#tragically i am in love with heather so i spent so long staring at her face i forgot abt the rest of her

[nano30cm]

im sure they all get along swimmingly

[moon-light-jukebox]

Stay with me - [Hotch x Reader]

Request prompt: Heyyyyy I was wandering if you still took requests cause I’ve been dying to have this written. I’m thinking something about reader being youngest of the bunch at BAU and after a really intense and scary case everyone is kinda shook and in the jet reader can’t stop sobbing by herself in the back and hotch goes and comforts her and when they get home he goes with her home and holds her in her sleep and then they make love at like 3-4 am. I just need details and a lot of feels. I hope you’ll do it

Summary: After a tragic loss that rocks the entire team, Reader turns to her unit chief for comfort. 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / Fem!Reader

Word Count:  5.1k

Genre: Overwhelmingly angst. then some smut and fluff. 

Rating: Mature

Content Warning: Angst, mentions of torture suffered by a victim. Normal Criminal minds stuff. Smut. Oral sex (female receiving). Unprotected sex. 

A/n: I hope this is what you had in mind, Anon. This request just jumped out at me. This is set during season 9. 

-- Stay with me --

stay is a sensitive word. we wear who stayed and who left in our skin forever.

- Nayyirah Waheed

-- September 2, 2013 --

Some cases stick with you long after you board the jet home. Some cases crawl inside your skin and hollow you out. Some cases become a part of you.

The team had been called to Broken Arrow, Oklahoma to help catch a serial killer. I had only been a member of the BAU for 4 months, so it wasn’t uncommon for cases to still rattle me. Rossi said that I’d develop a thicker skin over time.

But this case seemed to even rattle him.

Over the past 15 years, on the same day every year, a woman’s body was found in a public place. She had been violently assaulted and tortured. The local M.E. always said the torture took place over the span of at least 10 months.

I felt my stomach roll when I read over the case file. I don’t think there was a form of pain he didn’t inflict on these women.

We had his prints; we had his DNA. None of that mattered, this man was a ghost.

September 1st had been fast approaching, and the local police knew they most likely couldn’t save the woman that had already spent the last several months with him. One deputy said that killing the woman would be a mercy, because “who could ever recover from that.”

We spent a week in Oklahoma; we started at the very beginning. I poured over the lives of 15 women, praying that maybe I could help us find 16 in time, praying I could save 17 before he ever touched her.

-- August 30, 2013 –

“Morgan,” Hotch said, his eyes scanning over the document in front of him. “I want you and y/n to interview Heather Pruitt’s brother.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up. “We’ve already talked to him, Hotch. He has an alibi. Do you think he knows something else?”

The unit chief nodded. “Heather was our first victim. She was important to the unsub.”

“Probably the most important,” Rossi chimed in.

Hotch nodded. “Understanding why Heather was so special to him is how we catch him.”

Morgan clicked his tongue against his teeth, nodding in agreement. “Okay…” he trailed off. “Are you sure y/n is up for this?” He turned to me; hands raised. “No offense, it’s just that…”

“I’m young,” I finished for him. Dr. Spencer Reid was the youngest person to ever join the BAU…and I was the second. I was 25 years old. The closest person in age to me was the resident genius, Dr. Reid, who was almost 32. I had earned my spot in the team, but I was no Spencer.

Morgan nodded, not looking abashed in the slightest. “Maybe Blake would be a better choice, Hotch.”

His dark eyes ran over me, considering Morgan’s words. “I’m sending her in because she’s so young. People don’t perceive her as a threat.”

“They never saw me as one,” Spencer said softly.

JJ laughed, swatting his arm. “You’re still not a threat, Spence.”

-- August 31, 2013 –

“Mr. Pruitt,” I said brightly, extending my hand. “Thank you so much for coming to speak with us.”

The older man nodded, meeting my gaze evenly. “Anything to help you catch this son of a bitch.” He turned to the woman beside him. “Rachel, darlin’, why don’t you wait right here? I don’t want you to have to…hear about what happened to my sister.”

The woman, Rachel, was small and pale. She had dark brown hair and blue eyes. “Of course,” she said softly, pressing a kiss against David Pruitt’s mouth.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?" I asked her.

“No,” she responded meekly. “I’m fine.”

I looked right into her eyes and smiled warmly at her before I turned away to follow Morgan and Mr. Pruitt into the interview room.

-- September 1, 2013 –

The entire team was standing around the precinct waiting for the call. JJ was gripping her cup of coffee tightly. Reid was staring at a map that was taped on the evidence board. Morgan was looking down at his phone while he talked to Blake. Hotch and Rossi were standing near the Sherriff of Broken Arrow.

We hadn’t stopped him. If he held to pattern, then victim 16 was already gone, and we’d be getting a call about her body soon.

I felt numb. I felt like I had missed something.

The shrill ringing of a phone made all of us tense up, every head in the precinct immediately turning to the receptionist at the front of the room. She spoke for a few moments before she hung up, giving the sheriff a grim nod. “She’s at the park off 6th street, Bruce.”

We all sprang into action, racing out the door to our vehicles. Morgan drove one SUV, Hotch drove the other. We knew we were too late for this girl, but maybe, just maybe, if we got there quick enough and the crime scene was fresh enough, we could find something.

The local police beat us there by a few minutes. Hotch hadn’t even parked before I was opening the door.

I couldn’t explain it then, but I had a feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach. It was a darkness I couldn’t pinpoint, the sort of thing that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

She was on a park bench, her eyes wide and unseeing. “No,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Morgan sighed out before he turned and marched back to his SUV.  

I felt someone’s hands grip my shoulders. “Y/l/n,” Hotch said gently. “I know, but we have to go. He’s revealed himself now. He’s going to try to run.”

And I knew he was right, so I bottled my feelings up as I ran towards the SUVs. We had to find David Pruitt before he left town.

He was our unsub. He killed his sister 16 years ago…and we were certain of that because the 16th victim was his girlfriend.

The same girlfriend that was within our reach yesterday. She was being tortured by this animal…and we had let her go home with him.

-- September 2, 2013 –

The mood on the jet felt heavy. No one was speaking, no one had said much of anything since we found Mary Beth in the park yesterday morning.

Her name wasn’t even Rachel. David Pruitt had to take everything from his victims, including their names. He broke her so badly that not only did she not scream for help in the middle of a police station, she probably couldn’t even remember her own name.

I couldn’t read the entire autopsy report. Rossi and Morgan went to the morgue to speak with the M.E.

Rossi said he was surprised she was even able to stand the day we saw her.

And that was the hardest thing of all. We fucking saw her.

I wasn’t quite sure how the rest of the team managed to keep their emotions so compartmentalized. I saw how this was bothering each of them, but none of them seemed close to breaking.

Not like I was.

I just kept seeing her face over and over again. Her wide eyes, her polite smile. The pictures of her broken body. How different her eyes looked when she was on the park bench. It was all on a loop in my mind.

When we boarded the jet, I sat in the very back, away from the rest of the team. I stared out the window, unseeing. How could I have missed it?

“Y/l/n,” a voice said softly. “Are you okay?”

I hadn’t realized that tears were slipping down my cheeks until I heard Hotch’s voice. I looked up at him. He was my unit chief, the strongest of any of us. If there was anyone I couldn’t afford to break in front of, it was him.

“Yeah,” I said hurriedly, wiping at my eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, y/n.”

I just nodded. Please leave, please leave. If he walked away, maybe I could hold it together a little while longer.

But he didn’t leave. He knelt down beside me in the middle of the aisle. In the months since I joined the BAU, I had made sure to never get too close to SSA Hotchner. There was something about him that fascinated me…and I knew he was a good enough profiler to see it, because I wasn’t skilled enough to hide it.

This was the closest I'd ever physically been to him. I was close enough to notice that his eyes weren’t a flat shade of brown; they were a warm chocolate brown and he had freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Y/n,” he said softly, reaching out to take one of my hands in his larger one. “It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. This is the job; we can’t save them all.”

“But I saw her,” I whispered, feeling the dam break inside of me. “I talked to her.”

Hotch must have realized I was already too far gone to hold myself together anymore. I just kept seeing her eyes, over and over and over.

He stood abruptly, pulling me up with him. He led me into the back area near the restroom. There was a small countertop here, but most importantly, there was a curtain that could be pulled closed, giving us all the privacy anyone could get on this plane.

I stared up at him in bewilderment while he closed the curtain. By the very nature of the area and given how big he was, our bodies were much closer together than I had ever allowed.

