignoring intimacy.

you both get in the backseat of your uber. with how late the concert ended, you and leehan fall into silence as the car drives off to your complex.

streams of fluorescent lights fill the window. the radio plays a soft melody that reminds leehan of the sea. he’ll look at everything, so long as your arm around his remains off his mind.

yet, all it takes is your head on his shoulder for him to freeze up.

a shaky exhale leaves him. his heartbeat fills his ears. when he looks over at you, he notices your eyes are shut. as a series of quiet snores escape you, leehan thinks back to jaehyun’s words.

why is he afraid of you?

in all the time you spent with him, you learned everything about him; his quirks, his habits, his unconventional interests. he swore that you would walk out on him, drift away like plywood in the sea, as you got to know him.

yet, you stayed through it all.

he should know better than to disengage with you the moment his fears come into play. without even thinking, he was villainizing you—every moment that teetered the edge of intimacy had only made him pull back like how seaweed rips through ship ruins.

in his eyes, the worst thing that comes out after intimacy isn’t the embarrassment—it’s the uncertainty that follows. there’s comfortability in familiarity; nothing ever goes wrong if he plays it safe. yet, his mindset may have upheld barriers that restrain your relationship.

leehan only understood that the moment jaehyun pointed it out. in all the time he’s spent with you, he’s never fully given you credit, assuming the worst about you the moment you do anything that encourages vulnerability from him.

and still, you welcome him with open arms.

what if you’re good? what if this is good?

all he needs to do is fall into the sea, plummet through the ocean floor, until he arrives at your embrace.

“we’re here,” the driver says as he pulls into the driveway.

to leehan’s surprise, your eyes open in an instant, catching him red-handed. in a split second, he looks away from you, a cough following afterwards.

when a soft giggle leaves you, he knows he’s only dug himself a deeper hole.

you both exit the car as you walk to the entrance of the builidng. for a moment, you stand beside each other, no word being said, and leehan wishes it could stay that way. he doesn’t want to say goodbye to this night just yet.

yet, you look at him with a smile, and say, “i really had fun tonight. thank you for thinking of me.”

“no, thank you for sharing your favorite movie with me.” leehan looks down to the ground as his foot kicks against the concrete. “i think it’ll be my favorite movie.”

“think you’ll end up loving it more than me?”

he smirks. “no one’s love for ponyo will ever compare to yours.” you laugh at his remark.

leehan notices how your hands fiddle with each other. he’s never seen you uneasy; you always carry yourself with confidence everywhere you go. yet, it’s in this moment that it hits him—were you just as nervous as him?

in all the times his fears got the best of him, did your doubts do the same to you? were your nights plagued with ideas of him in the same way he fell asleep to the thought of you? did you second guess every action, every instance, like he did?

but most of all, did you want him, too?

“okay,” you breathe out, “i’ll see you soon.”

once you turn your back on him, he’s left to watch your figure walk away.

there’s security in the familiarity. avoiding intimacy saves him from embarrassment and uncertainty. if he were to shift the tides at this moment, who knows what could happen between you two?

the sea grazes his sand-covered feet.

despite the unknown future, is diving into the ocean worth it for you?

before leehan can spiral into his thoughts, he grabs your arm and spins you around. your wide eyes meet his. as he pulls you closer to him, his arm finds their spot around your waist.

the distance between you two allows him to take in your features; your trembling lips, the jellyfish glow in wavering eyes.

at the same time, what could happen between you two?

as his hand reaches for your face, you melt into his touch.

the possibilities are endless; you’re the risk he’s willing to take.

with eyes closed, he dives to meet your lips; soft like how he imagined. it’s a slow kiss, one spent trying to learn you in ways he only thought he could in a distant dream. yet, leehan’s hesitance shows with every second spent exploring you.

when your hands rest on the back of his neck, leehan’s fears dissipate, a small sigh leaving him in between. at his relaxed state, you take the lead. your nose grazes his cheek as your fingers play with his hair. leehan grows dizzy, hand gripping your waist as he tries to keep up with you.

somehow, your lips felt familiar; he’s secured in you.

as you pull away, your erratic breathing matches with his. the sight of your lips that once interlocked with his only makes him want more.

he goes for one more, causing you to giggle, and he smiles in between kisses. your fingers dig against his shoulder as he savors the taste of you. how could he have denied himself of this? if this is what it meant to kiss you, he wouldn’t have second guessed diving into the sea.

you break the kiss, a grin on your lips that can’t match his. “took you long enough.”

leehan’s world doesn’t end in a meteor shower, or an alien invasion, or even through his descent past the ocean floor. past the sand, the dirt, the minerals, the core of his world is not molten lava.

instead, it’s a pair of arms that embrace him. wholly. flaws and all.

and leehan’s world doesn’t end, after all—it’s only begun with you.

networks tag list: @kflixnet @k-labels @onedoornet @kstrucknet

boynextdoor permanent tag list: @bonedors @0310s @whyilovewhales-pdf

story tag list: @bananielle @yunextdoor @heechwe @taesanrot

@loserlvrss @blooqz @mari3s @saintriots @koodaes

@seokkiez @candycane-lemonade @chewnotchoke

#works of moni #onedoornet #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #kstrucknet #leehan #boynextdoor #kim donghyun #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader #leehan fluff #leehan boynextdoor #boynextdoor fluff

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withahappyrefrain · 2 days ago

Text

Drowning in the Light Part 1

Summary: Once excited about your job as a lounge singer, now you can barely get through it, thanks to your less than charming boyfriend. Can a blue eyed bodyguard pull you out of a horrible situation? Or are you both doomed by the life you chose?

Warning: extensive reference to domestic abuse (not by Bob), language, guns, mob bodyguard Bob AU (yes he comes with a warning you'll see)

***

Sharp pain seared throughout your body, starting at your legs, bruised from kicks, up to your shoulders, sore from being shoved against a wall. Then your head, God, your head. You must have hit something when you got knocked down.

The throbbing pain surrounding your right eye was familiar. From past experience, you knew it would be bruised, no need to look in the mirror. But the sharp, stinging pain near your scalp was new. Gently, you placed your fingers on the area, feeling something wet.

Blood.

You should get up, take care of yourself, try to leave before the man responsible for it all comes back. But instead, all you could do was curl into a ball.

It wasn't always like this.

For as long as you could remember, you wanted to sing. Selling out Madison Square Garden wasn't your end goal. No, you were content to land a job where you could sing at the same place every night. No more wedding gigs that took up your entire weekend. No more supplementing your income with that lousy waitressing job. Plus, the owner was sweet on you.

At first.

Slowly, you sat yourself up, thankful the pain in your arms from a few days ago has subsided. It wasn't fun wearing long sleeves in late spring, but you didn't have the time to cover it up with makeup. No, you were now far too busy helping run the club, despite making almost no money from it. After all, who was going to restock the bar? Clearly not the owner. Nor would he clean up the room he just destroyed. Chairs had been knocked over. A now broken bottle of Bourbon had clearly been smashed against the wall, the scent burning your nostrils.

But no sign of the man who was the cause of all this.

Looking back, the red flags were obvious, but at the time, they were easy to ignore. You were living your dream and had found someone who supported it. That was all you wanted since moving away from your family to pursue your ambitions.

So what if he got a little jealous when you spoke to male patrons? It was easy to calm him down and besides, you quickly learned to be on the lookout for him. When he suggested you stop interacting with your family, it seemed to come with good intentions. They had never supported your dreams and their phone calls always ended with an offer to pay for graduate school, scoffing at the possibility you were truly happy.

In retrospect, it’s possible they saw the red flags you were blind to.

Moving in together was a no brainer. It meant you could quit your temp office job that you did only to make ends meet. It also made sense why you were giving part of your paycheck to him, to help cover household expenses.

You were now lucky if you could stash away a few dollars from your nightly tips before he got to it.

Running a club was stressful, especially one where clients did seedy business. They never harmed you or other patrons, unless provoked (by someone who had too much liquid courage and not enough wits about them). He started off just yelling, which then turned into shoving, which had now turned into you lying on the floor of your dressing room, surrounded by destruction.

So you didn't get up right away. Your eyes remained closed as you attempted to block out the sounds of an argument on the first floor. Your so-called "boyfriend" was probably giving some bullshit excuse as to why he was unable to pay someone on time.

Again.

Tonight, you had interrupted to offer a much better reason as to why he couldn't pay a vendor on time. You even got an extension, something the club desperately needed. Can’t run a place like this without alcohol, after all.

But that wasn't good enough. You made him look incompetent, stupid. Like he couldn't manage his own lounge. It was the truth, one that everyone could see, but making it known was a sin. You knew it would be bad with the way he grabbed your wrist, practically dragging you back to your dressing room, ignoring the stares of onlookers.

This was a new low for him. Funny how he kept surprising you, even a year later.

Sounds of men talking downstairs were muffled, probably one of the many seedy customers who stayed past closing to discuss less than legal matters. They were loud tonight and you'd probably have to clean up whatever mess they were making. After all, your boyfriend was far too busy to help.

But first you had to clean up yourself. Standing up was painful, your knees throbbing from being pushed onto the hard wooden floor earlier. If things kept the way they were going, you would need a walking cane before you turned forty.

There was no way in hell you could put up with this for much longer. You wanted to leave, it was escaping that was the problem. The other night acts felt pity for you, but they also had to make ends meet. Assistance came with a risk, whether it was losing a huge chunk of their income or worse, facing his wrath. Same with the bartenders, the bottle girls. Looking the other way was much safer. Besides, you weren’t the first they’ve seen in this situation. Won’t be the last either.

The broken mirror encapsulated the damage done to your body. Your tights were now torn, a sleeve ripped, revealing the constellation of healing bruises on your arm. The skin around your right eye was swollen, no doubt turning into a blackened bruise by tomorrow. Some of the blood near your scalp had begun to dry. That would be a pain to hide. Applying makeup would run the risk of infection. Perhaps you could come up with a believable excuse, should Bob ask.

Bobby.

The thought of the blue eyed man brought a sense of warmth to your body. How such a kind man ended up working as the bodyguard of a gang was a mystery, how he kept that kindness even moreso. His boss Maverick had been a repeat customer for several months now. Where they went, Bob followed. He always made sure to comment on how well you did up on stage, even sneaking you a tip. Bob had the sweetest smile you ever saw; pink lips forming into a thin, slightly lopsided grin, the corners of his eyes subtly creasing. He didn't smile during his shifts, just with you.

His beautiful smile entered your mind quite often. It was the nicest thing you’d see all day. Yes, you were in a relationship, but it’s not like you were in love with the guy. No, if you had a choice, it would be Bob, the man who always spoke respectfully to you, always asked how you were doing, always genuine.

But you didn’t deserve a guy like Bob Floyd. Before, you hoped for luck. That you’d finally win this time and be happy. Be loved.

What a fucking joke.

Wetness began to form around your eyes. Looking up, your reflection revealed eyes brimming with tears. A year ago, you rarely cried. Now it happens almost every day. You had become numb to it, barely registering as you grabbed a tissue, trying not to physically wince as you blotted the open wound.

It was time to fix yourself. Stuff it all down and go out and sing. Just like you did every other night.

Bob Floyd had always been quiet. Truth was, he preferred to mind his own business and not get in anyone’s way. Ironic, considering his job.

He didn’t want to do this. But when his father died and left Bob, his mother, and his four other penniless, his sixteen year old self knew something needed to change. Temporary, he had told himself, it would be temporary. Enough to get his family back on their feet. Besides, it was more de-escalating situations rather than causing them. Usually his stern voice and presence was enough to deter folks, meaning the amount of times he had to resort to violence was rare.

It was supposed to be a temporary job.

But he was good at it. He got promotions, more money, more stability for his family. He was able to send his mother back to school, giving his family a better life. When Iceman retired, Bob was kept on for the new generation due to his valuable knowledge and established connections.

Jake called him a stealth pilot. Quietly lurking, observing. Taking mental notes to share later, keeping track of every detail. It was how Bob realized what was going on with the lounge singer.

Bob had been going to the club with Jake and the rest of the crew for almost a year now. Maverick wanted to keep a low profile, so he sent the latest recruits who had proven themselves. The first sign was how the light had steadily left your eyes, even when you were singing. When Bob first met you, you were like a ray of sunshine, eyes bright, smile radiant.

Then came the tense arguments with the owner. Bob could never hear them but he could tell from your face afterwards it wasn't a two way street.

Bob didn't hate most people. But he fucking hated Beau Simpson.

It was obvious he didn't treat you well. Bob noticed how prevalent bruises had become on your arms, how often you ‘bumped into something' to explain a black eye. No person could be that clumsy.

So when Simpson had come up short on payment again, Bob didn't show mercy.

“Isn't this the fifth time he's been late? Why don’t we go down and talk to him?” Bob suggested to Jake.

Jake, always eager to please Maverick (and annoy Bradley) was more than happy to take him, Javy, Mickey, and Natasha over. They were a well oiled machine; Bob would find and corner him, Jake would ask the questions directly to the traitor, Javy and Mickey were there for muscle while Nat was getting the real answers from others and looking into their systems if need be.

The coward made eye contact with Bob and then swiftly turned around, no doubt attempting to avoid him. What a fucking joke. Bob hated this was the guy you were tangled up with.

So yeah, maybe he should have used his voice before putting his hands on Simpson. A saying his mother always told him and his siblings, her school teacher career showing.

She also still thought Bob worked in construction.

Bob couldn't lie, it felt good to slam him against the wall. Make him feel a tenth of the pain he caused you. It would never be enough, not unless he saw Simpson six feet under.

But when he came into the doorway of your dressing room, the rage disappeared. It was gone the moment he saw you hunched over the vanity, applying makeup despite the steam of tears on your face.

