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thatonegrimm · 3 days ago

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The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Clear Skies, Subtle Lies

Chapter13/Chapter14/Chapter15

Outdoor Fan Shoot — Early Afternoon

The skies over Seoul had been clear all morning.

A blessing, according to the shoot director. Perfect conditions—sun-dappled clouds, a mild breeze, the kind of soft light that required minimal editing. No filters, no fuss. Just nature doing the heavy lifting. A rooftop garden had been rented for the occasion, styled in florals and delicate pastels. Paper parasols leaned artfully against benches. A vintage watering can was placed just off-center. Someone had fluffed the hydrangeas.

Everything looked easy.

She didn’t relax.

She never did.

Her clipboard had already been flipped through twice. The call sheet had no typos, the prop checklist was intact, water bottles were distributed evenly, and a small, discreet pouch of glamour stabilizers sat at the bottom of her tote. Backup stabilizers. In case anyone’s charm cracked mid-pose. She wasn’t expecting it. But that wasn’t the point. She never expected a problem. She prepared for it anyway.

Her earpiece crackled faintly—then nothing.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that meant someone somewhere was slacking—or something else was listening.

Beneath the neat layering of her protective wards, she felt it. A subtle shift in the air, like silk catching on a nail. Her wards didn’t buckle. But they rippled—just once. Like something had brushed against them, curious or lost or both.

Something tugged at the edge of her field.

Not strong.

Not focused.

But insistent.

Storm magic.

Wild. Untethered. Probably accidental. She had seen it before—new mages playing with ambient weather without understanding how to shut it down. This wasn’t cast with intent. No direction, no structure. But that made it worse. Magic like that had no anchor. No aim.

And unfocused magic always hit someone.

She moved without urgency, turning slowly as if checking her schedule notes. The click of her pen covered the subtle shift in her expression as her eyes scanned the space.

The rooftop was quiet. Stylists fixing hair. The boys joking softly by the hydrangeas. Nothing overt. But the air shimmered in strange ways near the metal railing. The sound of distant traffic dulled like it had been muffled. And across the rooftop’s edge—just beyond the safety line—a tall antenna leaned into the sky from the building opposite, vibrating faintly with static.

Leyline interference.

Not unusual.

Not safe.

Her gaze narrowed.

This wasn’t a direct attack. There was no hex. No curse signature. It was more like someone had dropped a live wire into a puddle and walked away. Careless. Dangerous. Someone had stirred the sky and left it to unravel on its own.

She reached into her tote, fingers closing around a small glass tin. The lid clicked open with the soft snap of habit. Inside: mirror-dust, finely ground and faintly glowing, like powdered glass under moonlight.

She dipped her fingers inside.

The shimmer clung to her skin. Not bright. Not visible to anyone untrained. But enough.

Enough to bend stray magic away.

To hold the weather at bay.

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.

She didn’t need a spell circle.

She was the circle.

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

The shoot was just finishing when the temperature dropped.

Not in a slow, creeping way. Not in the way shade might slide over a rooftop or a breeze might curl through flower petals. It dropped like something had cut the sky open and let the chill spill out.

Romance stood near the flower cart, clothed in loose white linen like a Regency ghost caught mid-dramatic exit. His hand draped over a bouquet of baby’s breath and garden roses, held in the least natural way possible—as if it had personally offended his concept of masculinity.

“Hold it softer,” the photographer called.

Romance smirked. “I am holding it softly. This is my softest.”

Behind the potted rosebush, Baby had already finished his shots and was stealthily peeling open a second snack bag. He crouched behind the hydrangeas like an idol in exile, popping honey-almond clusters with the skill of someone who knew exactly where the cameras weren’t.

Jinu stood at the edge of the set, scanning the pose list like it was a war plan. His brow was furrowed, not with worry, but with the exacting concentration of someone trying to predict five outcomes at once and eliminate four.

Mystery leaned against the trellis.

Silent. Half-shadowed. Present in body, distant in thought.

It was Abby who noticed first.

He was lounging near a rack of pastel cardigans, eyes tracking the sky with casual curiosity—until the hair on his arms lifted.

“Hey,” he called, squinting upward. “That cloud looks like it wants to fight.”

She turned so fast her earpiece shifted.

The wind had changed.

Not just direction—intention.

She felt it hit her wards like a shoulder bump in a crowded hallway. Not malicious. But not passive either. Something conjured this. Something without finesse. And now the sky was bending.

The clouds above them didn’t roll—they tilted.