“I know you won’t break down in front of everyone else,” he said quietly. “You still feel like you have something to prove. You don’t, but I understand why you feel that way. You’re a part of this team, y/n.”

I dug my teeth into my bottom lip, holding on to the last threads of my composure.

“Now, I can leave you here and you can pull yourself together,” he continued. “Or I can stay with you.”

This was one of the reasons I hadn’t allowed myself to be near him. There was something in Hotch’s eyes when he looked at me that always made me feel so safe. He was always fierce with a scowl on his face; occasionally he’d surprise me with his dry humor.

I hadn’t known his eyes could look so soft and it pulled on something inside me.  

“I was so close I could have touched her,” I whispered. “And he…he…” I broke off as the first sob ripped out of my throat. Mary Beth was 23 years old. She had a younger brother and two loving parents. Her best friend, Anna, wore Mary Beth’s favorite necklace around her neck. None of them had given up hope.

And I had let her go home with him to die.

I had to watch when her parents got the news that we were so close, but he broke her too badly, she never cried out for help.

I closed my eyes to stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks, desperately trying to pull myself together.

My heart hurt so badly I barely reacted when Hotch’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him. I just buried my face against his chest while he rubbed my back. I was taking the comfort he offered, even though I didn’t deserve it. I was vaguely aware of him whispering against my hair, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

I failed her.

It took a few minutes for my tears to slow. I was able to bottle my pain back up again and take a few breaths. My arms were trapped between our bodies and when I went to pull them free, Hotch started to release me, no doubt assuming I wanted to end our embrace.

I didn’t.

I took a step forward when he took one back, wrapping my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek against his shirt that I just realized was damp from my tears. “Is this okay?” I whispered.

He had frozen for a moment before his arms tightened around me again. “Of course, sweet girl.”

I was just so content to be in his arms that I didn’t even process the term of endearment. “I got your shirt wet.”

“It’ll dry.”

I hummed against him, still so reluctant to let him go. “You smell nice, Hotch.”

He chuckled quietly. “Thanks. And given our current situation, you can call me Aaron.”

I nodded; my thoughts still somber. “I let her down. I let her go. I could have touched her.”

His hands kept rubbing over my back. “You’ve never let anyone down,” he murmured. “Not even for a single moment.”

--

Aaron didn’t feel like my boss when his arms were wrapped around me. He was just a man who held me for as long as I had needed before finally releasing me, offering me a small smile when I moved int the bathroom to try and fix my face.  

I don’t know what he said to each team member, but none of them paid any attention to me when I walked out. They weren’t ignoring me, they just seemed unaware of what happened, even though I knew they weren’t.

Whatever he had done, I was immensely grateful.

It was just after 10 pm when the jet touched down in Quantico.

“Go home,” Hotch said as we all grabbed our go bags. “The paperwork can wait til tomorrow.”

Rossi clapped our unit chief on the shoulder. “This one was a hard one. I know it’s painful, but we can’t save them all.”

But why couldn’t I just save her? I thought.

When we were walking off the tarmac, Morgan spoke. “Kid, lemme give you a lift home. It’s not far.”

Reid’s brows drew together in confusion. “Yes, it is. You live on the other side of town.”

"Just let me do something nice for you, smartass."

Their banter almost pulled a smile from me, but I couldn’t. Everything still felt so heavy.

“What about you, y/l/n?” JJ asked.

It wasn’t a secret that I took the train like Reid did. I’d only lived in D.C. for the four months I’d been a member of the team. Reid didn’t drive because of car crash statistics; I didn’t drive because I hadn’t gotten around to getting a car.

“The train is still running. Which is probably good,” I muttered to her. “It’ll give me time to think.”

She just nodded, giving my arm a squeeze as we all walked into the bullpen to gather the things we had left before the case.

I stayed in the bullpen longer than everyone else. It’s not that I didn’t love them, I truly did. But I just…I couldn’t be brave right now.

“I know it’s not my place, but I really don’t want you to take the train home.”

My lips pulled into a smile then, even though I couldn’t bring myself to face him. “It’s no big deal, Hotch. I’m a full-grown FBI agent. I’ll be fine taking the train home.”

“You might be,” he conceded. “But I won’t be.”

“What?” I questioned, unable to stop my body from turning towards him.

Hotch stepped closer to me, looking slightly unsure. “I…I’ll be worried.”

His words felt important, and I realized the thought of him worrying bothered me.

He heaved out a great sigh, his eyes looked so tired. “Jack’s already in bed, Jessica is staying with him tonight. Please, let me take you home.”

How could I tell him no?

--

The ride back to my apartment was quiet. Hotch seemed to know where I lived without me having to tell him. He had turned the radio on in his SUV, but the volume was so low it was just background noise.

I watched the raindrops roll down the passenger side window and all I could think about was Mary Beth. I wonder if she liked the rain.

“Don’t do that.”

My entire body froze before I turned to look at the man in the car with me. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted. “Y/n, you did all you could. This isn’t on you. We were all in that precinct. I offered her my hand when she left the station.” His hands were now gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Aaron,” I whispered, reaching out to put my hand on his forearm.

“If you blame yourself, you’ll have to blame me too.”

Tears started to fill my eyes again. I didn’t know what to say. “I couldn’t blame you.”

I saw his throat work as he swallowed, his eyes fixed on the building in front of us. I hadn’t even realized we had pulled into my apartment complex.  

“Then you know why I can’t let you blame yourself.” He killed the engine and took his seatbelt off.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at me in confusion, like it should be obvious. “I’m walking you to your door.”

Oh. “Why?”

Aaron paused, considering his next words. “Because I can’t leave you yet.”

He was out of the car and opening my door before my brain could even process his words. I slid out beside him, clutching my jacket around myself. It didn’t help, the chill I felt was coming from inside of my body.

Aaron pulled my go-bag from the back seat then shrugged me off when I tried to take it from him.

Despite all the emotions I was feeling, I couldn’t resist teasing him a bit. “Are you secretly a gentleman, Aaron Hotchner?”

He looked sheepish for a moment. My mean ass, always scowling FBI unit chief that intimidated almost everyone on a daily basis looked sheepish because I called him a gentleman.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” he warned, shutting the car door.

I felt a tiny smile tug up the corners of my lips. The first smile I’d felt since…

Just like that, the guilt hit me again. How could I be smiling?

We had just reached my apartment door when a tiny sob ripped out of my throat.  “Aaron…I can’t stop seeing what he did to her. She was in pain. And she-she fought back. She didn’t want to…and I can’t.”

“Oh, sweetheart don’t do that.” He dropped my go bag and wrapped his arms around me, once again offering me the comfort I didn't deserve.

The only time I had felt right in the past few days was when I was in this man’s arms. My question slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to think better of it. “Will you stay with me?” I whispered against his chest.

I felt his body stiffen. Fuck. I pulled away from him, quickly wiping at my face. “I’m sorry, Hotch. You’ve got Jack and you’re my boss. It’s inappropriate. I’m so sorry.”

My hands were shaking when I reached to pick up my go-bag from the floor.

“Y/n, it’s not that I don’t want to,” he explained, his hand grabbing mine right before I touched my bag. “It’s not Jack, he went to be hours ago. But I am your supervisor, and I can’t take advantage of you.”

His words hung in the air, feeling almost as heavy as the pain in my chest. “The only time I feel anything good is when I’m with you, Aaron.”

My eyes were fixed on his bigger hand that engulfed mine, but I felt his eyes on me.

“I don’t think I could leave you now even if I wanted to,” he mumbled.

My keys shook when I unlocked the door and once we were inside my tiny apartment, the gravity of everything finally seemed to hit me.  

"I can leave, y/n," he reminded me as if he could tell what I was thinking.

I licked my lips, looking around the room before I could look at him. “I want you to stay,” I pleaded, trying to summon every ounce of courage I had ever felt. “I know it’s not…I’m sure it breaks a million regulations and protocols. But…can you stay with me tonight? I just…I don’t want to be alone.”

What I was asking him for was so much more complicated than just spending the night at my apartment. I think we both knew that if he stayed something was going to change.

“Are you sure it’s what you want?”

I nodded, my eyes never leaving his.

--

I was sitting up in my bed, picking at the threads of my comforter when Aaron got out of the shower. He’d insisted I shower first while he went to grab his go bag and call Jack’s aunt. I felt the energy around me shift the moment he stepped into the room.  

“Are you okay?”

I bit my lip, unsure of how to answer him. "I don't know." I looked up, my eyes meeting his dark ones. "Can-can you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

For a moment I thought he might say no, but his shoulders dropped, and he jerked his head in a tight nod. “Of course.”