"Dove?"

As soon as you turned your head, he made way to the vanity, carefully stepping over broken glass and knocked down chairs.

Bob knelt down, his hands near yours, but not quite touching. You couldn't even look him in the eyes. Normally his special nickname would bring a smile to your face, but you were too ashamed of how he found you.

What a fucking pathetic site.

"Dove," he repeated, his voice now soft, barely above a whisper, "Who did this to you?"

He knows the answer and has for months now. It's the confirmation he needs. But it's also the hope that maybe with your confirmation, he could help you begin to heal.

The name was on the tip of your tongue. But that would mean admitting it. Not just that he hurt you. But the fact that you had become some pathetic singer who was stuck with an obvious piece of shit. This wasn't supposed to happen. When you first started working here, it was full of excitement.

It was easy for your mind to think of Bob when you were with your partner. It was easy to think of those surprisingly soft blue eyes. In bed, you did your best to pretend it was his hands touching your body. It was an escape. A fantasy you indulged in as a desperate attempt to not think about your current situation.

Like he would want to be with you! You were a liability. You didn't deserve him.

That didn't stop your heart from fluttering when you felt his fingers gently cup your face, tilting your head up to look at him. His fingers were calloused. You knew what his hands were capable of, having witnessed him sling punches, like they were nothing.

But Bob Floyd’s touch was soft. You could feel them on your face, but he refrained from adding pressure. And gentle, oh so gentle. He avoided the bruise that was forming near your right eye. The way his thumb gently stroked your mascara stained cheek was comforting.

Soft. Gentle. Comforting.

When was the last time you felt any of that from someone touching you? It was a foreign concept, one you so desperately chased that you were willing to ignore the bright, beaming red flags and run head first into danger.

By all means, he should be seen as a danger. A huge scarlet flag. His 'job' required him to oversee and commit violent, illegal acts. He didn't hide it. And with those expensive suits, rings, and those dark eyes, he looked almost like the Devil, ready to trick you into signing your soul away.

But he wasn't like that. At least, not to you. A sweet smile, reserved only for a selective few. Eyes that pierced through your soul. His presence brought an ease to you.

He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours. A battle of emotions was going through his eyes. Rage. Anger. Concern. It felt nice for someone to be concerned about you.

"Did Simpson do this to you?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

When you nodded, it felt like a weight being lifted off your chest. Finally, someone else knew.

Bob’s jaw tensed as he nodded his head in understanding, "And was he responsible for all the other injuries you've had?"

He did notice. Why he was paying attention to you, some lowly singer, was beyond your comprehension.

You nodded your head, tears filling your eyes, "It's…..it's all been him, Bobby."

He nodded, the tension in his jaw remaining. He wanted to say so much, but knew what was most important: you. Your safety.

"Let's get you cleaned up Dove," He said softly, standing up. He stuck out his hand, clearly gesturing for you to take it.

It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. His large hand felt like a peace offering, a shining lighthouse in the midst of the dark, bleary night. But taking it meant Bob would now be involved. You didn't want that, couldn't have that. If he found out….sure, Bob could take care of himself. But you would feel guilty if anything were to happen to him. Besides, what would happen to you? What if Simpson found out? The beating would probably send you to the emergency room. Even worse, it probably meant you wouldn't get to see Bob anymore.

You needed that lopsided smile and kind eyes to get through the nights. The thought of not seeing them scared the shit out of you.

"You need a first aid kit, not concealer," Bob explained, sensing your hesitation.

So sensible. But you didn't have time for any of that. Shaking your head, you turned back to the vanity, “I have to go on soon.”

“We shut down the place. Need Simpson to explain why he's gone two months without paying us.”

When you still didn't move, Bob’s hands trailed down your face, landing on your shoulders. He kneeled down, looking into your eyes, “Can I help you? Please?”

"Bob, it's not worth it. I don't…if he finds out…” The very thought of what could happen made your eyes brim with tears.

You were right to be hesitant. Bob wished he could scoop you up into his arms and take you far away from this place. For now, first aid would have to be done and he needed you to see that.

“Dove, I can make sure he never touches you again, if that's what you want.” God, he hoped you wanted that, “But getting cleaned up is the bare minimum of what you need. And the least I can do after not saying anything earlier.”

So he had noticed all the bruises you tried to cover up. How the light in your eyes only came back when you were up on stage singing or talking to him. He noticed how quickly that light drained from your eyes, how fear replaced it at the sight of Simpson. Bob should have said something earlier, instead of waiting so long.

Never again.

You didn’t know this at the time. But something, deep in the back of your mind- call it hope or wishful thinking-told you he meant it.

So you took his hand. He could see you limping and placed an arm around your waist, allowing you to put your weight on him. Sage flooded your nostrils, his scent comforting. Bob led you to the couch in the Manager's office, walking away to find the first aid kit. It was quiet, but not in an awkward way. You enjoyed it, to be truthful. So much of your life was loud, violent, chaotic. To sit in peace was refreshing. Though you couldn't help but look at the door, the thought of anyone being able to come in at the back of your mind.

“He's not going to come up. Mickey and Javy are currently holding him down while he answers Jake,” Bob commented, not even bothering to look up from the first aid kit.

How did he know? The question was soon replaced by another one, “Why aren't you down there with them?”

Bob made his way to the couch, gently laying the kit on the coffee table, rummaging as he picked up sanitation wipes.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” He confessed, the tops of his cheeks turning a dusty pink. The admission made your heart flutter. Despite his job requiring a cold, hardened demeanor, a kindness shone through.

You witnessed it the first time Bob met you. Oh, you had seen him beforehand. It was hard not to miss the tall handsome man with the piercing blue eyes, clad in a well fitted suit. The top of his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver chain that reflected against the lights.

God, he was so attractive. Still is. It was your first day on the job and the last thing you wanted to do was ruffle one of the patrons. Beau had warned you that they would leave you alone as long as you did the same.

Looking back, you wondered if his advice had other intentions, more self serving ones that out of kindness. You tried to follow his advice, situating yourself near the bathroom while waiting for your cue. Once the previous act waves goodbye, you knew it was time to move. But God, you were so nervous that day! So nervous that you were too busy inspecting your dress for any possible wrinkles instead of looking up.

Your head ran into a firm chest, large hands quickly stabilized your body. When you looked up, you found yourself face to face with Bob Floyd.

Instead of a scowl, there was a small smile on his face as he asked, “You alright ma'am?”

You had been smitten ever since. Keeping a distance made sense, he didn’t deserve you. Which is why you brushed it off as just a silly crush and looked elsewhere for affection.

“Whatcha thinking about Dove?” Bob asked before gingerly applying the sanitizing wipes to your forehead.

“The day we met. You were so sweet, making sure that I was okay and wishing me good luck,” you spoke fondly of the memory, sharing a smile with him, “I think about that day often.”

“I do too,” he confessed, making your heart flutter once again. It made you want to explain, want to tell him everything that had happened.

“I....it's all been going on for a year. It wasn't bad at first. Like yeah, he would yell at me, but he'd apologize afterwards. At first he’d just grip my shoulders real hard. Then he'd shove me out of the way. But he would still apologize to me afterwards. Sometimes he'd even get me flowers. I knew business was rough, so I convinced myself it wasn't personal,” you paused, “I must sound so fucking dumb.”

“No. There's nothing wrong with wanting to see the best in someone,” Bob mumbled as he shifted through the first aid kit, finding the right size gauze, "Doesn't make you dumb."

“That's what I kept telling myself when it got worse. Over time, he’d stopped apologizing. Made me feel bad, like it was my fault. And I knew it wasn't, but I didn't want to set him off again. By the time I realized it wasn't going to get better, it was too late. Did you know you need ID to enter those shelters? Can't get in if you don't have it. I've been trying to save up what I can to get a ride back to my hometown, but it's been six months and I don't even have half of what I need,” your cheeks felt wet, no doubt being stained by tears.

“He takes your earnings too?” Bob asked, trying to contain his anger by clutching a rag in his hand.

You nodded, “I can only take a little here and there, so he won't notice. I didn't want him to find out and…..”

A sob escaped your chest. Once it was released, you couldn't stop. Given how often you cried, it shouldn't feel any different.

But then a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around you, gently pulling you into a broad chest. Resting your head in the crook of Bob’s neck, you felt a sense of safety for the first time in who knows how long. A soft pair of lips gently pressed against your temple, a thumb caressing your cheek.

“We can make sure he never touches you again. And we will,” Bob murmured against your skin.

“How?” you sniffled, “I have a contract and it’s legally binding, I can’t leave.”

He shook his head, “We can take care of that.” Your hands found his, fingers skimming over his long digits, tracing over each ring, every crevice and line. It was comforting, helping you slow down your breathing.

Bob continued, “Natasha found out he's been running this place dry on purpose to commit fraud. He doesn't have enough to pay us back, so Jake is gonna make him sign over the place to Maverick.”

You had heard whispers about Bob’s boss. Apparently he wasn't a fan of Simpson anyways. Not a shocker, the man didn't even try to be pleasant.

Looking up at Bob, your faces were now inches apart. You could see flecks of gray in his stubble and at his temples. Faded freckles were scattered across his face, like stars in the night. Sandy brown hair that curled at the ends. A button nose that accentuated his pink lips. Did he have freckles else along his body?

“Whatcha looking at Dove?" He asked, a small smile creeping across his face.

“Just admiring how handsome you are, Bobby." The words left your mouth before your brain could process them.

You expected him to push you away, to shrug it off. Instead, his cheeks turned a bright red as he ducked his head into the crook of your neck. You figured that Bob heard it all the time. Besides, he was just being nice, done because he felt bad for you.

You certainly didn't expect him to become flustered, unable to form a coherent response. His soft lips pressed a kiss against your collarbone. You could feel his smile burn into your skin, like sunshine. When you grabbed his hand, Bob intertwined his fingers with yours.

Perhaps you weren't the only one who craved affection, for gentle touches.

“You're too sweet for me, Dove.” His breath was hot on your skin, sending a spark of electricity up your spine.

There was always an unspoken tension between you two. So many maybes. Maybe he should have spoken out sooner. Maybe you should have tried going for Bob rather than settling like always.

“I feel the same way about you,” it felt good to finally admit it, like a weight leaving your shoulders. For a brief moment, you forgot the circumstances of the situation. For once, it felt normal, as if you two were simply friends who met through work.

Bob gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before sitting up straight. He studied your face, taking in every mark and line, everything that made you you. Bob also took in the bruise forming around your right eye.

“We need to ice that eye. I'll be right back okay?” After receiving a nod, he untangled himself from your body, much to his dismay and yours. But he wasn't doing it because you repulsed him, no. Rather, he wanted to take care of you.

"So will Maverick be the new owner of this place?" You asked, eyes glued to Bob as he moved about in the room.

"More or less. Though he's still looking for a partner. Someone who can be at the club and help run things," He looked back at you, "Someone who has been working here for a while and was already unofficially running the place."

You knew damn well who he was referring to. Your lips tightened as a pang of panic peaked through your brain at Bob Floyd’s proposal. Was that why he was doing all this? So he makes a business deal?

He must have sensed this, as he quickly came back to the couch, bag of ice in hand, "If you want to. If you want to keep on singing here, you can. I also don't blame ya if you want to get the hell outta here."

Choices. You had multiple choices to choose from. When was the last time that had happened?

"What are you going to do to him?" It was haunting your mind. Was it worth staying here if you would always have to look over your shoulder?

Bob leaned in, his hand gently touching your knee, avoiding the bruises, "Whatever you want us to do."

Whatever?

"If you want me to put him six feet under, I'll do it," He elaborated, "If you want me to scare him off, make sure he never comes within twenty feet of ya, I can do that too."

More choices. It was your problem, you should have a say in how it was solved.

"It's up to you Dove," He said, his thumb softly stroking your knee.

You liked his touch. You wanted more of it. He was so gentle.

"I want…..I want him gone Bobby. I want to never worry about whether he'll show his face again," You revealed. The idea of it being a threat, always looming in the shadows, was terrifying. How could one expect you to sleep soundly at night?

Bob nodded his head. He leaned in and gingerly pressed the bag of ice to the corner of your eye.

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as he saw you wince, “It's going to hurt a little, but the cooling will help with the bruising.”

“It would be nice to sing again and actually enjoy it. You think Maverick can actually turn this place around?” You placed your hand on his wrist. Bob wanted nothing more than to take yours and kiss your soft skin.

That would be taking it too far. Yes, ironic, considering he already kissed your temple and collarbone. Was a collarbone kiss more intimate than a wrist kiss? Or was it the other way around?

“Bobby?” A soft, sweet giggle fell from your lips upon seeing how his brows knitted together when he was in deep concentration.

“Sorry Dove, what did you say?” Bob asked sheepishly. He didn't know what was worse, confessing he was distracted by your beauty or that he was thinking about kissing your body.

“Do you think Maverick will turn this place around? Not trying to doubt your boss, but if it's just seen as a way to get back at Simpson….I don't know if I'd want to stay.”

Bob’s heart sank. If you wanted to walk out of this place, he'd burned your contract in a heartbeat. He couldn't blame you for desiring it either. But selfishly, he wanted you to stay. He wanted to hear your voice, see your smile, and speak without having to walk on eggshells in case a certain someone was listening.

“I think he will. He’ll probably give the place to either Jake or Bradley, either one of them will do a good job just to piss off the other,” Bob chuckled, “Besides, he doesn't want the transfer to be a big deal, so I don't see him firing folks, other than those that are loyal to Simpson. Which isn't that many. Maybe three?” Bob scratched his head, trying to think of the actual number.

You snorted, “Three's a pretty generous number.”