The pressure system snapped sideways in a way no natural storm should. A low rumble followed, not the kind that heralded thunder but the kind that echoed wrong in the bones. Too dry. Too early. Too much.

This wasn’t weather. This was summoning.

She had five seconds.

She dropped the clipboard.

Not carelessly. Not in panic. The motion was fluid, deliberate, like a stone dropped into still water.

She stepped forward, one foot grounding her against the magical disruption, and flicked her fingers once, clean and practiced.

A ripple shimmered along the rooftop perimeter—just for a moment. The crew didn’t notice it. But she did. So did one other.

The edge of her ward flared like stretched glass. She drew her fingers low and curved them upward, pulling the boundary into shape like threading a bubble around the rooftop.

The dome sealed.

The wind hit.

It slammed against the invisible barrier with the force of a car crash—and shattered.

Rain followed, sharp and fast, slicing through the air like silver needles—until it met the ward line. Each drop flattened, skewed, and scattered sideways. The entire rooftop stayed dry.

Completely, unnaturally dry.

The photographer blinked, visibly shaken. “That… passed fast?”

Jinu frowned and looked skyward. “We didn’t get a single drop.”

Romance raised both arms as if conducting a weather symphony. “Maybe I scared the storm off,” he said, grinning.

“No,” Baby said, deadpan, not even pausing in his chewing.

Mystery tilted his head toward you.

Just a little.

She calmly knelt, picked up her clipboard, and dusted off the cover like nothing had happened. One page flipped in the wind, but she caught it before it could fly.

“Clear skies for the next hour,” she said, adjusting a line on her schedule with smooth, even handwriting.

The stylist muttered something about Seoul weather being weird lately and moved on.

The photographer nodded and clapped. “Alright, next setup! Romance with the tulips, Mystery on deck.”

The shoot resumed.

But the energy had shifted.

Not because the storm passed.

Because something else had been held at bay.

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

Later — Post-Shoot Debrief

They gathered beneath one of the parasols that hadn’t blown away.

The rooftop looked picture-perfect again—petals scattered in curated chaos, the props now slightly sun-faded, the air sticky with late afternoon haze. The stylist crew was already packing up the floral arch. A few assistants chased down a rogue makeup sponge that had somehow made it all the way to the neighboring balcony.

The Saja Boys sat in a half-circle, sipping lukewarm sodas and looking sun-dazed, as if the shoot had drained them of both moisture and functioning brain cells.

Romance sprawled with the kind of ease that said he believed the day had gone well because he was there. He stretched his arms over his head, shirt riding up just enough to be strategic, and yawned theatrically.

“So,” he began, voice syrupy-smooth. “Are we gonna talk about how we were dry in a literal monsoon?”

“Microclimate,” Jinu replied immediately, tone clipped like he’d been waiting for this.

Romance rolled his eyes. “Bro, we were the only microclimate on the block.”

“Studio warding?” Jinu offered, less confident now.

“No way,” Abby said, pointing with his soda can. “There were like five real estate signs out front. That building doesn’t even have working elevators.”

“I tripped on a loose tile,” Baby added, licking powdered sugar off his thumb. “Place is haunted. Or bankrupt. Maybe both.”

Romance sat up, now interested. “Okay, but like—no one flinched. Not even her. Wind slaps the ward, rain hits an invisible wall, and she’s just... adjusting her clipboard like it’s Tuesday.”

There was a collective pause.

Baby squinted. “You think she cast something?”

Jinu scoffed. “She’s our manager, not a weather witch.”

Romance leaned forward, voice dropping to mock-dramatic levels. “Main. Character. Energy.”

Abby chuckled. “Unbothered. Powerful. Slightly terrifying.”

“Sounds about right,” Jinu muttered.

“She did have that jar of glittery powder,” Baby said thoughtfully. “Mirror-dust. That’s not in a manager starter pack.”

“Could be from Olive Young,” Jinu argued weakly.

“Jinu” Romance said, utterly serious, “nothing from Olive Young stops rain.”

None of them noticed the slight shift in the breeze. The way the air bent just around their circle, like something still lingered in the leftover edges of your spell.

Mystery hadn’t spoken once.

He sat with his hands folded, gaze angled just slightly away from the group—toward the other end of the rooftop, where you stood near the edge, phone in hand, texting one-handed while tucking her clipboard under her arm.

She wasn’t looking at them.

But she was listening.

He could tell by the way her fingers paused, mid-message. Just long enough to register the conversation.

Then she resumed typing, unbothered. Or pretending to be.