He came around to the right side of my bed, looking torn for a moment before I pulled the covers down, indicating I wanted him to get under. I laid my body down while he adjusted himself on to my bed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not in a suit,” I mused, motioning to his t-shirt with a faded FBI logo and his flannel pajama pants.

He scoffed, pulling the covers up to his abdomen. “It’s a rare occurrence.” He had settled on his back, one of his arms bent behind his head, the other one resting on his abdomen.

“Aaron,” I breathed out. “Can I…will you…I don’t want to-“

“Hey,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “You can ask me anything, y/n.”

“Will you hold me?” I begged, my voice breaking in my effort to suppress my emotions.  

My eyes were shut tight, so I didn’t see the look of agony that washed over Aaron’s face. I only felt his body shift closer to mine before his arms came around me again, bringing me flush against his side.

At that moment, even though I felt terrible about myself, I found some solace in the fact that a man like Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t be holding me like this if I were truly a monster.

His big hand ran up and down my back while my head lay on his chest; I was taking comfort from everything about him, his smell, the feel of him holding me, even the steady beating of his heart under my ear.

I made no move to pull away from him; it was selfish, but I couldn’t let him go.

“Thank you for staying,” I whispered into the darkness. Right before I fell asleep, I think I felt his lips brush against my forehead.

--

Several hours later my eyes snapped open when my body jerked suddenly. The instant my eyes were open the nightmare was gone, I could barely remember any of it, not that I needed to. What else could it have been about?

“Hey,” a voice rasped out. “Are you okay?”

I realized I was still in Aaron’s arms. My head was still on his chest, one of his arms was wrapped around my body.

He had stayed with me.

“Yeah, I think so. Just a nightmare.”

He hummed in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think I can.”

Aaron’s arm tightened around me. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

My fingers traced nonsense patterns over his chest, my mind racing. I felt so incredibly young then. I was lost in a sea of guilt and despair, and my only anchor was Aaron Hotchner.

It was easier to ask him in the darkness of my bedroom. “Do you feel this too?” I whispered.

The stillness that overtook his body indicated he knew what I meant. “Y/n…I...”

I lifted my head off of his chest, looking down at his face. “If I’m wrong, it’s okay to tell me.”

I saw those dark brown eyes scan over my face; I saw the indecision behind them. “I’ve felt it for a long time,” he said at last. “But you’re hurting, and I’m your-“

I brought a finger up to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. "Then make me not hurt. Please?" The finger I had on his lips started tracing the shape of them, over his cupid's bow, down to his fuller bottom lip.

With an amount of courage that I didn’t know I had, I pushed myself up, swinging my leg over his body. I leaned over his face bringing my lips so close to his. “Please,” I whispered against his lips. Just be with me. Be here with me, Aaron.”

I felt his self-control crumble a moment before one of his hands gripped my hip while the other slid behind the back of my head. He pulled me down until my lips were against his.

If I had allowed myself to think about kissing Aaron Hotchner before, this wouldn’t have been what I expected. His lips were gentle as the brushed against mine, his tongue wasn’t demanding when it slid against the seam of my mouth, his thumb brushed over my cheek while his tongue slicked against mine.

I was the one that broke our sweet kiss to pull my shirt from my body. Baring myself to him this way was nothing compared to how much of my soul he’d already seen. Those dark brown eyes were filled with heat when they ran over my body, his large hands felt reverent when they brushed over my skin.

He rolled us until I was on my back underneath him. Aaron kissed down the column of my throat, down over my collarbones until he reached my breasts. His mouth felt almost scalding when it covered my nipple. I arched up against him, a strangled moan tore from my throat when his blunt fingers slid into my panties.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against my skin while he trailed wet kisses down my stomach. “Can I?” he asked when he reached the band of my sleep shorts and panties.

If I had had any doubts that I wanted Aaron Hotchner, that question would have gotten rid of them. I was begging him to take me, to make me feel anything other than the pain in my chest…and he still needed to make sure I wanted this.

I hooked my thumbs into my waistband, pulling them down while those almost black eyes ran over every inch of newly exposed skin. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I rasped out.

He reached behind his back to grab the neck of his t-shirt, pulling it off of his body. Before I could blink, he had settled between my thighs, his mouth right above where I ached for him. “I can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

Any response I would have made was broken off by a loud groan when his tongue parted my folds. His tongue circled my clit before moving down to dip inside of me. The moan that vibrated against me when he tasted me was the sexist thing I had ever heard.

I couldn’t feel anything but him.

My fingers threaded through his hair while his mouth worked me over. It didn’t feel like this was the first time we had been together like this. He touched me like he had known me for years.

But I needed more.

“Aaron,” I whimpered, my fingers tugging on his short dark hair. His eyes snapped open, but his mouth didn’t lift from my pussy. “I need to feel you inside me. Please?”

He pressed a final kiss to my pussy before he pulled away, moving up my body. Before he settled against me, he pushed his pants and underwear down his thighs. I felt how hard he was, how much he wanted this, against my pussy while his upper body loomed over me. One of my hands pulled him down to me, crashing his mouth against mine; with the other I reached down to grab his cock, running it up and down my slit.

Aaron moaned into my mouth when I lined him up and he started to press inside of me. He gave a few swallow thrusts, allowing my body to adjust to his size before he slid all the way inside of me.

I had never had sex like this before. Sometimes in the past, it had felt like I was just loaning my body out to someone, taking whatever pleasure I got in return. This felt so different. Aaron moved against me like he needed me, his lips ran over my skin like being allowed to touch me was a gift.

He set a steady rhythm, his hips moving against mine in just the right way. He was kissing my neck, moaning my name against my skin when he brought his thumb down to my clit, massaging me while he moved against me.

“Aaron,” I breathed.

His mouth was against mine again. "I've got you, sweet girl, I've got you."

My nails dug into his back, my body arched against him, and my mouth opened in a silent scream when I flew apart underneath him. His head dropped down against my shoulder as he found his own release inside of me.

Aaron’s big body was settled on top of me, but he didn’t feel crushing, it felt safe.

When we had both started to come down from our orgasms, he rolled us against until I was on top of his body, my head on his chest. He pulled the covers over our bodies and pressed a kiss against the top of my head.

“What happens in the morning?” I whispered out.

His head turned to look at the clock on my bedside table. “It’s technically morning now.”

“You know what I mean.”

I felt him nod. “What do you want to happen?”

I lifted my head up, my eyes meeting his dark coffee-colored ones. "Will you stay with me?"

His hand raised to cradle my face again, pulling me down to press the softest, sweetest kiss against my lips. “For as long as you want.”

--

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[morganamysticblog]

Royal Romance - Book 2 - Fanfic - Part 4

Heather sat at her table in McDonalds staring at her phone after listening to Drake’s message.  She had wanted him to call, to come after her, to come with her.  But now, she wasn’t sure.  Drake had family in Texas.  If she told him who she really was, the princess of the Riley Oil dynasty, what would he think?  Would he look at her the same way?  He thought she was a simple girl from New York, a waitress, just a regular girl. But she wasn’t, was she.  

Everyone wondered how she could fit in with the royals so easily.  She had been trained for years, attending functions with her parents at various galas, award ceremonies, and parties at her own house.  She was one year short of her own debutante ball when her world came crashing down.  Her parents died in a tragic car crash shortly after her 16th birthday. Who knew a deer could cause so much damage.  

 Drake would see her as one of “them”.  One of the nobles he hated so much.  He would tell her she lied to him.  And in a way, she did.

To her credit, no one asked her about her past. They never asked where she came from, about her parents, anything.  They were content with who she was now.  They all saw her as a strong, independent woman who could handle any situation. That’s exactly what she needed to be now.

Looking at the phone one more time, she opens a text message to Drake.

HEATHER – What do you want, Drake?  (send)

HEATHER - Well, we’ll see what response I get.

Heather picks up her trash and throws it away, then leaves McDonalds to go back to her hotel room.  

On the walk back to the hotel, she sees Liam still sitting on the bench in the park.

HEATHER – I can’t believe I’m even thinking this. I can’t believe I still have feelings for him.  Ugh, why does he have to be so sweet?  I should hate him.  But I don’t.

Heather walks over to the park and to Liam.

HEATHER – Hey.

LIAM – Heather!  I didn’t think I’d see you again.  

HEATHER – Look, this is going to sound really weird, but consider this an experiment…for research purposes.

LIAM – Ok?  (an intrigued look appears on his face)

HEATHER – I don’t want you to read anything into this. Like I said, it’s purely for research purposes.

LIAM – Of course.