When Bob Floyd laughs, the corners of his eyes creased and he threw his head back. It was the sweetest discovery. It was also the first time you truly laughed, full belly, that day. Probably the first time in weeks. Lightness flooded your body, despite the bruises and cuts that currently marked it.

“And if Maverick owns it, I'll be here more. I can make sure you're safe. If that's what you want!” Bob added the last part quickly. You had just gotten out of a relationship from hell, one that involved controlling behavior. The last thing he wanted was for you to think similarly of him.

Your lips stretched into a smile, “I'd like that…to see you more. Whenever you came to visit, it was always the highlight of my day.”

Bob couldn't help but beam, his heart fluttering at a pace that should be medically concerning, “I felt the same about you Dove.”

Upon receiving a bright smile from you, Bob removed the bag of ice from your face, fingers delicately skimming over the bruised skin. It was as good as it was going to get. He would be happy to help you ice it later, if that's what you wanted. Bob would give you the world if he could.

Gathering all the courage he had (ironic considering he's killed people before), he leaned in, allowing his lips to press against your cheek. This time, it wasn't stained with tears or smudged makeup. A refreshing change that Bob hoped he could help keep.

You leaned into his touch, fingers finding purchase in the lapels of his black jacket. Looking up, your noses brushed, his lips inches away from yours, if that.

You could stay like this forever. In his arms, you felt safe. You felt like you could joke and laugh and be yourself.

Knowing how soft his lips were made you wonder how they’d feel against your own. It wasn't the first time this thought flashed through your brain. But it was the first time you were close enough to find out.

Simpson will be gone, Bob would make sure of that. There wasn’t anyone to fear, you could just lean in and-

A loud knock interrupted the sweet moment. Fear swept through your body as you buried your face into Bob’s chest.

He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before telling you to get in the corner, right behind the mini fridge. You did as you were told, crouching down to make yourself invisible to whoever walked through the door.

In your position you could see Bob, pulling out the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants. He quickly cocked it as he moved swiftly towards the door. It was locked but that didn’t deter people here.

“Floyd, you in there?” A familiar voice rang out on the other side. Relief flooded your body at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was a rare sight, working more behind the scenes. It must be pretty bad if they brought her in.

But Bob remained silent, back pressed to the wall, gun in hand. He couldn’t take any risks. Not when it came to your safety. The way he effortlessly demonstrated his care made you wish that Natasha had waited twenty seconds before knocking.

“The rodeo is all cleared,” Nat said. At the sound of their code word, Bob let out a sigh of relief. With his gun still in one hand (just in case), he opened the door, revealing the dark haired woman, who also had a matching gun in hand.

“We finally got him to sign over the place. Now we’re figuring out what to do with him. Got any ideas?” She asked with a smirk.

Bob turned to your direction, as you were now standing by the couch, “I think that’s her decision. She had to bear the brunt of him after all.”

Natasha peered over, taking in your bruises and cuts. She nodded, to silently show her understanding, “What would you like?”

You had a choice. What even was the right thing in this scenario? Was it letting someone live, despite all their wrongdoings? Or was it preventing him from hurting anyone else? The blood wouldn’t be on your hands, literally. But you still played a part.

“I….I want him gone. To not be able to come back to this place and hurt people. You guys know how to do that better than I do.”

You saw them nodding to each other. They had probably made a decision. It was obvious what was going to happen, but you didn't say it out loud. Does that relieve you of some responsibility?

Maybe. Probably not. But it made you feel better inside.

“You wanna come atch?” Natasha asked, motioning to you and Bob.

Seeing you shake your head, Bob mimicked, “I'll stay up here with her. Make sure she's all cleaned up.”

You sat down on the couch, waiting for Natasha to leave. It warmed your heart that Bob chose to stay with you. Maybe he also felt it too, that spark of kismet that circuited back and forth.

Bob kneeled down in front of you, eyes and hands inspecting your arms and your legs. His gentle touch left goosebumps along your skin. You shifted to the edge of the couch, clearly to help him inspect the rest of your wounds.

No other reason.

“I gotta clean up this scrape, don't want it to get infected.” A lovely gesture, considering you didn't make enough money to qualify for health insurance.

You nodded your head. His large hand placed itself on the back of your leg, the other gently pressing a wipe against the cut.

“You'll hear a gunshot pretty soon,” he warned, not wanting you to be alarmed. You nodded, bracing yourself for the imminent noise.

Except you didn't hear a gunshot. You heard several voices arguing.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Get him!”

“Get the gun!”

Then, you heard a gunshot.

“God dammit,” Bob cursed under his breath. His eyes darted to the door that Natasha left a hair open.

He moved quickly, not even waiting for you to stand up. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other underneath your thighs and picked you up. He carried you to the closest, gently sitting you down in the dark space.

“I’ll be right back, Dove. But I need you to stay here. I'm going to lock the other door, but don't open it to anyone. Even if you hear my voice, don't open it unless I use the rodeo, okay?” His voice was hushed, his ocean eyes piercing your soul.

He was leaving. A fight had broken out when they tried to off Cyclone. Started by either him or his two loyal goons. Bob was going to leave you.

He might not come back.

“No,” your voice shook like a leaf in the wind, “Please- don't leave me!”

His fingers stroked your cheeks in an attempt to bring comfort, “I’ll be back, okay? But I gotta go in order to protect you. I don’t want him or one of those goons to find ya.”

In the distance, a familiar voice yelled out your name. A voice that made your blood turn to ice.

Bob was operating off of adrenaline, off of the primal need to protect you. Desire was coursing through him as well. Your tears were for him, not because he brought you pain but rather you cared so much for him that the thought of him not returning tugged on your heart strings. He wanted to wait, to make sure you were ready and then take you out on a nice date.

The nice Italian place that was secretly a front for Slider’s real business. Despite being a front, it made some of the best penne alla vodka in town.

But a nice date wasn't at the forefront of Bob’s mind currently. Rather, it was your lips and how they were quivering, how soft they looked.

His mama would smack him upside the head if she could see him now, kissing a girl he hadn’t taken out on a date yet.

She would also smack the shit out of him for lying about his job all these years.

Bob was too lost in the softness of your lips. Your hands found their way into his soft hair, gripping the strands to deepen the kiss. His lips were so soft, his hands gentle as they cupped your jawline, as though he didn’t want to apply additional pressure, as though he didn’t want to cause you any harm.

You truly believed that was his intent.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, but simultaneously not long enough. Sounds of heavy footsteps and yelling in the hallway caused him to break away. Your hands remained on the lapels of his jacket, silently begging him.

Please. Don't go. Stay with me. Please.

“I'll be back, okay Dove?” he whispered before pressing a quick kiss to your lips once more. He removed your hands from the lapels, silently standing up. Bob paused for a brief moment, for what you hoped (in vain) was him considering staying. Instead, he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders.

You wanted to shout, but that would be deadly. All you could do was watch Bob close the door, listen to the sound of his gun cocking and then a second door closing.

Left in the dark. Alone. Bringing your knees up to your chest, you tried rocking yourself back and forth, silently willing the tears building up to go away.

They still fell.

#my writing #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #top gun au #top gun maverick au #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #lewis pullman

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kaspbra-cant-even · 2 days ago

Text

Never Tear Us Apart (Spencer Reid/Reader)

This is one of my works from AO3 where I post under the user-name fish_cloud. Under the cut will be the entire work as it is already finished. Have fun reading and feedback is always appreciated 💛

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV) Relationship: Spencer Reid/Reader Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader, Elle Greenaway, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, Jason Gideon, Derek Morgan Additional Tags: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Pining, Angst, Violence, Torture, Sexual Content Language: English Chapters: 7/7 Words: 17k

Summary: Soulmates exist but they are rare. So rare, that some people doubt their existence. (Y/n) is already struggling trying to hide her feelings for Spencer but then she finds out they're soulmates, just as they take on a case about a serial killer targeting couples, he thinks are soulmates, things get complicated and dangerous.

Notes: The title is inspired by Never Tear Us Apart by Paloma Faith (I swear that woman has a voice to die for). Also this is kind of dedicated to my best friend, I love her so much. Enough from me, have fun reading :))

Chapter 1

Having a soulmate was a rare occurrence. You could consider yourself lucky if you had one and even luckier if you ever found them. It was kind of like winning the lottery. There were people who had devoted their entire life to finding their other half, without even knowing if they even existed. Isn’t it only human to crave connection? The longing to belong to someone. This is not to say, that you were alone, just because you didn’t have a soulmate or didn’t find them. But this kind of connection was hard to grasp for someone who hadn’t experienced it. A one in a million connection.

Most known things about soul-connections were purely speculative due to the fact that they were so rare and even when some would find each other, there was nothing easy about trying to explain it. Like with all spiritual things there were some people who chased the idea with cult-like devotion and there were people whose life remained inherently untouched by it.

(Y/n) was the latter. In her now 1 and a half years at the BAU she had come into contact with the subject. Mostly it had been people who justified their crimes with their search for their soulmate or they were fueled by their hate for others who had found “the one”. (Y/n) knew that their loneliness didn’t stem from the lack of a soulmate. It was just something to project their loneliness onto.

There were several ways to know if you even had a soulmate but like with most things, they weren’t scientifically accurate most of the time. Soulmates could feel each other’s pain, physical as well as mental. The problem is, who hasn’t had random bruises that showed up out of nowhere or a sudden change in mood. Do you just not remember where those injuries came from and maybe you’re more empathetic than some people or is it your soulmate? Of course, with major injuries there was no doubt but taking into consideration how few even were unmatched souls and out of those how many suffered such significant damage that anything else could be ruled out, needless to say it was an uncommon occurrence to find out this way.

Another thing were shared dreams. Not in the sense that soulmates would dream about the exact same thing, but the overall tone would synchronize. If one was having nightmares, the other would too. Psychological consequences were mostly unexplored.

The last known indicator was that once having met your soulmate you’re lives were intertwined, no matter if you knew they were your soulmate or not.

As you see, all of these indicators weren’t exactly clear. As a result, you could meet your soulmate without ever figuring out they were the one.

When she was younger (Y/n) had fantasized about having a soulmate, like most teenagers did, but as she got older, the fantasy faded. Other things had become more important. She had picked up on some signs but there had never been definite proof and after a while it wasn’t important anymore. She had started working for the FBI as a profiler and from that point on

her mind had been preoccupied with anything else. She wouldn’t waste her life searching for someone she didn’t even know existed.

As (Y/n) walked into the bullpen one morning, the bad dream from the night before still lingered. She couldn’t remember what it had been about, but she hadn’t gotten much rest. She sat down at her desk. She hadn’t even unpacked as Spencer walked up to her with an extra cup of coffee in his hand. (Y/n) couldn’t help but notice he looked tired. “Morning, panda boy.” “Panda what?” “Because of the bags under your...nevermind, you look tired.” Spencer let out a sigh. (Y/n) took a sip of coffee. “Nightmare again?” Spencer nodded and leaned on the edge of her desk.

When (Y/n) first started to take a liking to Spencer she couldn’t stop herself from interpreting something into every one of these common experiences but after a while she’d resigned herself to accepting the were just coincidences. She had read somewhere that people would sync up after spending a lot of time together and there wasn’t a person in the world, she spent more time with than Spencer Reid. The only people who came in close second were the others on the team. When you worked for the BAU, the people you worked with were your family, so much so, she barely had any relationships outside of work.

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about it?” She brushed his arm ever so lightly with her fingertips as to not overstep any boundaries. Spencer and (Y/n) were close but she herself wasn’t a very physical person and so she would go out of her way as not to make other people uncomfortable. There were of course exceptions. One of those exceptions was Penelope Garcia, (Y/n)’s best friend at the BAU. Over time she had gotten so comfortable with Penelope that physical touch was a given.

But with Spencer it had always been something different. After they had become friends, it hadn’t taken too long until (Y/n) had caught feelings and she felt like taking advantage of their friendship if she used it to get closer to him.

Spencer’s eyes flickered to her hand on his arm for a split second before she retracted it quickly as to not make him uncomfortable. Their eyes met for a second but before she could try to read him and overthink the situation Spencer spoke up. “Conference room in 5.” He walked back to his desk to get some papers before heading to the conference room.

(Y/n) let out a sigh. Spending time with Spencer had become increasingly more difficult. It wasn’t his fault. It just became harder to hide her affections. She could feel them drifting apart in her effort not to jeopardize their friendship. She buried her face in her hands. There was no good way out of this. Clearly her feelings weren’t going away, and she knew she couldn’t hide them forever. The BAU must’ve been the worst place on earth to have a crush on your coworker.

The inevitable next step was Spencer finding out about it one way or another. The only question was how he’d react. (Y/n) had ruled out the possibility of him reciprocating her

feelings pretty fast. She remembered a case in LA where they had to catch Lila Archers stalker. Spencer had been smitten from the second he laid eyes on her. It had taken (Y/n) weeks and a few bottles of Hennessy to get the image of them kissing in the pool out of her head.

She shook her head as if to get rid of the memory. She stared at her desk from between her fingers. The other two options were either him being ok with her having feelings for him but at this point she doubted she could still be friends with him even if he had a good reaction, or he wouldn’t want anything to do with her anyway.

“Fuck...” (Y/n) whispered. She looked up, fixed herself and grabbed her cup before walking into the conference room. The only free seat was next to Spencer. He gave her a small smile before she sat down. Instantly she felt the small butterflies in her stomach. She smiled back and emptied her coffee hoping to drown those fuckers.

Jennifer Jareau was standing in the front explaining their new case. The unsub was targeting couples in the Las Vegas area. The couples went missing sometimes for weeks. There had been 16 bodies already. They showed clear signs of torture. JJ showed them pictures of the symbol every victim had carved into their chest. It resembled a stick figure of a human with four arms and four legs.

“We can safely assume that the killer’s motivation has something to do with the soulmate myth.” JJ concluded.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but smile. She knew Spencer was about to speak before he even opened his mouth.

“Plato said: According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

(Y/n) turned to the others. “So, what er we thinking? Is this guy delusional and chasing some fantasy or were those people actually soulmates he found somehow?” “We won’t have definite proof if these people were soulmate or not as they’re dead, but it would be statistically very unlikely that they were in fact actual soulmates.” Spencer responded.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment. He would never admit it but the way (Y/n) chewed on her pen when she was in deep thought made him feel things. It took him a second to tear his eyes away from her before turning his attention back to JJ.

“We’re dealing with a highly organized serial killer. His motivation is power and control, we’re looking for someone with an outwardly normal looking life, someone charming, charismatic and very intelligent. Later victims have shown signs of post-mortem sexual behavior. So, we’re dealing with someone who feels alone, who fears rejection. When his victims are dead the possibility of being rejected is gone. He also inserts himself into the couple’s relationship. We have to assume that whether they really are soulmates or not, he believes they are. It is possible that he also has some sort of god complex, putting himself in the role of Zeus who separates the soulmates from each other.”

The atmosphere on the jet was buzzing with conversation. The soulmate subject had that effect on people. It was a heavily discussed and controversial concept.

“I don’t think soulmates actually exist.” Morgan said and leaned back in his chair. “How can you say that? There have been cases where soulmates have actually found each other!” Elle protested. “It’s all fake, how can you believe them? Let me guess, you also read your horoscope every day too?” Morgan let out a light laugh but Elle furrowed her brows. “They’re two totally different things, even if I did believe in astrology, which has no relevance whatsoever in this discussion, you can’t just ignore facts!”

(Y/n) leaned back in her seat looking at Spencer, who sat next to her. “What do you think?” He seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. “I mean there is some evidence but it’s all very speculative.” He looked at her for a second and he swore he saw a glint of disappointment in them but then it was gone. “But who knows,” He added quickly “maybe Soulmate are real, it’s a nice thought that there could be someone out there who has such a special connection to you.”

(Y/n) nodded. “But how is that even supposed to work? What if I do have a soulmate but I like someone else? Or I have a family or something?” “There are platonic soulmates as well, you know.” He gave her a small smile. For some reason this gave him comfort. Spencer wasn’t one to indulge in fantasies and he was decidedly to pragmatic to dream of his soulmate but if he had to chose someone it would be (Y/n). The probability of her liking him in a romantic way was even lower than her being his soulmate so the option of platonic soulmates eased his mind, even if just for a bit. He shoved those thought in the back of his head, he didn’t like to dwell on daydreams.

“Well, if some random guy walked in tomorrow and it turned out he was my soulmate, I’d still want to stay with you.” She said, decidedly, not really thinking about the implication. When she caught herself it was already too late. Spencer let out a small laugh. “You don’t have to stay with me, believe me you won’t want to when you find them.” “Shut up, more likely than not I don’t have one anyway, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Spencer let out another small laugh, but his heart sank a bit. If he was being honest with himself it was one of his greatest fears. That one day, (Y/n) would walk into the BAU and announce she’ found the one and she would quit to spend her life with them. He couldn’t bare the thought of someone taking her away from him. But this was totally normal for a friendship as deep as theirs, right?

After a while Spencer got up to get himself a cup of coffee. Elle and Morgan were still fighting, JJ had taken Elle’s side, Hotch just listened and Gideon sat by a window rereading the case file. No one was paying attention when it happened. Spencer had gotten distracted by something Elle had said to Morgan and almost tripped, a cup of hot coffee in his hand. As she saw the scene unravel before her, (Y/n) felt the burn on her hand. It took her every ounce of self-control not to make a sound. Spencer hissed and sat down next to her again. He handed her the coffee so he could clean up his hand with a napkin.

(Y/n) stared at him, her mind running a hundred miles per hour. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Spencer shot her a concerned look. “(Y/n) are you ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She stood up. “Excuse me for a second, I don’t feel so well, must’ve been the food or something.” She walked to the bathroom without looking back. After she closed the door behind her she sank to the ground with her back against the door.

(Y/n) felt panic rise in her chest. This was not possible. Sure there had been moments when she’d suspected something was up but she had always dismissed it but now it was so obvious there was no denying it. She felt tears of frustration gather in her eyes. As if everything hadn’t been already complicated enough. Not just did she have feelings for Spencer but now she knew almost certainly that they were also soulmates. She felt anger build up. Whoever came up with this soulmate stuff had been a real asshole. She would have been perfectly happy with not having a soulmate and just having Spencer by her side. What if he didn’t want to be her soulmate? Had there ever been a case where one of them just wasn’t into it? Shouldn’t there have been some signs from his part that he felt more for her? But then she remembered what he had said abut platonic soulmates and her stomach sank. Maybe he had known all along, and he’d just been giving her hints that they could just be friends.

Maybe they could make a deal somehow, they didn’t have to spend the rest of their lives together if he didn’t want to. She had resigned herself to not having a soulmate a long time ago, she didn’t need him.

She buried her face in her hands. Suddenly all those thoughts were gone and what remained was a heavy emptiness. There was no good solution for this, and she couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror to see how good her poker-face was after just having gone through the seven stages of grief in under 5 minutes.

As she walked back into the sitting area, she was greeted by Spencer’s worried looks. “Everything ok?” She sat down next to him. “Yeah, everything is fine.” “You don’t look so well, are you sure everything is ok?” He put his hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. His hand was cold on her warm face. Her breath hitched in her throat from the sudden touch and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes. She gave him a soft look. “I’m fine, Spencer, I promise.” His touch lingered for a second before he retracted his hand.

“You know you can’t lie to me.” He gave her a small smile. In a sudden burst of confidence she put her hand on his. “It’s alright, I’ll talk to you if I need to, don’t worry about me.” His hand wrapped around hers and he gave her a little squeeze. (Y/n) almost got sick from the explosion of butterflies in her stomach. Until now she’d attributed these strong physical reactions when they touched to the fact that she had a crush on him but looking back she couldn’t remember experiencing something like this with anyone else. Working with Spencer would be a real challenge, now that she had not one but two secrets.

Chapter 2

“Life is short, break the rules. Forgive quickly, kiss slowly. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile.” – Mark Twain

(Y/n) had a hard time concentrating from the moment they got off the jet. She felt like moving in a dream as they checked in with the local PD, going over the case again, went to the last crime scene. Only when she entered the expensive suite, she felt like shook her awake. The champagne-colored furniture was covered in dark red blood. But it was not the image that snapped her back to reality, it was the smell, it was always the smell that got to her.

The bodies were no longer in the room, but they had been laying here at least three days before anyone even noticed. One of the detectives turned to her when he saw her going pale. “Ma’am is everything alright?” “Yes, I just...excuse me, I just need a minute.”

(Y/n) stumbled out of the expensive hotel room into the corridor. She had trouble breathing and her hands started to sweat profusely. She knew the symptoms, that didn’t make it any less bad. When she reached a side corridor, she slid down the wall. She tried to remember what she knew about panic attacks. Breath. In, out, in and out again.

A pair of shoes came into her field of vision. She didn’t need to look up, to know it was Spencer. He was the only FBI agent she knew of that wore converse. Without a word he sat down next to her, back to the wall. She heard him breath slowly. She knew he was doing it so she could synchronize with him and after a while the panic had subsided.

“Are you better now?” (Y/n) nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” “What happened in there? You’ve seen worse before, what is it?”

She didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t just the fact that she had just figured out they were soulmates; it was something else. Their unsub was actively seeking out and killing what he thought were soulmates. She had been the unsubs ‘type’ before but now it wasn’t just about her, it was about Spencer too. She felt bad for withholding information like this. He didn’t even know he was a potential target. She wanted to tell him, tell him to be careful but something wouldn’t let her. Fear of rejection loomed over her like a dark cloud.

“I don’t know, Spence...I’ve just had a rough week, I guess.” “I know you’re not telling me the truth.” He put his fingers under her chin to make her look up at him. “I want to help you, but you need to tell me what is going on with you.”

There was nothing but kindness and goodness in his eyes. She wanted to tell him so bad. “I thought we weren’t supposed to profile each other.” She gave him a small smile to signal him she wasn’t mad about it. Spencer frowned.

“I’m serious, somethings not right and I need to know what it is. It doesn’t need a profiler to see somethings eating at you, it just takes a good friend.”

(Y/n) stood up. “Come on, we don’t have time for this now, we have a crime scene to profile.” She held out her hand to help him get up. He let out a sight and took it.

Back at the police station the team presented their profile but (Y/n) didn’t hear a single word. Her gaze was fixed on Spencer as he spoke. All she could process was the way he talked, how he moved his hands a s he gesticulated and the way he looked with his messy hair and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

This was getting out of hand. Until now she had at least been able to do her job properly. Only when Hotch had called her name out for the third time her mind returned to reality. “Agent would you please tell the officers what our next step will be?” “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.” She gathered her thoughts for a second before standing up in front of the precinct. “Our best shot is going undercover and try to attract the unsubs attention. We will have two agents pose as a soulmate couple. We know that the unsub doesn’t stay at the same hotel for too long. We also know that he probably targets these couple at special events. Based on the profile we gave you he will appear sophisticated and he probably has some friends in high places. He will be successful in his career as to compensate his feelings of inadequacy regarding his personal life. He has to have some connections, otherwise we would find these victims much faster. He’s paying people to keep their mouth shut.

Tomorrow there will be a fund raiser at the Bellagio. There will be a lot of people and because of the nature of the event there will most certainly be a lot of couples, people usually don’t go alone to those things. This means our unsub will be there. The last victims were found today and killed three days ago; he’s looking for is next victims.”

She could still feel Spencer’s eyes on her when she sat back down. The crowd dissolved slowly. The BAU gathered around one of the desks.

“I think we all agree to send (Y/n) and Spencer as our soulmate couple.” Hotch said and shot them both a look. If (Y/n) hadn’t been so taken by surprise by Hotch’s proposal she would have noticed Spencer blushing lightly. Did they figure it out? Was that why Hotch had chosen them? No, it couldn’t be. Logically, they were the best match. They worked very well together, none of them would pose a great physical threat to the unsub and they were close after all. It wouldn’t be hard to make it believable. (Y/n) almost let out a laugh. Of course, it wouldn’t be hard. She wouldn’t even have to pretend.

“Are you ok with this?” Hotch asked. Both nodded. There really was no good reason to say no.

Spencer sat in front of the case files, but he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/n) and how strangely she was acting. Maybe he had crossed a line and made her uncomfortable? He tried his best to keep a respectful distance, but it got harder every day. It

was almost as if she attracted him like a magnet. It felt so right when they touched hands or when she would brush his hair out of his face when he was too caught up in something else.

He loved to hear her talk. And he loved it when she listened to him. She never seemed to get bored of anything he had to say. Ever. She’d been awfully quiet the entire day. Something was up, he could feel it but for some reason he couldn’t read her. He knew that she would get fidgety when she was nervous, he knew that she carried herself with caution, she had been hurt by people in the past. He knew that she would cover her insecurities with little jokes, and he knew that she had a hard time opening up to people sometimes. But for the love of god, he did not know how she felt about him, and he didn’t know what was wrong with her right now. Some things she held to close to her heart for anyone to see, even him.

Spencer wanted to tell her that she could tell him anything and he wished she would believe him. There was a longing in his heart he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t know what to do about it. His fear was paralyzing him. He’d been hurt before too. For the time being he was content with the little he got, the quick glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, the way she laughed at his jokes and the way she made him feel like their friendship was something special. All team members were close, but he would be the first one she would talk to in the morning and the last one to wave goodbye in the evening. She was always there.

Spencer jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Are you coming? We’re checking into the hotel. Or are you to busy dreaming about our little Miss Commitment Issues?” Morgan teased and walked past Spencer. “I’m not – she doesn’t have – I’m coming wait up!” He grabbed his jacket and the files before following Morgan out the door.

The hotel was almost booked out. Hotch stood at the reception, arguing with the woman working there. “I don’t care that you don’t have enough rooms, we booked in advance!” She didn’t seem too bothered. She looked up from her phone for a moment.

“I’m sorry mister, that’s how it is, can’t throw the guests out that have already checked in. Should’ve come earlier.”

Hotch slammed his hand on the counter. “Listen here, I can get you fired in the blink of an eye. Get us our rooms, now!” His voice was calm but anyone who knew Hotch knew not to mess with him when he talked like this. The receptionist seemed to sense it too. “Ok, ok. I have a few rooms left but you’ll have to partner up.”

“Just give me the keys.”

(Y/n) and Spencer looked at each other like to school friends look at each other when the teacher says you can choose your partner for a project. It was understood they would share a room. But when (Y/n) turned the key around and entered their room she wanted to turn around and never come back.

“It’s just a-a queen size bed.” She stuttered. They stood side by side in silence. There was no couch, no armchair. Finally, Spencer spoke up. “It’s ok I can take the floor.”

(Y/n) gave him a light slap on the arm with the back of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can share unless you’re so uncomfortable with me you’d rather take the floor.” The last part had been meant as a joke, but Spencer began to stammer. “No, no of course not – I’d love to sleep with you – I mean share a bed.” His face was getting redder by the second.

It took her all her strength not to laugh. “Calm down, Spencer.” She gave him a reassuring smile. He seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. He was so cute when he got flustered, she thought. She would like to see him like this more often if she didn’t know how much it stressed him out.