HEATHER – Ok, so we’ve never kissed, right?

LIAM – Correct.  Although that is definitely a regret I have.

HEATHER – Um, well, for research purposes, I want to. Just once.  For research.

LIAM – For research purposes.  You know I would do anything for you.  If this helps, I am happy to help.

Liam stands and takes a step toward Heather, slowly placing his hands on her waist.  They lean toward each other, lips touching in a soft, gentle kiss.  After a few seconds, they part, but only for a blink of an eye.  They come together again, this time more heated.  The passion in Liam’s kiss, the feel of his hands sliding around to the small of her back.  Heather’s knees go a little weak and she begins seeing sparks behind her closed eyelids. A minute later, they finally pull away from each other.

LIAM – Was that acceptable for your research? If not, I would be happy to continue.

HEATHER – I…uh, yeah, I think that was acceptable.

LIAM – Will I see you again before I have to leave for Shanghai tomorrow morning?

HEATHER – I don’t know.  I really need to be alone for a while.

LIAM – Whenever you are ready for some company, I am always here for you.

HEATHER – Thank you.  Take care of yourself, ok?

LIAM – I will.

Heather walks away and heads back up to her hotel room.

HEATHER – Oh my God, Jackson.  Liam is a REALLY good kisser.  Oh wow.  Ok, did not see that coming.  I mean Drake is good too, but it always seemed a little forced at first with him. But with Liam…fireworks.  Ok…I need to think.

Just then Heather’s phone buzzes with a text from Drake.

DRAKE’S MESSAGE – I want to talk.  Call me.

Heather – What do you think Jackson?  Should I call him?

JACKSON – Aroof!

HEATHER – Ugh.  Ok.  (Dials Drake’s number)

DRAKE – Riley!

HEATHER – Hey.  By the way, you do know my name is Heather, right?  We’re not in the military.  I don’t normally go by my last name.

DRAKE – Huh?  Oh…yeah.  I just, it’s just been my thing for a while now.  Kind of a habit.

HEATHER – I know.  So, what did you want to talk about?

DRAKE – I, uh, well…

HEATHER – Drake…look, I don’t want you to feel obligated to anything just because of the message I left you this morning.  I get it.  You don’t feel the same way.  And maybe I read too much into things.  

DRAKE – No, that’s not it, well, not all of it.

HEATHER – Right.  

DRAKE – Riley…Heather…I know I haven’t been great with the whole opening up thing.  Some walls are harder to take down than others.  I do care about you.  I’m just really not used to letting people in.  And after this morning, it seems like the world is upside down.  I don’t know how to handle that.

HEATHER – I think you need to decide how you want your life to be.  Without the palace, without the drama, just you, like when you were in college.  How does Drake Walker want his life to go?  I know you don’t like thinking about your future, but you should.  Especially now.

DRAKE – You and my sister must be sharing the same brain today.  She pretty much said the same thing.  

HEATHER – Well, I think you should take her advice.

DRAKE – I just don’t want you to think the last few months have been nothing for me.  Because they’ve been amazing, actually.  You’re amazing.  I just…if we got together, what could I possibly offer you?  I’m basically a homeless bum right now.  The only place I could possibly go would be to my mom’s ranch in Texas.  And I don’t know if you would even like being in the middle of nowhere, back in the States.

HEATHER – I don’t know what I want to do right now, Drake.  Look, I think we both should just take some time, think about things, where we want our lives to go, where we want to be.  Just promise me you’ll at least keep in touch, ok?

DRAKE – Of course I will.  We’ll talk soon, ok?

HEATHER – Yeah, sure.  Bye.  (hangs up the phone)

HEATHER – Ugh, that could have gone a lot better. He still can’t let go of those walls, that defense against everybody, even me.  I need some serious third party help here.  (Heather dials her friend, Daniel’s, phone number)

DANIEL – Gurl!!!  OMG where have you been?  You disappear into thin air, then a few weeks later I see your picture in some foreign news feed, looking major hot by the way, and then some other pic with some dork rich guy.  What gives?

HEATHER – I’m sorry, I totally should have called you a long time ago.  It’s been crazy.  That bachelor party you stuck me with?  Yeah, the “bachelor” was actually Prince Liam of Cordonia.  Some little country in Europe.  He had to find a wife, so they brought me there to join in on the whole fight for the Prince thing.  It’s been a major roller coaster since then.

DANIEL – Oh wow girl.  Ok, so where are you now?

HEATHER – Paris.

DANIEL – Daaaaang!!  Must be nice.

HEATHER – It’s beautiful here, but the last couple months have been hell.

DANIEL – Oh, I am so sorry Heath.  What can I do to help?

HEATHER – Actually…I need your advice.  I’m going to send you two pics.  You tell me which one, just off looks, you would pick.  Then I’ll give you more scoop to pro/con this.

DANIEL – Ooooh, check out hot guys for you?  Any time girl.

Heather forwards the pictures of Liam and Drake to Daniel.

DANIEL – Oh dayum!!  I only get to pick one?

HEATHER – I know, right?

DANIEL – Ok, so what’s going on?  Why are we choosing only one hottie?

Heather describes what has happened over the past few months with Liam and Drake.  All of the time she has spent with each of them, the betrayal from Liam, the closed off treatment from Drake, and the feelings she has for both of them.

DANIEL – Wow.  I do not envy you at all.  That is a rough decision.

HEATHER – Why do you think I called you?  I need your help Daniel.  Ugh, I am living The Bachelorette for real.  Ok, so based on everything I told you, imagine you’re watching it on TV.  Which one are you shouting at the screen for me to choose?

DANIEL – You know me so well.  Ha ha ha.

HEATHER – I’ve watched enough seasons with you. Of course I know you.

DANIEL – Well, looks wise Drake is definitely hotter. And it sounds like you have some serious heat chemistry between you.  But he’s majorly afraid of commitment.  Liam, on the other hand, still hot, and sounds super sweet, romantic, the perfect TV fantasy prince.  Major Prince Charming vibe.

HEATHER – Yeah, I know.  But he lied to me.  And not like a little lie like I don’t like peas, but I’ll eat them anyway because you cooked them kinda thing, like major life altering lie.

DANIEL – Yeah, but you said he’s been looking for this guy in the picture with you, right?  And he said the only reason he didn’t tell you was to protect you from his father.

HEATHER – Yeah, I guess.

DANIEL – And which one of them came after you when you left this morning?

HEATHER – Liam.

DANIEL – And which one has been camped out in the park by your hotel all day?

HEATHER – Liam.

DANIEL – And which one called only to be cryptic extreme?

HEATHER – Drake.

DANIEL – If it were me, I know what decision I would make.  And he’s probably still sitting right outside your window.

HEATHER – I hate when you make sense, you know that?

DANIEL – You wouldn’t have called for my expert advice if it was going to be an easy decision.  But, in your heart, you know who you want.

HEATHER – You’re right.  But how do I tell Drake?  I mean, I told him I loved him on the message this morning.  That he was the one I wanted.

DANIEL – I think after how he’s pushed you away and blown you off this whole time, he will understand.  He may be hurt, but he pretty much did it to himself.  Just be gentle with him, ok?

HEATHER – I will.  Daniel, as always, you are the absolute best friend ever!!!  Loves ya lots!!!

DANIEL – Loves ya too gurl!!!  Don’t wait so long between calls next time, ok?

HEATHER – I won’t.  I promise.

DANIEL – And I better get an invite to the wedding!!

HEATHER – You will.  Take care.

DANIEL – You too.  Bye.

Heather hangs up the phone and goes to the windows overlooking the Eiffel Tower park.  Just as Daniel predicted, Liam is still sitting on the bench, still scrolling through pictures on his phone.  Even from this height and distance, she can see he’s crying.

HEATHER – Come on Jackson.  Time to go for a walk.

JACKSON – Woof!

Heather heads downstairs and across the street to the park…to Liam.

Liam hears Jackson’s bark from the end of the block. He looks up and sees Heather walking toward him.  He quickly wipes his eyes and smooths down his jacket.

LIAM – Hello again.  I wasn’t sure…

But before Liam can finish his sentence, Heather closes the distance between them and kisses him.  Slow and gentle at first, but with progressing passion.  He wraps his arms around her pulling her closer to him. Opening her mouth with his, running his tongue along hers.  The rest of the world disappears around them, it is just the two of them together. Finally, reluctantly, they part.

LIAM – Wow.  That was…there are no words.  Let me guess, more research?

HEATHER – No.  A decision.

LIAM – A decision?  I don’t understand.  I thought…wait, you’re saying…after everything, you want to be with me?