“I’m gonna go change.” She said pointing at the bathroom. “Y-yeah go ahead.” “Thanks for your permission.” She gave him another smile but this time she was teasing him. “I didn’t mean –” “I’m just messing with you.”

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed while (Y/n) was in the bathroom changing. He tried to calm himself down. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. There was no way she would ever want to be with a nervous wreck like him. Just like that one time Lila Archer had kissed him in the pool. He had predicted very accurately that she had only shown interest in him because of his role as protector. It had been too good to be true. He had become more cautious since then. His heart wouldn’t open as easily. But if he was being honest with himself it was already too late. He couldn’t even pretend (Y/n) had slipped in slowly and quietly. She had kicked the door in the first time he saw her and then she had made her home in his heart, barricading herself inside.

When (Y/n) came out of the bathroom her hair was damp. He hadn’t even heard the shower. There was something so endearing about seeing her like this, fresh out of the shower in an oversized FBI training t-shirt, something so domestic. “You’re turn.” She nodded at him. It took him a second to react before he stood up and followed her example of showering and changing into something more comfortable.

Later that night they laid side by side in the dark. The only light source were the colorful lights of Sin City. (Y/n) turned her head to look at Spencer. She could only make out his silhouette in the dark. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He turned his head towards her too. “For acting so weird. You’re right there’s something wrong but I don’t know if I want to talk about it yet.” (Y/n) felt her throat close. “It’s just...I’m really anxious about the undercover mission tomorrow and that never happened to me before...” She tried to control herself, but she couldn’t help but let out a small sob. “I’ve never chickened out before.”

Spencer didn’t know what to do. He had never seen (Y/n) cry before. “You’re not gonna chicken out, it’s normal to be anxious about these things. And...and you don’t have to worry because you’re not alone. I’ll be by your side the entire time, ok?” (Y/n) nodded but then she remembered he couldn’t see her.

“Ok...thank you. Just promise me you won’t put yourself in danger, ok? I don’t know what is up with me I’ve never been like this before a mission...I’m worried about you and I have a really bad feeling, I can feel it in my gut, you know?”

Spencer didn’t respond immediately, instead his fingers found the hem of her sleeve and tugged at it. (Y/n) understood and closed the distance between them until Spencer had his arms wrapped around her. “Is this ok?” He asked, almost regretting having been so bold.

“Yeah, this is nice.” She could feel him take a deep breath and relax. She felt his heartbeat against her back and her own heart began to beat faster.

Spencer almost couldn’t believe his luck. The faint smell of the shampoo in her hair made him dizzy. He never wanted to let her go ever again. “Spencer?” Her voice trembled. “Hm?”

“I need to tell you something...”

Chapter 3

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. (Y/n) turned around in his arms until she faced him. She had never been so close to him. He tried to study her face, but the darkness was making it hard. “What is it?” He asked cautiously. “I think it’s better if I show you.” He watched her as she raised her hands in front of him. When she pinched the back of one of her hands, he could feel it. He stared at her for a second. He felt the realization dawn on him. His mind short circuited and a quiet “Oh” escaped him.

(Y/n) felt her face heat up. She retreated hastily from Spencer’s arms to sit up with her back against the headboard. After 2 minutes Spencer still hadn’t said anything. “I-I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have said anything.” (Y/n) stood up. Now she felt stupid. Suddenly she felt like she was intruding. “I’m just gonna...” She pointed at the door and before leaving in a hurry. Spencer wanted to say something, but the words never left his mouth.

Before he could gather his thoughts, she was gone. It all made sense now. He couldn’t believe she had caught it before him, how could he not notice it until now? His first instinct was to run after her but what if she didn’t want to see him? Maybe she hadn’t told him because she didn’t want to be his soulmate. The only reason she had told him at all had to be the undercover mission tomorrow. Full disclosure so he knew what he was getting himself into.

Had something like this happened before? He tried to remember every single thing he had ever read or heard about soulmates but there was nothing. Another thought crept up on him. She knew when he was having nightmares, every night he had woken up covered in sweat, she had shared with him. Somehow, he wanted to apologize for that. She had to have been in so much pain because of him.

(Y/n) didn’t come back for the rest of the night. She had probably spent the night in Elle and JJ’s room. Spencer needed to talk to her before they started the mission but through the entire day, he couldn’t get her alone. He was almost sure she was avoiding him.

Some time in the evening they were getting ready for the fundraiser. The first time he saw her again was in front of the Bellagio. He wanted to say something, but they were wearing wires and he didn’t know if she’d told Elle or JJ about the soulmate thing, not to mention that the entire Las Vegas PD didn’t have to know about their personal issues.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but give him a small smile when she saw Spencer in his tuxedo. She had never seen Spencer dressed up like this before. “You eh, you look good.” She didn’t dare to look him in the eyes. “Thanks, you too.”

“Guys you need to step your game up if you want to make it believable for the unsub. You look like two teens going to a school dance.” Morgan’s voice rang through their earpieces.

“Shut up, Derek, next time you can go undercover.”

She took the lead and walked into the entrance hall. Spencer walked behind her and in a moment of braveness he put his hand on the small of her back. She flinched under his touch but before he could take it back, she eased into the touch. There was too much on the line to let personal issues get in the way of the mission.

For the rest of the night, they walked around, watching people, trying to identify the unsub, to no avail. The tension was killing them. “Ok, this is getting ridiculous, we won’t get picked if we keep going on like this.” Spencer took (Y/n)’s hand and dragged her into an empty hallway. Before she knew what was happening, he had muted both of their mics.

“We need to talk about this. I’m sorry, I didn’t say anything yesterday I was just...” “Shocked?” She interrupted him. “I get it, can we go back to the mission now?”

She was already about to go back when he grabbed her hand and dragged her back. “Look, I get it, I’m not what you had hoped for in a soulmate, but you need to get your shit together.” (Y/n)’s eyebrows were furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about, if there would be anyone I would chose as a soulmate, it would be you!” “You’re not...you’re not mad?” “No, I’m not mad, I thought you were the one unhappy with this whole thing.” “Why would I be? If there’s anyone who should be unhappy, it’s you. You’re way out of my league –” “Oh my god, Spencer just shut up.” She cracked a smile. “You’re my best friend, why would I spend so much time with you, if I didn’t like you?”

He looked at her for a second. “I...I don’t know.” “Look at me.” She took his face in between her hands. “Don’t you ever say that you’re not good enough ever again.”

Spencer never wanted to kiss her more than it that moment. His eyes wandered to the hall again and then he saw it. “That’s him.” (Y/n) was still caught up in the moment. “What?”

“Our unsub, that’s him!” “Are you sure?” “Yes, now come on.”

They turned their mics back on. “Reid? What happened?” Morgan questioned but he didn’t get an answer. “We have our unsub, it’s the guy in the dark grey suit by the champagne fountain.” (Y/n) whispered. “We have a visual. Try to get near him.” “Roger that.”

As they walked out of the hallway Spencer placed his hand around (Y/n)’s waist. Her heart was beating faster again. They made sure to be in the unsub’s field of view when Spencer took her hand. “Wanna dance?”

(Y/n) just nodded, she felt her cheeks heat up and she hoped Spencer wouldn’t notice. Unfortunately, he was still a profiler and so he bent down to whisper in her ear. “You know you’re cute when you blush.” The red on her face only intensified. “You know they can hear us.”

They heard a laugh from Morgan. “Yeah, we can, looks like our boy’s got moves, careful (Y/n).” Spencer gave her a smile before taking her to the dancefloor.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” (Y/n) whispered as they swayed to the music. “I’m full of surprises, what can I say.” He hadn’t stopped smiling at her the whole time. Her arms wrapped a little tighter around his neck as she laid her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beat fast and she could smell his cologne. She raised her head slightly so that her nose grazed his neck. She felt him shudder lightly as if he was getting goosebumps.

“Guys he’s approaching you.” As soon as Morgan had alerted them, they heard a voice.

“I’m sorry to intrude like this. But you two just looked so beautiful together. Can I buy you a drink?”

(Y/n) had to peel herself away from Spencer. She never wanted to let him go again. “Sure, thank you, Sir.” She gave him a smile.

The man was a bit older than they had expected. The rest was dead on. He looked sophisticated enough with his expensive suit and his well-groomed physical appearance. The three of them sat down at the bar.

“So, what are you two lovebirds doing here? I can tell you’re not from Vegas.” He took a sip from his Whiskey. (Y/n) had to squeeze Spencer’s hand under the bar before he could open his mouth and correct the unsub, that he was, in fact, “from Vegas”. Instead (Y/n) took the word.

“Well, I know you’re not supposed to brag about this stuff but...” She gave Spencer an endearing look that instantly melted his heart. “We just found out we were soulmates and we wanted to get married as fast as possible and what better place than Las Vegas, the City of Marriage, right?”

The man eyed both of them for a moment. (Y/n) had never felt so exposed in her life. She wanted nothing more than shove her gun into this guy’s face and arrest him right then and there, but they had to wait. He had to take them to the hotel room, they had no concrete evidence yet.

“Congratulations you two. I hope I’m not overstepping here but would it be alright to give you a wedding gift?”

“That is so kind of you, right honey?” She looked at Spencer who forgot for a second the situation they were in. His mind had tripped over itself when he heard her call him “honey”. “Right, right, very kind.” He had to tear his eyes away from her. “I want to pay for a night in a suite, the most expensive in Las Vegas.”

“We would love that, but can I ask why?” (Y/n) asked. They couldn’t be too willing to come along with him or he would get suspicious.

The man let out a theatrical sigh before downing the rest of his Whiskey. “I lost my wife a few years ago and I want to do something good for such a sweet couple like you.” They both knew that was a blatant lie. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Spencer watched (Y/n) play her role with perfection.

“Let’s not talk about me, this is your special night. The car is waiting outside.”

With every step they took (Y/n)’s bad feeling only got worse. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but something was off. When they got into the car, she heard the doors lock and panic began to spread. She tried to calm herself down. The team knew where they were, and they would follow them to the hotel where they could finally arrest this guy. She felt Spencer’s fingers slip between hers. She tried to put on a smile but then she saw the man’s face and her blood froze. He knew.

“How funny...” He spoke. His smile made her skin crawl. “The FBI send me an actual pair of soulmates.” (Y/n) let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at her. Spencer wanted to make a move, but the man shot him a look. “If you move, she’s dead.”

(Y/n) could hear Morgan’s voice in her ear. “They’ve been compromised we need to get them out now!” “Your microphones and earpieces please.” The man held out his hand. They had no choice. Hesitantly they took them off and handed them to him. (Y/n) could only watch in horror as the man took them and put the microphone to his mouth. “You can collect your agent’s bodies in a few days.” As soon as he had stopped talking, he crushed the devices.

(Y/n) prayed that the team would find them in time. She could feel how she began to lose it. Spencer felt it too. He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine, they’re gonna find us.” The man laughed. “They will, but by then it will already be too late. I’m gonna have so much fun with the two of you.”

She felt Spencer’s hand wipe away some tears from her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed she had started to cry.

They arrived at the hotel with no interruptions. (Y/n) knew he had shook the surveillance. As soon as they entered the luxurious suite, (Y/n) was just seconds away from a breakdown. There was no way out anymore. It would take the team an eternity before they found them.

There were about 150.000 hotel rooms in Las Vegas. There was no way they’d be found in time.

(Y/n) fell to her knees. “This is all my fault, I’m so sorry Spencer.” He kneeled next to her, putting an arm around her. “This is not your fault, why would you say that?” “Because I was so distracted. I haven’t been able to focus, I should’ve said something, and we should have sent someone who could do their job properly.” “Look at me.” Spencer cupped her face with his hands. “This is not your fault, do you understand?” She let out a sob. “We’re gonna die...” “We’re gonna be fine, I’m right here, ok? I’m right here with you.”

The man had sat on one of the armchairs, two security guards by his side. “I can assure you that the other agents wouldn’t have been chosen. I know the difference between real and fake soulmates.” Spencer looked up. “How?” He saw the man’s face turn into a grimace.

“Because I can recognize an abomination of nature when I see one.”

(Y/n) let out another sob. Spencer turned his attention back to her. “(Y/n), breath, look at me.” He saw the terror in her eyes. “Look at me, we will get out of here.” She nodded but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. He had never seen her this scared. They had been through some bad stuff in the past but never had he seen her lose her cool. Something was very, very wrong.

Chapter 4

Everyone on the team was on edge. Morgan’s forehead was covered in sweat. Gideon was standing right behind him, Elle and Garcia sitting just a few feet away.

“How funny...” They heard the unsub’s voice. Something was not right. “The FBI sent me an actual pair of soulmates.”

They exchanged concerned looks. “What is he talking about?” Morgan turned around to look at the others. Garcia shrugged. “She never said anything to me. Do you think that’s what they were talking about earlier when the mics were off?” Gideon’s brows were furrowed. “Could be. Regardless we need to help them.” “They’ve been compromised we need to get them out now!” Morgan addressed the swat team.

Before they could do anything else, they heard the unsubs voice again. “You can collect your agent’s bodies in a few days.”

The horror in Garcia’s eyes grew before the signal died. “We need to do something now!”

A few hours had passed. The unsub, whose name turned out to be Rory Marshall, had left them alone in the suite. There was no phone, and the door was locked. One look out of the window told them they were at least on the 30th floor. There was no escape. Even if they managed to figure out what hotel they were in, they had no way of communicating with the team.

Spencer had gotten (Y/n) through another panic attack. Now she was sitting on the floor with her back leaning against an armchair. Spencer sat right next to her while holding her hand. After a while he moved his position to sit in front of her. He took her other hand too. “(Y/n) look at me.”

She raised her head. The color had drained out of her face. Her eyes were wide open and red. “I know this is very stressful.” Spencer continued. “But we will get through this. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that; none of this is you’re fault. If anyone is at fault, it’s that unsub who is killing people.” “Spencer? What is going to happen to us?”

They both had seen the victims. They both knew what he had done to them. Spencer didn’t need to answer. There was no need to remind (Y/n) of the cruelty that had taken place in the other suites.

Spencer cupped her face in his hands. “Do you remember the Luxor Hotel? The one that looks like a pyramid with the light beam coming out of it?”

“Yes I remember.” “Did you know that the light attracts so many insects that it has established a new ecosystem with moths, bats and owls.” (Y/n) started at him for a second before she realized what he was doing. A small smile made it’s way on her face. Spencer caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “And did you know that bats can live more than 30 years?” Her eyes became glassy as she scooted closer to him. “And did you know that they can fly at up to 60 mph, in fact the Mexican free-tailed bat can reach up to 100 mph, making it the fastest mammal on earth.”

(Y/n) was so close to him, their noses almost touched. Spencer’s heart began to beat faster. His hands were still on her face. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss the pain away. His eyes flickered to her lips and then back to her eyes. “Thank you, Spencer.” She whispered.

Before she could close the distance between them, the door opened with a bang. The sound made them jump and separate.

Marshall walked in with a grin on his face. “Look at you lovebirds, I hope I’m not intruding.” (Y/n)’s eyes fell on the suitcase in his hand. Two other men followed Marshall into the room. Both were armed. Marshall gave one of them a signal. The man left and came back with two chairs and rope. (Y/n) felt her stomach cramp and the thought what was going to follow. Her and Spencer didn’t move. The other two men left, leaving them alone with Marshall.

“I really didn’t want to interrupt.” he spoke. (Y/n) shot Spencer a quick glance. None of them spoke. She could see Marshall’s facial expression change slowly but surely. The self-assured, mocking look was being replaced by impatience, anger and aggression. “Go on.” He continues while pulling out his gun. “Go on, Dr. Reid, do what you were about to do!”

Spencer looked at (Y/n) but he still didn’t move. He could see the tears gather in her eyes. “I said do it!” Marshall shouted. He was losing it. There was nothing left of his cocky grin. Instead, his face was distorted into a grimace. “Do it or I’ll shoot her right now.”

Spencer straightened his back. “You won’t. You need her, you need us both for your revenge fantasy.” “Do you want to test me?” There was something absolutely insane in Marshall’s eyes. The clicking of the safety being disabled rang through the room. “I said do it.” He was calm again but there was something in his voice that made (Y/n)’s stomach turn.

“It’s ok.” She whispered to Spencer. He didn’t look half as calm as he looked an hour ago. He cupped her cheeks again. “You’re going to be fine; I promise.” He pulled her in until his lips were on hers. They tasted salty from her tears, but they were soft. For a moment he forgot where they were. He had wanted to kiss her for so long. She melted into him, grabbing his dress shirt to pull him even closer. The urgency in her movement almost drove him insane.

“Get in the chairs.” Marshall’s voice interrupted their moment. Spencer pulled away, locking eyes with (Y/n). Her cheeks were flushed and there was a glint in her eyes.

The ropes rubbed against her wrists and ankles. They were too tight to move. Marshall paced in front of them. He had opened the suitcase on a small coffee table. (Y/n) didn’t need to be an expert to know it was full of torture instruments. Every fiber in her body wanted to run when he pulled out a big hunting knife and walked towards her.

“Don’t touch her!” Spencer struggled against his constraints. “Leave her alone!” Marshall let out a laugh. “You know it doesn’t matter which one I chose you’ll both feel it.” He pretended to ponder for a moment before he continued talking. “I still think I’ll start with her. How does it feel not to be able to do anything to help her?” He shot Spencer a look. That shit-eating grin had returned to his face.

He turned to (Y/n). “Where do we start?” He lazily dragged the blade across her collarbone before making a cut. (Y/n) hissed. She felt something warm drip down her chest. Involuntarily she remembered that the killer would spare her face like he had with all his other victims. Her best guess was that he liked to look at them when he had his fun with them after they were dead.

Marshall made another cut, right under the first one. (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut. Her jaw tensed as she tried not to make a sound. She heard Spencer inhale sharply. She remembered, Rory Marshall wasn’t hurting just her, he was hurting Spencer too. She would have given anything to protect him. If he would hurt only her, she could endure it knowing he spared Spencer, but this wasn’t the case.

The only thing she could protect him from right now was the first hand experience of being tortured and hopefully the mental scars that would remain. She knew she could handle it, for Spencer. He didn’t deserve this, any of it. She just should’ve told Hotch about the soul mate thing and they could have prepared differently. But now it was too late for that and minute to minute the pain made it harder to think.

There was a loud ringing in her ears and her mind was in a fog. After a while she couldn’t hold back the cries. She didn’t want to give Marshall the satisfaction, but it was too much. As if that wasn’t enough, she could hear Spencer too. She didn’t know how much time had passed when Marshall finally backed away from her. Her whole body was sore, and her cloths were damp from her own blood. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she kept staring back at Marshall. It took her a moment to realize, why he had stepped away from her. His phone was ringing. He took a look at the display before letting out a groan and answering.

“What!? I’m busy.” He snapped. Silence followed. “Alright I’ll be there, give me half an hour.” Then he hung up. “Sorry, kids, I’ve got places to be but don’t worry, I’ll be back.” Before leaving the room and locking the door, he undid Spencer’s ropes.

As soon as they were alone Spencer jumped from his chair rushed over to (Y/n). He still felt the echoes of her pain, but it wasn’t half as bad as the pain she was going through. While his body was intact, hers was cut and bruised. He tried to untie her, but his fingers were trembling too badly.

“Are you ok?” Spencer looked up in surprise as he heard her talk. A nervous laugh left his throat. “You’re asking me if I’m alright?” She nodded. “He hurt you too, didn’t he?” “It’s ok, it’s fading.” That wasn’t entirely true. He still felt the sting of the cuts. He took a deep breath and started to undo the ropes. Finally, the knots loosened.

“Can you stand?” He asked. (Y/n) shook her head. “Ok, I’m going to help you get to the bathroom, we need to clean you’re cuts.” He managed to get his arm under her to give her some support. After ten painful minutes they reached the bathtub. Spencer unzipped her dress. “Is this ok?” (Y/n) just nodded absentmindedly. He left her underwear on and sat her into the tub. He found a towel, held it under warm water and proceeded to clean her up. She watched him with half lidded eyes as he carefully dabbed the cloth over her wounds.

“This is not how I imagined you seeing me naked for the first time.” The ghost of a smile appeared on her face. Spencer paused for a moment to look at her. “You imagined that?” A tint of pink appeared on her pale face.

“I know you find it hard to believe, that girls think about you that way, but they do. I do.” Spencer stared at her. He hadn’t realized she really liked him like that.

“How did you imagine it?” He asked as he continued to clean her. As much as he wanted to know, he also needed to get her mind off what was happening right now. She shot him another look. “Wouldn’t you like to know, lover-boy?”

He let out a laugh. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

After a moment of silence, she spoke up. She didn’t look at him. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the marble floor of the bathroom. “I don’t know. Maybe we both would have been working late and there was no one else except us. And I would walk over to your desk to ask you something and of course you’d know the answer. You always know the answer to anything. I’d listen to you talk...I love when you talk...” She looked so tired. “And I wouldn’t be able to keep it to myself anymore and I would tell you how I felt about you...and you’d kiss me and I would kiss you back...” She hissed as he cleaned on especially deep cut.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” His worried eyes found hers. “Yeah, I’m fine.” “I’m sorry.” He repeated and placed a kiss on her forehead. When he pulled back, she looked at him with wide eyes. “Can you do it again?” “What?” “Can you kiss me, like you did before?”

Spencer searched her face for a sign of what was going on in her head. Her telling him about what she imagined him doing to her and asking him to kiss her did things to him. Things, he

hadn’t experienced before. He didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerable state, but he felt like she needed him.

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead again but before he could, she grabbed his face and pulled him down. “I meant like this.” She whispered before closing the distance between them and capturing his lips. The smell of his cologne still lingered, she needed it like oxygen. She needed him. She placed several more desperate kisses on his lips before pulling back to look at him. A second later Spencer’s hands were on her cheek and on her neck to pull her back again into another kiss. He had imagined this a hundred times but the reality of her soft and lips against his finally made him understand what Edgar Allan Poe had meant by “We loved with a love that was more than love”.

He felt her shiver. He pulled back. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He helped her out of the tub. After he had dried her and given her one of the bathrobes, he helped her into bed.

(Y/n) was tired...so tired. Her head was spinning but she knew she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep. “Can you stay with me?” She asked. “Of course.” He sat down on the bed. Her eyes wandered over his figure. He had taken of the tuxedo, so he was left with the white dress shirt. He had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, just the way she liked it. The shirt was stained with her blood and it took her back to this reality.

“You know he does this on purpose.” Spencer’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” “He gives us so much time alone, so we get closer and it’s even more painful when does those things to us.” “I don’t care, I won’t leave you alone. Also, we must find a way out of here.” “There is no way out. We have to pray the team finds us before it’s too late.” “There has to be a way out. And we’ll find it. Try to get some rest now.” “I can’t sleep.” “You haven’t even tried yet.” “But I know I can’t.” “But you have to. Pain tolerance is reduced by sleep deprivation.”

(Y/n) shot him a look. “Thanks for the heads up.” Spencer slipped under the blanket and laid an arm around her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. She felt the vibrations through his chest as he began to talk again. “Randy Gradner holds the record for the longest period without sleep. It was 11 days and 25 minutes. He set the record in 1964 when he was only 17. They monitored his health. He had problems concentrating and struggled with paranoia and hallucinations. On the last day he was asked to subtract 7 repeatedly starting with 100. He stopped at 65, when asked why, he said he’d forgotten what he was doing...”

(Y/n) didn’t hear the rest, Spencer’s voice had lulled her to sleep. He felt her shallow but regular breath on his neck. He closed his eyes. He would get her out of here.

Chapter 5

(Y/n) woke up exhausted. They didn’t sleep much. When they woke up it was still dark outside. It took her a second to realize what had woken her up. The door had been opened very loudly and her and Spencer were dragged into the living room area. They were tied to the chairs again. The ropes burned against her already bruised wrists and ankles. To their surprise the two men who had tied them up left. They were alone again.

(Y/n) turned to Spencer. “Please tell me you have a plan. We need to get out fast. If Marshall stays on track, we have less than 48 hours.” Spencer’s brows were furrowed. She could practically hear his mind work. “We need to check the windows if they open. Maybe we can get some sort of sign outside.”

“What if it doesn’t work, what’s our plan B?” “Currently we don’t have a plan B...”

They sat there almost 4 hours before Marshall entered the room. He looked exhausted. (Y/n) felt a twinge of hope. The FBI knew his identity, there was no way he could hide for much longer. “You know, they’ll catch you. You won’t get away with this.” She said.

Marshall turned around at her with a surprised look on his face. “I thought I had messed you up pretty good last night. And you’re still talking back.” He gave her a smile that made her skin crawl. “Maybe this time I’ll try your little boyfriend.” (Y/n) saw the blood drain from Spencer’s face but his expression didn’t change. She knew he was stronger than most people would give him credit for. She wasn’t most people but the thought of him getting tortured made her sick. It wasn’t about the fact that she would feel it too, seeing Spencer in pain was almost worse.

“So, what’s your deal?” She asked. Anything to get him talking, to figure out why he was killing these people. Marshall let out a laugh. “So brave today, aren’t we?” “Why do you keep killing soulmates? Feeling lonely? Didn’t mommy give you enough love when you were a kid?” She saw his smile fade. “Or what, maybe you were in love and she turned you down because she had found her soulmate?” Bull’s eye. His face turned into a grimace again.

“Shut your mouth!” He raised his hand to slap her, but he caught himself just in time. For a second he seemed to try to get his rage under control. Then he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “You’re nothing but a filthy whore and by the time you get out of here there will be almost nothing left of you to identify the body.”

(Y/n) held her breath. She had gained precious information. His main target were the women. He was projecting his abandonment on them. The men were just there because it made the whole ordeal more painful. He had raped the women after their death to regain power, power over the soulmate bond.

“You’ll always be alone, killing and raping these women will never compare to a true connection and you know it.” (Y/n) said. Spencer stared at her. She wasn’t interrogating anymore; she was making him angry. And then it clicked. “(Y/n) stop.” He shot her a pleading look. But she didn’t pay him any mind but instead continued.

“So, how did she break it to you? Did she at least tell you in person?” Marshall took on the color of a plum. “Oh.” A cold laugh escaped her lips. “She didn’t. You weren’t even worth telling face to face.”

“SHUT UP!” Marshall grabbed a glass from the coffee table and threw it at (Y/n). She managed to dodge it and it shattered on the wall behind her.

Spencer began to panic. “(Y/n) stop, I know what you’re doing, stop it you’re going to get hurt!” While he was tied up, there was no way he could help her.

“Is that all you got!?” (Y/n) threw the word in Marshall’s face. His hands were trebling. “You’re ruining everything!” “Oh, am I? Am I ruining your little revenge fantasy? You know that it doesn’t matter how many people you kill; it will never be the same as the time you killed her. She couldn’t fight back, could she?”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Marshall took the hunting knife in his hand making his way to (Y/n). To her surprise he didn’t cut her, but the ropes. He grabbed her arm and threw her on the ground. “I’m gonna show you fight!”

(Y/n) struggled to get on her feet. She was still weak, but the adrenaline kicked in as soon as he swung the knife in her direction. She turned her head frantically to look for something she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on an expensive vase. She grabbed it and threw it at him. While dodging it he lost the knife.