HEATHER – Yes.  And don’t make me regret it either.  If you EVER lie to me again…

LIAM – Never.  I swear to you.  Every thought, every decision, everything will be the truth.  I must say, though, I am a bit confused.  Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely happy.  But, I thought you wanted Drake.  That he was the one for you.

HEATHER – I like Drake, yes.  And I thought it could work with him.  But I want someone who is open with their feelings, their thoughts.  Someone who is not ashamed to open up, to yell at the top of a building that I’m the one they want.  I don’t think Drake could ever do that.  Something would always hold him back.

LIAM – I am so sorry you have had to endure all of this.  I will do everything in my power to show you how much I love you.

HEATHER – I know you will.  That’s why I’m here.

LIAM – You have excellent timing.  I was actually getting ready to leave in a few minutes to go to the opera.  I have been debating all day whether I actually wanted to go or not and just decided a few minutes ago that I would, just to take my mind off everything for a little while.  I would love for you to join me.

HEATHER – I would like that, but I don’t think Madeleine would be very happy if I was there.

LIAM – She won’t be there.  She’s working on our travel arrangements to Shanghai tomorrow. Something came up with the plane or the hotel or something and she insisted on handling it herself.  I will have a private box all to myself.

HEATHER – No Madeleine?  Private box?

LIAM – Yes.  A private box for us if you’ll accompany me.

HEATHER – But I left all the gowns and formal wear on the train.  

LIAM – I saw a boutique not far from here if you would like to pick something out.  I’d be more than happy to get you anything you want.

HEATHER – Looks like we’re going shopping then. Oh…what about Jackson?  Just let me put him back in the room really quick.

LIAM – Of course.  And Heather…

HEATHER – Yes?

LIAM – Thank you.

HEATHER – For what?

LIAM – For believe in me.  For being here with me.  For being you.  I promise we will get through this.  I will continue my efforts to locate Tariq.  I want to do everything I can to help clear the scandal my father caused.  I want to be the one at the top of the building declaring my love for you to the world.  And I want to be able to break off this engagement to Madeleine as quickly as possible.  I want to be with you…only you.

HEATHER – We’ll get it figured out.  

LIAM – Yes, we will.  Together!  Oh, I just remembered…Shanghai…you are coming, aren’t you?  I apologize.  What I meant to say is, would you please join me in Shanghai?  This may sound selfish, but I want to spend as much time with you as I possibly can.  And not to distract you or keep you from anything, but simply to be with you.  My father will be there.  We can find a way to confront him, get him to help us use his resources as well to locate Tariq.

HEATHER – I would love to go to Shanghai with you. We should get going if we’re going to the opera.

Heather gets Jackson back up to the hotel room. Hand in hand Liam and Heather stroll down the street to the boutique.  Heather picks out a simple pink dress, changes, and they continue to the opera house and up to Liam’s private box.

This would tie back into the main story line with MC and Liam watching the opera together, or not watching…whichever version you choose.

[stories-forthe-void]

Protect You ~ Lee Felix

genre: fluff, fantasy au, prince!Felix

pairings: Felix x reader

warnings: daddy issues? idk pretty angsty stuff

word count:2 820

a/n: yat Felix times. I am extremely sorry for the ending and just this fic in general

AO3

Every girl across all three kingdoms wanted to be you. You were Princess Y/N, the daughter of the King of Vlandéré. But along with that title came another. Not only were you The Princess of Vlandéré, but you were also engaged, since birth, to the next king of the neighbouring kingdom, Endover. You were fine with having an arranged marriage and all that, it was for your kingdom and you’d do anything to stop another war between the three kingdoms. So you’d be completely fine with this whole situation if the prince wasn’t a lazy ass who didn’t care about anything and spent all day taking stupid dares from a band of eight other lazy asses who followed him around like a puppy and hooking up with any species he can find willing to smash faces with him (which is pretty much everyone because he is so godamn good looking. Damn the Endovians and their good genes).

So here you are today sitting across from him at a banquet, to celebrate the three kingdoms independence from each other, while he clearly stares at one of the kitchen staff’s butt.

“Do you really have to flirt with every girl you meet” You kind of mumbled it not expecting an answer so you were quite surprised when he replied with:

“Why yes, yes I do” This is the one, this is the cockiest man, no, BOY in all the three kingdoms. Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever find him.

Four hours later and the banquet was over, and luckily it ended when it did otherwise the second War of the Three Kingdoms might have been fought over Felix’s dead body.

“Father I cannot! You cannot expect me to marry that, that, I DON’T KNOW WHAT HE IS BUT HE IS NOT HUSBAND MATERIAL FATHER!” You had stormed into your father’s throne room that morning without announcing yourself oh how rebellious you are Y/N.

“Y/N calm down, Princesses do not shout at 9 o’clock in the morning.” You let out a very loud mph. “Y/N come here and sit” He patted what would be your mother’s throne if she hadn’t died tragically when you were five oh woe is you if she hadn’t drunk way to much wine last night and was passed out in her chambers. You sat down. Begrudgingly. “I know you don’t like him and that he can be a bit much sometimes, but he’s only nineteen and he’ll grow out of it. His mother and father are both fantastic rulers-“ That was very debatable considering his father had tried to kill on nearly every single one of his birthdays because he probably wasn’t even his father's own son (no human’s ears are that pointy) because his mother hated his father so much. “And when he realizes that he’s had the most beautiful, intelligent and charismatic girl he’s ever met standing right in front of him, I’m sure he’ll come through. You have to endure this, For the sake of me and Vlandéré.”

After six months of Felix attending banquets with you and flirting with servants, he finally seemed to grow up a bit and had an actual intellectual conversation with you about the growing tensions between the Three Kingdoms and how this alliance needed to be secured fast. But something was off. He kept stealing quick glances at his father, he almost looked sad? No, not sad, something else that you couldn’t quite make out.

At the end of the night, he did something even weirder. He asked you to go for a walk around the palace gardens with him. Today had been one of the only times the banquet had been in Endover and you’d be staying the night, so there was no way you could wheedle your way out of this one.

 The Endover palace gardens were gorgeous, comet orchids, buttercups, heather, nasturtium, oak and plum trees, someone clearly knew their plant symbolism. The more you learnt about King Eustis the more you learnt of how much of a narcissist he was. I mean the guy was showing off with flowers.

How ironic, foxglove represents insecurity. Don’t forget to check your gardeners Eustis

To anyone else, you two would look like the perfect couple. Walking over moonlit bridges, under vine-covered arches, albeit in complete silence so…but after the thirty-minute mark you knew he had to be either hiding from someone, something or just stalling. You may have hated him, but no one should have to bottle things up. You stopped him when you came to a bench in front of the lake which was again named after his father.

“What, why are we stopping?” Felix looked at you like a lost puppy.

“Because Felix, I’m not an idiot. I know somethings up.”

“Whaaaaaaat why would you think that” He’s not even trying to hide it at this point

“Felix come one, a) you talked about POLITICS all night b) you did not flirt with one girl tonight c) you were looking at your dad all weird all night.” he had been looking at the ground until you said the last one, his head shot up and immediately said

“You tell no one, no one Y/N” His eyes filled with worry.

“OK, OK I wasn’t planning on telling anyone. But why are you so worked up about it, it must have been something, I’ve never seen you look humble before tonight, you looked sad or angry I don't know” he just looked at the floor again. You put one hand on his shoulder and the other you used to make him face you. “Felix, listen I may not like you but if I’m going to marry you then I don’t need your emotional baggage weighing us down when we have kingdoms to rule. So, for the last time. What. Is. Going. On.”

“It’s, I’m, ugh just sit down please this might take a while. So you’ve obviously heard the rumours about me and my mother right?”

“The ones about you being illegitimate? S-sorry that sounds mean” It was true though, the rumours were growing louder as he grew up and looked less and less like his father.

“No, it’s fine because they’re true. My mother had an affair with an elf and then had me.”

“And the ones about what your father has tried to do to you?” You had always assumed it was castle gossip, just servants getting restless and spreading lies. Even if he wasn’t his father's son, no one would try to kill someone who was basically family and his only heir. He didn’t say anything for a while and then said:

“Yes, but only partly true, he’s only tried to kill me twice when I was a baby,” You thought you saw tears forming in the corners of his eyes but it was hard to tell in the dark. “But he’s tried three times in the past week, a rogue arrow during the trainee check-up, a random assassin who would have killed me if I hadn’t been walking in the gardens and not in my room like I always am, he even sent someone off to the mines to get some weird crystal that would supposedly give me a disease, thank Magnum I had told Changbin and Seungmin about all the previous attempts so they pretended they hadn’t found any in the past few weeks. I’ve been worried he’d try to poison me tonight so he could play it off as Vlandéré pulling something to end the alliance. That’s why I kept looking at him. I was scared Y/N. I’ve lived my whole life since I could walk, not caring about a thing, hooking up with whoever was available, sniffing whatever weird new crystal Changbin could get me. Anything I could do to show my father he didn’t own me. I was never scared. And now, not even my mother cares about what he’s trying to pull. I just feel so helpless.”