Everything moved in slow-motion as both made a run for it.

And then she had it, she had the knife. Her fingers curled around the handle. She raised her arm but before she could slam the blade into her attacker, she heard a gunshot.

The first thing she felt was her arm going limp. A few seconds later realization hit her and then a wave of pain washed over her. For a moment she thought she had to throw up. Her vision went blurry and the last thing she felt was a burning hot sensation and wetness on her arm. She heard Spencer yell her name before she lost consciousness.

When (Y/n) woke up again she was sitting in the chair, arms and legs tied up. The pain from her arm radiated through her entire body. She had trouble focusing. The first thing to catch her eye was Spencer whose gaze was fixed on her.

“Oh, thank god you’re awake!” She had never heard him sound this scared. “(Y/n) look at me.” Her head was heavy...her eyes were heavy. “(Y/n) look at me.” She managed to raise

her head, so she was making eye contact. “Listen, you have lost a lot of blood and you’re still bleeding. You need to somehow put pressure on the wound. It’s in your right arm near the shoulder. Try to lean against the chair with that part of your arm. It won’t save you, but it’ll hopefully keep you from bleeding out till I can help you.”

She struggled to hold her eyes open, let alone understand what Spencer was saying to her. Another person appeared in her field of vision. “Just let me help her!” This was Spencer’s voice. “Why should I? I’ll let the bitch bleed out, it’s what she deserves and you’re gonna watch her die.” Was this the unsub’s voice?

“But this is not how you operate normally. This is not how you get your satisfaction, do you want all of this to have been for nothing? You really let one of your men take the kill-shot? She won’t die by your hand but by that guy’s.”

There was silence. After what felt like an eternity, she felt the ropes loosen around her hands and legs. She felt two familiar arms around her. Everything went dark again.

“(Y/n) can you hear me?” This was Spencer’s voice again. “Spencer...why did you put me in the tub again?” She murmured. “What are you talking about? Open your eyes, look at me.” The panic in his voice hadn’t faded. “I’m wet, why did you put me under the shower?” “I didn’t please just open your eyes.”

(Y/n) felt like her eyes were glued shut. After a struggle she finally managed to open them a bit. She was greeted with Spencer’s face hovering over her. Her eyes wandered over his figure and widened as she saw him covered in blood. She wanted to sit up but a sharp pain in her arm held her down. She hissed.

“Spencer what happened, are you hurt, why is there so much blood? Let me help you...” “Calm down, it’s not mine.” He hesitated for a second. “It’s yours. You were shot and almost bled out.” “What? What happened?” You had the knife but before you could do anything, one of the bodyguards came in and shot you, he must’ve heard the commotion.” “Are you ok?” “Will you stop asking me that? You got shot!” “Exactly! You must be in pain too.” “I’m managing, it’s not so bad.” “You’re lying.” “Please don’t worry about me, ok?” “But I do, I worry about you all the time, I know you can handle yourself, but I care about you and I don’t want you to be in pain because of me.” “It’s ok, really.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Spencer bent down to place a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s focus on how we get out of here.”

“Have you checked the windows?” “They won’t open, it doesn’t surprise me though. We’re on the 30th floor, of course they’re shut.”

(Y/n) let her head fall back onto the pillow. “We’re screwed.” Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What are you thinking?” She asked. “The glass...”

“I don’t follow. The shards aren’t big enough to use as a weapon when he comes back.” “No, that’s not what I mean.”

Without saying another word, he got up and walked into the bathroom. (Y/n) heard glass shattering. “Spencer are you alright?” He came back into the room with a piece from the mirror.

“We can use this to send out an S.O.S. signal.” “How?” “Just watch.”

Spencer walked over to one of the windows. The sun shone into the room. He positioned the mirror in a certain position so that it reflected the sunlight and threw a patch of light onto the ceiling. He moved it so the light would go out of the window. He moved the shard in specific intervals.

“You’re a genius.” (Y/n) almost wanted to laugh. With a little bit of luck, someone would see the light signal. “I know.” He gave her a small smile.

Spencer repeated the pattern until the sun went down. “Now we pray someone saw that.” “Let’s hope it won’t be too late.”

He walked back to the bed. “You have to promise me something.” “What is it?”

He waited for a moment before answering. She looked awful. The bathrobe was soaked in blood, so was her hair. The parts of her skin that showed were covered in cuts and bruises. Her eyes were framed by dark circles. “Promise me you won’t make him angry again. I know you’re trying to protect me, but I wouldn’t know what to do if you sacrificed yourself so that I can get out of here.”

“I can’t promise you that.” “(Y/n), I’m serious.” She could see tears gather in his eyes. “Please...” The urgency in his voice made her heart ache.

With her good arm she reached out to put her hand on his cheek. “Alright, I promise.” Spencer closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She managed to sit up and then position herself on his lap so that she was facing him, legs hooked around him. When he looked up at her there was nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” (Y/n) whispered before leaning down to press a kiss on his lips. Spencer wrapped his arms around her waist, careful not to touch her injured arm that was now bandaged and resting in a makeshift sling. Their chests were pressed together, and she could feel his heartbeat. Her breath became heavier as her fingers made their way into his hair and she tried to pull him even closer. (Y/n)’s cheeks began to heat up. She pulled away to whisper in his ear. “I need you so bad...” She felt him shiver underneath her. She continued to kiss his neck, relishing in the small sighs that escaped his throat.

She was just about to undo the buttons to his dress shirt when he grabbed her hand. “Wait...” “What?” “You can’t do this.”

“What? Why not? I thought you...” She looked around for a few seconds, anything not to meet his gaze and stood up as fast as she could. “I – I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed...I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable...I’m sorry.” Embarrassment washed over her. “I don’t know what came over me, I should’ve asked – I...”

Spencer stood up too walking towards her. She moved back and let out an insecure laugh. “I’m really sorry.” “No don’t be, it’s not that I don’t want to it’s just...” She still couldn’t look at him. “I don’t want to do this when there is a possibility that you just want this because of the circumstances. You might just be feeling about me this way because we’re in a life-or-death situation and I’m taking care of you. I don’t want this to happen just because you project these feelings onto me and regret it once we get out of here.”

(Y/n) stared at him but couldn’t say a word. Instead, Spencer continued. “It’s just, this has happened to me before, kind of, and I don’t want to...” “You don’t want to go through that again, I get it.” She slowly walked towards him. “Then we wait. But I want you to know that I’ve wanted this before we got caught up in this mess and the only things I regret are the ones I didn’t say to you sooner and that I didn’t have the courage sooner. I know this is important to you. I would wait a hundred years if that’s the time you needed. Just promise me you won’t forget me in the end.” She gave him a small smile. He smiled back and pulled her into a hug, still careful as to not to hurt her.

“I could never forget you.” “Can I still kiss you?” Spencer looked into her eyes and he knew he would never be able to say no to that. “Yes, please.” His voice barely a whisper, he cupped her cheeks and pulled her in. This kiss wasn’t desperate, it was sweet and full of unspoken promises and confessions.

Chapter 6

The BAU team had gathered around a table at the precinct. They had defeated looks on their faces. Hotch turned to look again at the wall where they had gathered their information. Morgan and Elle sat at the table, going through the casefiles again. Morgan closed the files and let the folder slap on the table.

“Hotch, please tell me we have a plan?” Hotch didn’t answer immediately. Before he could, JJ walked in. “I have news. There has been an S.O.S. signal from a hotel window at the Palazzo. It could be nothing, but it could be them, we need a SWAT team.”

Morgan jumped up. “I’ll call Garcia to see if she can find them on security footage in the lobby.” “Right, Elle and I will talk to the SWAT team, we may have to prepare for a possible hostage situation.” Hotch said and walked out, Elle right behind him.

(Y/n) and Spencer sat back-to-back with the couch, facing the window. Marshall had come back earlier and this time he hadn’t let (Y/n) distract him from Spencer. He didn’t look good. (Y/n) had taken care of his cuts, just like he had done for her.

“Tonight, is the night...” (Y/n) said while looking out the window. “It’s gonna be alright.” Spencer turned his head to her for a moment. She didn’t seem panicked anymore. She had been when Marshall had tortured Spencer, but after she had taken care of him it was like she had resigned herself to the fact that there was no way out.

“Spencer?” “Yeah?” “I need to tell you something.” “No, you don’t.” “I – I don’t?” She raised an eyebrow.

(Y/n) positioned herself to face Spencer. “Why?” Spencer turned around too. “I know the speech. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want you to talk like we’re going to die tonight.” “But we could die, and I don’t want to die without having told you how I feel.” “Then I guess you’ll have to survive tonight if you want to tell me how you feel.”

They looked at each other in silence for a while. “I lo –” “No.” Before she could end her sentence, Spencer dipped down to shut her up with a kiss. “You tell me when we get out of here.” “You’re a horrible person.” A smile tugged at her lips.

It was almost idyllic, sitting in a room somewhere over Las Vegas, sun shining through the window. (Y/n) rested her head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Can I tell you something else?” “Like the time you told me how you imagined me seeing you naked for the first time?” (Y/n) shot him a look. She felt her cheeks heat up. “I think we can both agree that was a moment of weakness.” Spencer let out a laugh. “I think I like your moments of weakness.” She gave him another look but then looked out the window again.

“You know, I still remember the first time I saw you.” She gave him a small smile. “I had just started working for the BAU. They called us in on a Saturday night, it was about the Keystone Killer.” Spencer smiled. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You were so quick to find clues in that word puzzle and...I don’t know. I thought it was cool. Also, you telling Ryan on what page of his book that Francis Bacon quote was on, was kind of funny. And you looked cute with your vest and you had your sleeves rolled up, just like now.”

“You thought I looked cute?” Spencer looked at the carpet, still smiling. (Y/n) nodded. “I did. And every time I saw you after that, I liked you a little more.” She paused for a moment. “The day I realized that I lo – I mean...you know, was on that case with Lila Archers stalker. I knew that I cared for you, but then I got jealous, I didn’t expect that. I had no right, still I knew then.”

He looked at her incredulously. “You were jealous?” She nodded and laughed. “It’s stupid, I know.” “I don’t think it’s stupid, I think it’s cute. Did you know shrimp can feel jealousy too?” “Are you comparing me to shrimp?” “Well apparently you do share some similarities.”

(Y/n) rested her head back on Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m so tired.” He gently stroke her hair. “Me too.” “Do you really think we’ll get out of here?” “I do.” He heard a quiet sniff escape her. When he looked down at her, he saw her cry. Spencer wiped away a tear with his thumb.

“Spencer, I’m scared.” “I know, me too.” He cupped her face. “But I need you to be strong.” “I don’t want to die.” She had trouble holding back sobs. “I just found you, I don’t want to go yet.” They scooted closer. Spencer pulled her face to his, so his forehead resting on hers. “I know, baby, it’s going to be ok.” “I can’t do it.” “Yes you can! You’re strong, I know that.” Spencer brushed his thumb over her lips. “Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” (Y/n) shook her head.

Spencer brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “When I saw you for the first time, I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t really know what to say. You were so confident, despite being new and I whished I could be as confident as you. So, I tried to impress you, I guess I know now that it worked.” He let out a small laugh. “I didn’t think someone like you would ever go for someone like me. I guess I tried to get you out of my head with Lila. Obviously, it didn’t

work. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve always admired your bravery, you never give up and you can’t give up now.”

“I’ve got them.” Gracias voice rang through the speakers of a laptop surrounded by the other team members. “They’re on the security footage from two days ago in the lobby of the Palazzo. Rory Marshall is with them. They take the elevator, from there I lost them.” “It’s alright, thank you Garcia.” Hotch said. “We know the signal came from the 32nd floor. “That’s still a lot of hotel rooms.” Morgan chewed on a pen.

“Garcia, check how many suites are on that floor.” Hotch turned to the laptop again.

After a few seconds of keyboard clicking, Garcia spoke up again. “There’s five suites.” “Thank you.” Hotch turned to the others. “Get ready, we have to go in now, they don’t have much time left.”

(Y/n) had fallen asleep on Spencer’s shoulder. She woke up from a loud noise. Marshall entered the room, gun in his hand. “Stand up! Both of you. Get in the chairs.”

Something was wrong. Marshall didn’t wear his normal cocky grin. His was erratic, sweat covered his forehead. They didn’t move. “I said now!” Marshall shouted, pointing the gun at Spencer. They hurried to the chairs. Not two minutes later, they were tied up again.

“Your friends are here.” Marshall’s face had returned to that grimace he wore when he was getting angry.

(Y/n) felt hope rise in her chest. But as soon as the feeling came, it left her. Marshall had no reason to keep them alive anymore. He had no time to live out his fantasy. On the other hand, her and Spencer were his ticket out of here. Correction, her or Spencer could be his ticket out of here.

Marshall’s phone rang. He struggled to pick it up with one hand, his other one still clammed around the gun, uninterruptedly pointing it at Spencer. “Hello?” (Y/n) didn’t know if it was the tiredness or the desperation, but she could swear the voice on the end was Gideon’s.

“They’re right here...yeah...” Marshall shot them a look. “Yeah...” He repeated and handed the phone to Spencer, or rather held it to his ear. (Y/n) could see Spencer visibly relaxed as he heard Gideon’s voice. “Yeah we’re fine.” He said and shot (Y/n) a look. “(Y/n) was shot but we’ve got it under control.”

“Ok, that’s enough.” Marshall took the phone back. “I want a helicopter. And cash. By 9 p.m. sharp.” He hung up.

(Y/n) shifted in her seat. There was no way, Hotch would give him a helicopter. Regardless, there was one more thing she wanted to know. “How could you tell?” She turned her head to Marshall. “Tell what?” He snapped back. She had to be careful, he was on edge, everything looked like a possible threat right now.

“How could you tell we were actual soulmates? I only found out the day before myself.” Marshall shrugged. “I don’t know, I just knew when I saw you.”

“Actually, I could have an explanation.” Spencer chimed in. “There are studies that show that predators can pick out people that have previously been victims. They subconsciously learn to read body language and micro expressions to identify them. Because of this you’re chance of getting assaulted are higher, if you’ve been assaulted before.”

“Ok, enough of this psychoanalysis-bullshit. Shut up, I need to think.” Marshall started pacing around the room again.

It didn’t take long before the phone rang again. (Y/n) could hear Gideon’s voice again. He tried to negotiate the release of one of them. “One of my agents has been shot, let her go and we’ll prepare your demands.” Marshall hesitated. “I’ll send one of them to the roof, but I’ll decide which one.” Without waiting for the answer, he hung up.

Spencer immediately propped himself up on the chair. “Let her go, she needs medical attention.” The grin had returned. “No, I think I’ll keep her. You can go.” Spencer began to pale. “Please, let her go, you can keep me.”

“Shut up, I’m calling the shots and I say she stays!” He waved the gun around.

(Y/n) turned to look at Spencer. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine, please just go.” He could tell she was scared again and this time there was nothing he could do to help her. Every fiber in his body screamed to stay by her side and not to leave her alone with this psycho.

Marshall undid Spencer’s ropes and pointed the gun to his head. “Go.” Spencer hesitated. He shot (Y/n) one last look. She mouthed the word ‘go’. The second the hotel door closed behind him Spencer started to sprint to the elevator. He pushed the button to the last floor a few too many times, as if that would get him up there faster.

When he finally arrived on the roof, where they had negotiated the exchange, he was greeted by the rest of the BAU. JJ pulled him into a hug before he was put in a bulletproof vest. “What happened?” Hotch and Gideon were by his side in seconds. “What does the situation look like down there?”

Spencer closed the last Velcro straps on his vest. “As far as I could tell, Marshall is alone. I’m guessing some of his men left, when they got wind that the FBI was raiding the place. (Y/n)’s been hurt pretty badly. One of Marshall’s men shot her in the arm. We could stop the bleeding but I’m afraid it’ll get infected. She’s tied up and Marshall is losing it. We need to go in now.”

“I understand.” Hotch nodded. “But we need to be careful. If we move too fast, he could panic and kill her.” He turned to Spencer. “I understand you’re impatient, but we need to keep a cool head.” Spencer nodded. As soon as Hotch stepped away to talk to Gideon, Derek came up to Spencer, reassuringly putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is it true?” He asked. “What do you mean?” Spencer’s head was every except on the roof. “Is she really your soulmate?” Spencer nodded. “She told me the night before, but we didn’t get a chance to talk about it.” “We’ll get her out of there, don’t worry, man.” Spencer gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. “Wait, if she’s been shot, didn’t you feel that too? You need to get checked up by a medic.” “I’m not leaving until she’s out of there.” Derek had rarely seen this level of determination on Spencer’s face. He nodded. “I understand.”

(Y/n) felt the panic come back. Now that Spencer was gone, she realized just how much of her mental stability had depended on him. He was only gone for two hours now and he already seemed so far away. She would have given anything to be in his arms again now.

Marshall was still pacing through the room. She could tell he was weighing his chances of coming out of this alive. (Y/n) just hoped he wouldn’t come to the conclusion that there was no way out and decide that he would take her with him as his final act of revenge. It didn’t look good. He was talking to himself, but she couldn’t understand the words. She took a deep breath. Spencer would try to talk his way out of this, but because she had antagonized herself the day before, there was a slim chance he would listen to her. She had to try.

“Rory?” He snapped his head around, bewildered by the fact she had used his first name. She could tell, he wasn’t used to that. As a person with this much power and money, she could imagine that he had few people who were so close to him that they would address him by his first name. “Rory, I know what you’re thinking about –” “You don’t know shit! Why would you know what I’m thinking about?” “You’re feeling trapped and you try to decide what to do.” “Shut up!”

(Y/n) waited for a minute. “What was her name?” “What!?” “What was the woman’s name? The one that broke your heart.” Marshall hesitated before answering. “Heather.” “What did you like about her?” “She was smart, and beautiful. I couldn’t believe it when she said yes to going to dinner with

me.” (Y/n) could tell by the look on his face that he was reminiscing that time in his life. There was this almost soft look in his eyes. “If you walk out of here alive there is a chance you might find someone new someday.” She said cautiously, never letting Marshall out of her sight. Marshall’s face hardened.

“What the fuck do you know?” She had made a mistake. “There will never be anyone else for me and now she’s dead because of me!” He started to raise his voice and his movements became more and more erratic. “Why did she have to meet that guy? It’s her fault I had to kill her, if she’d just stayed with me, we could have been happy!” The crazy look had returned to his face. “You’re all like this! You go around, thinking you can play with people until some fucking asshole comes along who’s supposed to be your soulmate and you think that gives you the right to drop everyone!” In three big strides he was right in front of her, pressing the barrel of the gun directly to her forehead. “I should just kill you too, one less bitch to walk this earth, I bet your little boyfriend will be heartbroken.” She saw the ecstasy in his eyes. “Maybe then he’ll know what it feels like.”

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to conjure up images of Spencer. If she died here and now, she wanted him to be the last thing she thought about. She tried to remember the feeling of his lips on hers, the smell of his cologne, the softness of his hair and the sound of his voice hen he told her everything would be alright.

“I love you.” She whispered so quite that Marshall couldn’t hear it. A gunshot rang through the suite.

Chapter 7

When he heard the gunshot, Spencer froze. The SWAT team had stormed the suite, but he was still behind them in the hallway. The moment seemed to drag on forever. The sound burned itself into his mind. He wanted to move but the thought of what was waiting for him in that suite wouldn’t let him. In that moment he hated himself for not letting (Y/n) tell him those three words.

It wasn’t until Derek appeared by his side that he woke up from his trance. Spencer’s feet moved by themselves. He didn’t want to go into that room. As soon as he did, whatever had happened would irrevocably become reality. He hated himself for being such a coward.

“Spencer?” The floor was covered in blood, brain splattered across the carpet, that undoubtedly cost more than his entire apartment. She looked up at him with big eyes. He could see the body of Rory Marshall, who had spent his last seconds in shock as the SWAT team had kicked down the door and taken him out, before he could pull the trigger. His head was empty as he rushed to her, taking her into his arms, holding on to her like his life depended on it. He felt her sob into his shoulder. It was so good to hear her voice. “I love you, I love you, I love you...” She whispered. He pulled back just a bit to look at her. “I love you too, I love you so much and I’m so sorry...I could’ve lost you without telling you.”

She let out a weak laugh. He buried his face in her neck. “I’ll never leave you ever again, I promise.” “I’ll never leave you too, promise.”

The hospital room was dimly lit. Spencer sat at (Y/n)’s bedside. He had laid his head in her lap and fallen asleep with her fingers tangled in his messy hair. She watched his chest rise and fall peacefully. After a while she fell asleep too.

A few days later (Y/n) was released and Spencer insisted to take her home. As they stepped into her apartment, Spencer remained at the door, unsure of what to do. (Y/n) turned around. “Don’t you want to come in?” “Do you want me to come in? I thought maybe you wanted some time to yourself...”

(Y/n) dumped her bag on the couch and walked back to him. He was a bit taller than her, so she had to stand on her tip toes to reach him. She pressed a small kiss to his lips. “I want you.” She said quiet but determined. Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Maybe you should rest, you’re just tired.”

She grabbed his face. “Spencer, listen to me. I’ve had a whole week to rest. You don’t need to worry I’m not in the right state of mind to make a decision. I haven’t changed my mind about you.” She was so close, their lips almost touched. “If you want me to stop, I will...”

Spencer looked at her, feeling like he was in a dream. She kissed him and it was like his head was empty again. That didn’t happen very often to Spencer. There was always something, some thought, some doubt, eating away at him but when she took his bottom lip between her teeth, everything was gone. She took his hand leading him to the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of her bed, while she stood in front of him, taking her shirt of.

“Let me show you, how much I care about you.” She said, before straddling him. Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He had dreamed about this moment for so long, he was mesmerized by her. The signs of torture were still visible. He traced a few healed cuts with his thumb. He felt her shiver under his light touch. He looked up at her, meeting her half- lidded eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Are you nervous?” Spencer nodded. His fingertips kept wandering over her waist, caressing her soft skin. “You tend to have that effect on me.” (Y/n)’s smile grew. “I make you nervous?” Spencer nodded again. She raised her hand to run it through his hair. The slow strokes seemed to calm him down. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He felt her hands travel down his face, his neck, to the collar of his shirt. “Can I take it off?” Spencer opened his eyes again. “Yes please.” He watched her fingers unbutton his shirt. She moved painfully slow. Undoubtedly as to not overwhelm him, but something told him it was more then that. She was teasing him, and it was working. He felt the tension grow.

(Y/n) slid the shirt over his arms, fingers tracing over his skin. She felt him getting goosebumps and a slight shiver making its way through his body. She brought her hands back to his face, lifting it to make him look at her. “Do you know, how beautiful you are?” She whispered before stealing a small kiss. “I could look at you for all eternity and never get bored.” “Beauty in things exists in the mind which contemplates them.” “So we’re quoting Hume now?” (Y/n) smiled. “God, I love you so much...” Spencer pulled her back into the kiss. One of his arms wrapped around her waist to pull her closer.

(Y/n) pulled away. “Aren’t you getting impatient?” She stood up to take of the rest of her clothes, but Spencer stopped her by putting his hand on her arm. He stood up, so (Y/n) had to look up again to look him in the eyes. “Let me...” His hands wandered over her waist to her back, unclasping her bra. For a moment she mused where he had learned to do that so well, but the thought was gone as fast as it came when her undergarment fell to the floor and she suddenly realized how bare she was in front of him. The urge to cover herself up never came though. Spencer looked at her like he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and truthfully, he hadn’t.

They got rid of the rest of their clothes before (Y/n) led Spencer to the bed. She waited a moment on the bedside. Spencer grabbed her arm, to pull her into the bed. She landed in his arms but before she could get comfortable, Spencer rolled over, trapping her underneath him. A grin spread on his face.

“You can’t tease me forever.” His locks fell into his face, framing it perfectly.

He dipped down, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. He didn’t want to waste another second. He had waited for so long and then he had almost lost her. His lips traveled to her jaw, down to her neck. A sigh escaped her mouth. “Spencer...” She whispered. He continued to pepper kisses down on her chest, over her stomach. She felt his lips graze the skin on her inner thigh. One kiss at a time he came closer to the place she was aching for him to touch.

(Y/n) buried her fingers in his hair, guiding him. When his tongue slid through her wet folds, she couldn’t hold back her moans anymore. Between the obscene sounds, that filled the bedroom, she repeated Spencer’s name over and over, like a mantra. He loved to hear his name fall from her desperate lips. Her breath was getting irregular, he could tell she was close. He pulled back, only to lift himself up, so he could kiss her. He knew she could taste herself on him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

After a while, (Y/n) broke the kiss to sit herself up. She crawled over the bed, guiding Spencer, until he sat on the edge and she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She ran her hands up his thighs, never breaking eye contact. She could tell, he was holding his breath.

“Relax...” She placed a few kisses on his thighs before slowly taking him into her mouth. Spencer inhaled sharply. Now he was the one with his fingers tangled in her hair, lewd sounds and profanities leaving his mouth.

(Y/n) could feel him trying to hold back but he was struggling. Satisfied with the effect she had on him, she started to work her way up his abdomen until she reached his neck, sucking on it, careful not to leave marks above where the collar of his shirt would close. She seated herself on his lap. Her hands reached around his neck for support when she slid down on him. Both took in a sharp breath. Spencer’s eyes were closed and his mouth slightly agape when he let out a soft moan. That sound alone could have driven (Y/n) over the edge. She waited a second to adjust to the feeling of being filled up by Spencer.

“You feel so good...” Spencer whispered in the crook of her neck. He sank his teeth into her soft skin, sending shivers down her spine. “You too.” She managed to say between breathy moans. Spencer had started to move slowly. His hands were tightly gripping her thighs to guide her own movements.

“Oh god...” She moaned while dropping her head on his shoulder. Her nails dug into his back. “Spencer, I won’t last very long...” “It’s ok, baby...” His strokes were getting deeper. “Say my name again...” “S-spencer I –” She felt her orgasm build up.

“Again.” “Spenc-aah”

Spencer could feel her tighten around him. Her nails left bright red scratch marks on his back. She cried out his name again and while she was wrapped so tightly around him, he felt his own release.

(Y/n) and Spencer were both panting heavily, sweat covering their foreheads. They just stared at each other for a few seconds. “You’re amazing.” A smile spread on Spencer’s face. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Her cheeks were glowing red.

“I’m not the only one.” She smiled back.

After cleaning themselves up they laid back in the bed. (Y/n)’s head was resting on Spencer’s chest. He was playing with her hair while she drew small patterns on his stomach. “Was it how you had imagined?” Spencer asked. She raised her head to look at him. “Better.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I never imagined it could feel so right to be with someone.”

“Me neither.” He paused for a moment. “I love you so much, it’s driving me crazy.” (Y/n) propped herself up to get a better look at him. There was nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. “I love you too, I never want to spend another day without you.” “You don’t have to, I promise I’ll never leave your side.”

(Y/n) put her head back on Spencer’s chest. After a while she had fallen asleep.

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” - Aristotle

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