You didn’t know what to do. You had had no idea how much stuff was going on behind that cocky smile of his. He just stared at you failing miserably at trying to conceal the fact that he was crying.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that, you’re so stupid Fe-euah” You pulled him into a hug, it was the only thing you could think of to stop him from degrading himself further than he probably did when the world wasn’t watching his every move.

You buried your face in his neck. “I’m sorry. For everything, I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly.” It came out sort of mumbled but you knew he had heard it when he slowly wrapped his arms around you.

And so the two of sat there. On the bench. Moon shining on the lake and Felix crying into your shoulder. It was weird; it was as if something had clicked between the two of you that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. At that moment you thought I have to protect him, I cannot let this boy die. No matter what happens he has to be safe.

 You two must have sat there for at least half an hour. Felix had stopped crying after about ten minutes but you could tell he was still pretty shaken up so you just let him stay the way he was.

“Felix we’ve been out here for a while, I know your parents won’t be fazed but I do need to make sure my mother isn’t passed out.” stupid alcohol useless women. Can’t even keep her self-controlled when we’re in a different kingdom. Typical.

“No wait, Y/N, please don’t go home tonight. I can convince your father. I’m sure he’d be ecstatic at the prospect of us getting finally warming up to each other.” He grabbed your hand the minute you had stood up and was determined not to let go. For the love of Magnum, he’s going to cut off my blood flow.

“Felix calm yourself, I’m staying the night anyway.” You smiled at him. You smiled at him. This boy is going to be the end of me, isn’t he?

“Oh! Okay. Um… c-can you um canyoupleasestayinmyoom”

“Felix speak words please not dwarfish.” You pulled him up and started to try and get him to walk. He may have spilt his heart to you and you were very grateful but your father wouldn’t be so grateful finding a makeup smudged daughter and tear-stained cheeked future husband walking through the doors an hour and a half after curfew.

You made back to the castle after a long walk filled with the most oddly comforting silence you had ever experienced.

“Y/N, Felix! Where in the Deity’s name have you been for the past three hours?!” Your father looked furious. Eustis…not so much. He was probably just mad that he had to stay up for an extra hour.

“I’m sorry father, please it was all my idea, and Felix had nothing to do with it. I swear.” Felix looked so surprised you thought his eyes might pop out of his head.

“Do this again Y/N and you can consider yourself confined to the castle for a month! Now go to bed, both of you!” You had never seen your father so mad before. You stared at Felix until he got the hint that you had no idea where to go, so he just ended up pulling him along with you.

“Um, Felix, where are we going exactly are we going?” He’d gone back to typical Felix winking at one of your mother’s ladies in waiting. What the hell is going on in this castle?

“Shut up and walk quicker else someone will spot us and then we’re both dead.” He sounded angry. Can he make up his mind already! I’m not just his emotional play toy.

You arrived at what you assumed was his room. He pulled you into his room and slammed you against the wall kissing you passionately slammed the door and slide down it at a painfully slow rate. Burying his face in his hands and then in his knees he mumbled:

“I’m never going to be free of him am I,” He started shaking again. “He’s going to keep trying until he kills me or all my friends first.” You ran over to him and hugged his shaking form.

“Shh, he isn’t going to get you, nor Changbin, nor Woojin, nor Jeongin, none of them.” He stared up at your face.

“And how do you know that Y/N you’ve known me for six months and I’ve already managed to make an enemy out of you. If I can’t protect myself how am I meant to protect my people or my family!’ He tried to push you off of him but his heart wasn’t in it and you managed to keep hold of him.

“Felix, where is this coming from? You were fine literally an hour ago, we were fine.”

“Y/N, do you not see, he didn’t want us to come back. He thought he had gotten away with not even having to try to kill me, he just had to leave us out there for long enough and for sure a night elf could’ve done us in.”

“Okay no, this is not a conversation we are having again. Felix look at me! I told you he’s not going to touch you or your friends or me. Do you want to know how I know that? Because I will protect you. I will use every guard and wizard and elf in Vlandere and they will stand outside your door. Then we will get married and you will be crowned king and your father will be banished to the deepest part of mount Zendita and we will never have to see him again. Do you understand me.” You stared him down. Tears staining his cheeks for the second time that night.

“I understand”

“Ok? Good, now you are going to get in that bed and sleep, OK Mr. Future King.” He gave you a weak smile.

You went to change into more comfortable clothes as you guessed it was going to be a long night. When you got back to Felix’s room (you later realised that you didn’t knock, which could have led to disaster) he was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. It was the first time you had ever seen him not wearing a suit. He was even more gorgeous like this, just staring out the massive window. He looked so at peace yet unsettled, like his mask was slipping off the harder he tried to tie it on.

“Felix?” You spoke softly, not wanting to scare him.

“Oh, you’re back!” He jumped up and walked towards you.

“So mister,” You poked his nose. Ew no, Y/N don’t do that again, this is so not a Nikki Fire book. “What were you trying to tell me earlier?”

“Oh, um, um, ehhh,” Que suspicious eyebrow raises, “pleasestaywithmetonight” Ok I knew he was part elf I just didn’t know he could speak Elvish.

“Felix I need words, not Elvish please.”

“Oh my Magnum Y/N you make this impossible. Please stay with me tonight?” He almost whispered the last part but you caught it.

“Felix, I don’t think I have another room to be completely honest.” You laughed. He laughed. He really does have the stars in his eyes huh? When Felix laughed his eyes turned into the cutest little crescent moons you’d ever seen.

“So you won’t leave?” Ok if I’m gonna marry him he’s going to have to learn to not make me repeat my promises fifteen times

“Felix, what did I say? I said I’d protect you, and we Vlanderians never break a promise right?”

“Right”

The night consisted of awkwardly climbing into Felix’s bed. Talking for a while. Nearly falling asleep. Felix panicking and shaking you awake. More talking and finally trying to sleep.

“Y/N?” The had been silent for a few minutes

“Mm.” Tired, so tired

“Um, would it be weird if I asked you to hug me?” there it was again, that nervousness, the fast-talking, it was like he turned into a totally different person around you.

“Felix, we’re getting married. You’re allowed to ask me for anything.” You let out a soft chuckle

“Ok, well can I have a hug.” You didn’t even answer him, just wrapped your arms around him and stayed spooning. You thought he was asleep until you heard a soft mumble:

“Please never go” He placed a soft kiss to your hand.

“Never would have dreamed of it. I’ve got to protect you” It was the last thing you heard before you felt a hand cover your mouth and felt Felix being pulled away from you in the dark.

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 3 with Amber Dawn, Amy Leblanc & Nancy Lee

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers Amber Dawn, Amy Leblanc & Nancy Lee and is hosted by Dina Del Bucchia and David Ly. Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

Amber Dawn is the author of five books and the editor of three anthologies. Her sophomore poetry collection, My Art Is Killing Me and Other Poems, launched in March 2020.

Reading text:

fountainhead 

Sure, I’ve tossed three pennies over my left shoulder into Trevi 

Fountain in Rome, but the mermaid fountain in Piazza Sannazaro

Napoli is my favourite. Napoli is a city of mermaids. I lost count 

of mermaids. Two tailed and bathing in cracked frescos. Marble 

reliefs carved into arched doorways. Mermaid faces on old coins. 

I almost bought myself a tears of Parthenope necklace. A gold 

chain hung with two blue teardrop shaped Swarovski crystals. 

Parthenope and her sisters swam (or flew, myth shows sirens as half 

bird or half fish. Either femme beast works) to Ulysses’ ship to curse 

him with their song, but Ulysses tied himself to the mast, stopped 

his ears with wax and withstood. The entire crew of men survived

simply by not listening, so the story goes and goes. The defeated 

mermaids wept at their failure and filled the bay of Naples. 

Parthenope died from the shame and was swept ashore. Her blonde hair 

turned to sand and her body, stone. A beach I myself have walked along. 

I audibly sobbed before the gorgeous baroque blood of Artemisia

Gentileschi’s famous Judith Slaying Holoferneson, on permanent 

display at the Uffizi. A man my father’s age asked me nine 

times to leave the gallery with him. One of the only Italian 

expressions I know so well that my subconscious has spoken 

it back to me in dreams is lasciami stare. It means leave me be. 

I drank too much at the strip club in Pescara, Abruzzo as a topless dancer 

listed the times homophobia nearly killed her. I understood her perfectly

when she asked what Canada is like. Is there libertà per lesbi in Canada? 

I furiously recorded the words that I misunderstood in a notebook 

as if I might one day retroactively follow meaning. I couldn’t call 

upon language fast enough to console her in real time. I couldn’t say 

fuck this shit, I’m sorry or chin up, tits out, you know or you

deserve better, femme. I’ve come to associate speaking half a language

or less than half, a tender handful of comprehension, with being 

a survivor of sexual violence. My body has breath and spasm where it

should have words. My body can picture ease and desire, but is forever 

learning how to say what it wants. I’ve spent a humbple lifetime looking 

for others who labour to live inside their skin  My kink is to loudly love those 

who’ve been told to keep quiet. Erotic boom. I want outlaster’s love. Against-

all-odds love. I, finally, want myself, and slick fluency in this desire.  

While in Napoli I wrongly read a museum label to say that Parthenope 

wished to marry Circe the sorceress. I read queer determination, and imagine 

how that beach might feel if my mistranslation was an origin story.  

Image if the grounds we walk were build from queer love? What song

would our queer scion sing six thousand years from now? What shape 

would story take? If our bodies were fluid loose, waxy and loud 

and fluent in our madrelingue, in a kin spit, in the looped vernaculars 

we have long deserved, then imagine what words we’d know so well 

that even our subconscious could speak this love back to us in our dreams 

tragic interview

An anagram for “creative writing” is “tragic interview”

We will ask you if it is true

We will ask you how true it is 

We will ask you where you’re from

We will ask you to verify you belong

We will ask you about vice and god 

We will ask you to legitimize blood 

We will ask for a pathos worthy childhood

We will ask you about your thronged body 

We will ask why you inhabit both and many 

We will ask if your kin tolerates such veracity 

We will ask if you’ve told the whole story

We will ask if you are attracted to danger

We will ask you if your shame overlingers 

We will ask for trauma to be in past tense

We will ask you to narratively arc triumph 

We will ask you to lip service progress 

We will ask you about free speech 

We will ask to contract your name 

We will ask you to trouble in stereotypes 

We will ask you stroke those fleshy ethics 

We will ask how outsiders may write about you

We will ask you for your blanket endorsement 

We will ask you wax widespread as hot and now

We will ask you attest to your own exceptionalism

We will ask to couch your fine ass in the theoretical 

We will ask you to table round with your enemies  

We will ask that you prove pain makes great art 

We will ask you to represent en masse

We will ask you to do it for less 

We will ask for your free consultation 

We will ask you to recommend your own

We will ask where do you find the time

We will ask you to exalt your labour 

We will ask if your success is a surprise 

We will ask if you’re surprised to be alive

We will ask you to front face as the hero

We will ask you exhibit the future possible

We will ask how the next gen will fathom and ken

We will ask for a kind offering to the institution 

We will ask you for the ever positive spin 

We will ask you cleave homage and imitation 

We will ask your craft for credible dimension 

We will ask if the work appears to be uneven

We will ask you to trial your live version  

We will ask you how true it is 

We will ask you if it is true

Dear IncorrectName: found and redacted from my inbox

Please allow me to introduce myself as the OfficialTitle at the College_University_ GovernmentFundedInstitution. At my InstitutionalPlaceOfEmployment we are Studying_OtheringtheLivingHellOutof Prostitution in Canada_FeministViews
on Prostitution_ProstitutionExploitationTrafficking_and other topics related                       to your “hellish existence.”

Your book How Poetry Saved My Life is on my students’ critical book review list alongside TextsbyFeministsWhoHateYou and UnethicalResearchers. I feel strong- ly that your perspective would contribute to my students’ learning. Sorry
for the ridiculously late notice, but I want to invite you to visit our class
next Friday. I do not have funds for guest speakers, but I would be happy to offer
a $50 honorarium from my own SalarythatIsFourTimesWhatyouEarnedLastYear and parking permit for the day. Please let me know if this would work for you.

Dear IncorrectName

I am writing on behalf of the AcademicConferenceWithA$200+FeePerAttendee. Part of this year’s goal is to include a performance “cabaret” [erroneous use
of quotation marks for reasons unknown] that will feature any or all varieties
of literary performance (spoken word, performance poetry, slam poetry, sound poetry, etc) with a focus on the voices of diverse populations.

Your presence at this “cabaret” would be of great value
to the conference attendees in their role as AnalyticalOnlookers.

I have heard back from the PlanningCommittee regarding finances and what we can offer you is a BelowStandardArtistFee honorarium, but we are tight so__could you accept a conference pass? We have several other authors who are only getting conference passes. So paying you is a bit of a “double standard” [substantiated use of quotation marks] and there might be hard feelings. 

I look forward to hearing from you.

Dear IncorrectName

WeAreOtherArtists. We’d love if you would come to OurSHOW and read
your work_talk about your work_talk about your life_talk about the state of our community_talk about doing work in community. No hard hitting talk_just talk talk_casual talk. You would be fabulous. Our stage is yours
for one hour. We expect around 150 guests.

This is your opportunity to reach a large crowd.

We don’t offer you an appearance fee, but you will see OurVision is VeryInnovative.

Dear Amber Dawn
I  am a Writer_Artist_BodyThatisHoldingStory.

I have always loved &admired your work &it would be an honour to have your feedback. It would be awesome if you could read my ScriptCollectionNovelOutlineTreatise &give me some honest &brutal feedback. Read it whenever you want! I hope I see
you in person soon! I can come by your office. Do you still work at ArtsCommunityJob_ FrontLineSupport_DropIn_HeathCentre_CollegeUniversity?

I am HoldingaStory &it is PAINFUL. How did you write your first book?

I have always wanted to be             a writer. 

Did it feel                    like a relief
to get that first book out?

How do you read in front of all those people &do interviews &does your mom 

still speak to you? I’m afraid                    of my parents
&hometown &people 

I used to know                             &MySurvivorsStory &what 

people will think if I                           SpeakMyTruth.

What do you like about being a writer

Amy LeBlanc is an MA student in English Literature and creative writing at the University of Calgary. She is currently non-fiction editor at filling Station magazine and will be assuming the role of Managing Editor in July. She is the author of three books: her debut poetry collection, I know something you don’t know, was published with Gordon Hill Press in March 2020. Her novella, Unlocking, will be published by the UCalgary Press in 2021. Pedlar Press will publish her short story collection, Homebodies, in 2022. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Room, PRISM International, EVENT, Prairie Fire, CV2, and the Literary Review of Canada among others. She was recently a finalist for the Minola Review Inaugural Fiction Contest judged by Heather O’Neill.

Reading Text:

Wintering

 He torched the skin that I’m still in. 

Counting Januarys— 

I hold my hair

to sing psalms

and semi vowels.

The wasps bloat with 

my belly in December, 

gashing panty lines

and pot holes.

The burnt space will tear from my hips.

I am a calamity

asking for armistice. 

   The storied life of Grace Poole

         She dangled striated

         scarves from the window

         rattling her head as I

         held her waist.

 He told me to keep her

quiet, to keep her safe, compliant—

this significant

paranoia

that she might be

         vaulting

         purging

         dancing

         like red fiber from rafters.

          She tells me

         my hair reminds her

         of a fox. My brush is

         a signal to enemy lines:

         her lips parting

         on a stolen glass

         of honey soaked wine.

 She and I

watch the tree,

as it splits and succumbs

in the orchard, a slit

where the tree was licked

with a voltage charged tongue.

 She says that it will never

be the same again.  

 We are both behind

the lock and chain, but

I can abscond

to the halls and gates.

         She lingers behind

         the latch—

         her fingers

         entwined in a lock

         of my red hair.

 We are curious bedfellows

with sweetness on our thighs,

         the topographical curving

         of bones and banks.

She is hers and I am mine.

 I will never ask

for more than the chill

of her hands that cool me

until I drown.  

         She won’t jump with someone

         to hush the light.

   Girls reading in red coats

– For Paula Jean Welden

 She tucked a book

into the folds of her red coat 

when she left her room.

 She felt the spine against her ribs,

and the edges of paper wrapping

around her skin:

a pair of legs in a claw foot tub

a little birth with a belly full of rocks.

 The book would last her

the better part of three days.

 She buttoned a scarf to her throat

and picked bloodroot and ate carrots,

nine almonds a day with a glass of water.

 She expected to wander and to find an altar

in the trees, in the wasps, in moist roots

and the mud that caught her heels.

 She freed insects from jars that never held water

and heard a rattling sound

in her bone marrow,

in her ears eyes hands and teeth.

 They searched and searched,

but she stayed hidden at her altar

or the meeting point

of her own sternum and her spine.

 She read her book

in her red buttoned coat.

 She thought about ivy

and garden walls,

moths that bleed cyanide,

women in turtlenecks,

wine and cake and uncomfortable pantyhose.

 Her coat, red as pomegranate seeds

trailed behind her, moist and well-watered.

 Her exposed belly could cut open letters

and bloodroot was the bedrock of her spine.

 Her book had moistened in the rain,

so she made an herbarium

and slept in the vines.

 Stripping the moths of their poison,

she dripped them over a porringer

and encouraged them to dry.

 When her fingernails rooted to the paper,

she swallowed herself whole. 

The brief reincarnation of Mary Webster on the Amtrak from Boston to New York

Leaves clung to the woman’s shoe


and hair hung from the sides of her face.

 It had rained for a week.

 She’d eaten a biscuit,


then fell asleep on the train

to the hissing until the low whistle sang.

 The man across the aisle

was watching her sleep.

 He pretended to read his newspaper

licked his inked fingers,


smudged editorials, blurred black

and white photos with spit on his hands.

 She dreamt about being a cat, a fox,

an apple hanging from a tree.                         

 She opened her eyes and found


the man had moved to sit beside her.

 He’d been so silent,


she’d hardly felt the air move.

 He held out a cigarette


which she placed between her lips.

 When his hand shifted closer to her hip,

she put her bag between them


and asked if he had ever played scrabble:

 He played cart,


she played cruel,


he played slick,

she played sway,


he played cyan,


she won by adding an i and a d and an e.

 She sent him back to his side

of the train with a biscuit

wrapped in a napkin

and a half-drunk mug of tea.

 She returned to her dream of the hanging fruit,

felt her small body sway in the breeze

until the train arrived in New York.

   Hereafter

He says that she’s unattractive, but the subtext is that he doesn’t like girls who are more comfortable in their skin than he is

with his masculinity. He made me realize I can stop apologizing to the mannequins I run into—stop slipping confession notes into the books

I read for whomever needs them after me. I don’t apologize to the boy who left his gum between my knees, because my arteries continue

to pump and my feet fit into my shoes without him. The amassment of buildings and bodies and dealmakers and white men tells me that I don’t

need to rip eyelashes out for wishes. I’ve learned that the squeaky wheel gets taken away. The arbiter of wineries, golf clubs, mortgages,

window frames, casinos, finds that these are grasping at the ceiling, fingers spread into spider webs. In this bottom-less wanting,

unnecessary roughness earns you a slap on the shoulder and an extra hour of locker room talk. We learn to grab back (if sex happens before

you wanted it) with chemicals between our fingers. I burn my throat on oatmeal and my skin turns to scales– my pages are dog-eared

from turning corners too soon. In this one hundred and forty character locale, I’ll blast out a constant reminder that

this mimeograph heart won’t be stopping any time soon.

Nancy Lee is the author of two critically acclaimed works of fiction, Dead Girls and The Age, and a new poetry collection, What Hurts Going Down (McClelland & Stewart). Her poems have recently appeared in Ploughshares, The Adroit Journal, The Puritan, Arc Poetry Magazine and The Malahat Review. She teaches at the University of British Columbia and lives in Steveston, BC with her husband, the author John Vigna, and their jerk of a dog, Rudy the cardigan welsh corgi.

Reading Text: 

four-eyed girls 

I’m sitting at the bar with Mary Katherine Gallagher watching prospects grind hope into anything blond. 

I’ve peeled off wool tights so my pleated skirt flashes white cotton panties when I cross and uncross. No one notices. 

For fun, we switch eyeglasses. In hers, I drown. Fish wriggle and shimmer, groove beyond my reach. She says, 

Through these glasses everyone looks thinner. She says, Why aren’t there more girls like us in movies? I tell her 

there are plenty, floating in rivers, folded in dumpsters, naked, nameless. She says, It’s time for another shooter. 

Something to clean the sink, something the bartender will set on fire, something that hurts going down. 

no place for a heart 

Start a fire with women’s bodies; stack them deep for heat. What keeps a kind girl alive in the wild? The men in town are crapshoots, sawbucks, coins striking heads and tails. They post naked snaps of her on 4chan, ferry fifteen-year- olds across state lines, weigh options like: hands up her skirt, hands around her throat. She’s ready for a chorus of frogs, a convent timeshare, ready to train a dildo to mow the lawn. Abandon romance. This one’s for mothers who catch their boyfriends fingering their daughters. Here’s to bff date rape in the old man’s sedan. Today a high school football coach showed cheerleaders the glory of his half- hard penis in a hot dog bun, tomorrow a man will cram his wife into a Naugahyde suitcase and drag her to the river. It’s so fucking hot inside; she isn’t surprised. 

alphas 

i. At three a.m., lip gloss and crop tops wasted in empty clubs, only you are brave enough for new terrain. We hunt at a crawl, every gin joint gated, marquee dim. On the boulevard, we roll down windows to watch a coyote lope, head bowed. A bloody rabbit swings from his jaw. I tell you he’s my first. 

ii. Alphas beside the car. Caps pulled, track suits baggy, shoulders rolling, chests sunk, a lazy jog with beer cans, sidewalk be damned. The pack must get hungry at three a.m. They stare through glass, blow their liquored smoke. I say, Ask where they’re going. You shake your head. The night is wild with them. 

iii. Once, in a town on the coast you chose celibacy over the hazard of ocean men, woodsmen, mountain men, unwashed hair in pelts. Men with thick paws, bark faces, who stank of wood chip, coal dust, fish. When they entered your bed tangled in nets and splinters snuffled wet muzzles to your neck, you played dead. 

iv. Now you raise two hatchlings in a sanctuary. You pound fence posts, lay tripwire, stock bear bangs, kneel at the water to check muddy ground for tracks. Satellites beam our hushed talk of coyotes, mangy middle-aged cheeks, half-eaten carcasses, how they chew old wounds, cut and run. We forget their feral cologne, teeth and charm, until they startle us from the stupor of married sleep. 

daughters 

i. Tell the daughters we were heartless, crouched behind trees with rusted wire. That flanks bucked as we bled the bodies on beds of pine, stabbed with flint blades and the ends of spoons from a grandmother’s hope chest. Eyes whaled white, pupils drained of ink. One by one in the fog of morning, we scrubbed them from our petticoats. 

ii. Stretched and sticky in the sourdough starter, shovels scraping the stable floor, scouring water in the tin tub, sewing flecked with blood. A childhood bridled, saddled, stung with lye, hung to cure in salt and sun. No one believed what their eyes didn’t see, what gnawed through a girl, rustled her work-worn body in the brush. 

iii. Did they even want daughters? Sons so adored, rut-hungry, bottle-weak, sloppy work with a scythe. Who didn’t know his charm, the lanolin musk of his wool? And what if all daughters turned to ghosts? Whale bone, sadness, smoke. Tell them, it was kill or be killed. Tell them, we shivered for days beside their cribs, then stood to answer our own prayers.   

wife at the end of the world 

Fever on the streets as our planet swings closer to the sun, as ocean levels rise, biohazard atomizes, nuclear runoff seeps. Lives mundane 

with disaster. At the store, we snipe over which canned soup has more nutrition, chunky or creamy, which shattered pack of crackers 

has mice. A stock boy with peeling palms counts water bottles, while outside, men in lab coats debate timelines of extinction. 

I climb into a shelf for the last box of oats, and a woman in full makeup, French twist, purse dangling from a charmed wrist, stretches 

on tanned legs to help my husband reach a can of waxed beans. Her fingers pulse his biceps. His eyes finish her like a meal. 

My T-shirt smells of dead guinea pig, and I wish for one last bolt of catastrophe: a fissure, a sinkhole in the dry goods aisle. 

So that weeks from now, it will be my hair unravelled, flecked with debris, my ash-smeared skin in a strappy slip as I lie beside a naked man 

whose name I do not ask. Too busy tracking diseased dogs with my night scope and rifle, too busy brewing carboys of anti-toxin, 

wielding my flamethrower against mutant spiders, too busy calculating orbit-altering supernovas to settle for repopulating the earth.