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

That Evening — Your Journal

The scent of lemon balm lingered in the air, fresh from the protective incense she’d burned at the apartment window. Her hair was still faintly scented with ozone. She didn’t bother to change out of her work clothes. She just sat at her desk, kicked off her shoes, and opened her journal.

The page welcomed her like an old habit. Pen already in hand. Words waiting.

Journal Entry — Rooftop Fan Shoot: Weather Incident

Residual storm magic detected mid-afternoon. Source: likely student-tier conjuration, unsupervised. Unstable. Not directed. Drawn through leyline rupture—unanchored pulse near nearby broadcast antenna. Wind pressure reached threshold. Glamour disruption potential: high. Deflected using mirror-dust perimeter shell. No glamour break. No staff exposure. Crew unaware. Saja Boys—partial suspicion. Romance: vocal curiosity. Jinu: dismissive, but watchful. Baby: inquisitive. Possibly intuitive. Abby: uncertain. Protective instinct triggered. Mystery: observant. Too much. Will need distraction.

She tapped her pen once on the edge of the page. Then, deliberately, underlined two phrases they’d used:

“Main character energy.” “Unbothered.”

A smile tugged at her lips.

Small. Sharp. Satisfied.

Maybe just this once, she’d let this myth build itself.

Let them believe she was something dramatic and mysterious. Something powerful but safe—on their side. That belief might keep them out of deeper truths for just a little longer.

She closed the journal softly and reached for her tea.

Outside, thunder rolled again—distant this time. Natural.

She didn’t flinch.

She was ready.

AN: Back to our regularly scheduled program. No weather apps were harmed in the making of this chapter. However, several parasols were emotionally compromised, a bouquet was held in an aggressively unnatural way, and one (1) manager may or may not have outmaneuvered a minor sky-based apocalypse without spilling her tea. Not saying she controls the weather. But also not not saying that.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog @anxiousskylar @downbadgirlypoo @misdollface @renchai @rithalie-sideblog @tsukimoon-chan @reixtsu @ghostiiess

#kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #kpdh #baby x reader #mystery x reader #abby x reader #romance x reader #jinu x reader #TMGDB

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izzih22 · 1 month ago

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Chapter 4

Third Trimester Things

Note: one more after this yall. Also sorry for flooding the tag. My anons made me😂😂

The nesting had hit Paige hard.

She wasn’t just reorganizing the nursery she was alphabetizing the diapers.

“Do we really need 17 types of wipes?” Azzi asked from the doorway, rubbing her lower back with a wince.

Paige, kneeling in front of a drawer labeled ‘Wipes: Unscented Sensitive’, looked up with a wild gleam in her eyes.

“Do we need oxygen to survive, Azzi?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “That’s not the same.”

“Tell that to our baby’s butt.”

Paige stood, brushed her hands off like she’d just completed a NASA mission, then immediately crouched to double-check the swaddle drawer. “Okay, but the muslin ones are next to the bamboo ones and now it’s bothering me. Do you think the baby will notice?”

Azzi blinked. “I think I notice that you haven’t slept in three days.”

“I’M NESTING.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“I’m unhinged for the baby,” Paige corrected proudly, then paused. “Also maybe for you. Always for you.”

Azzi groaned and leaned against the doorframe. “You’re lucky I love you. And that I physically can’t bend over to stop you.”

That night, Paige insisted on a quick Target run “for baby detergent,” she said.

What she meant was: two carts, seven bags, and one wildly unnecessary baby-sized basketball hoop later…

“I just think they should be prepared,” Paige muttered, tossing another set of organic onesies into the cart.

“For the WNBA?” Azzi shot back. “They’re not even born yet.”

“Never too early to train a prodigy.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but then her breath hitched, and she stopped walking.

Paige turned instantly. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

Azzi’s hand went to her belly. “I don’t know. It felt like like a cramp. Sharp. For a second.”

Paige dropped everything in her hands, panic exploding in her chest. “Are you in labor? Is this it? Do I need to deliver our baby next to the frozen peas?”

Azzi grimaced. “I don’t think so. I just—ow. Okay. That one was worse.”

“OKAY. OKAY. NOPE. WE’RE LEAVING.” Paige spun the cart around so hard it hit a shelf of Febreze. “I’M GETTING MY WIFE TO A HOSPITAL. MOVE, PEOPLE. PREGNANT QUEEN COMING THROUGH.”

Azzi laughed mid-contraction. “Paige. Stop. I’m fine. Just—stop speed walking like you’re being chased.”

“WE’RE BEING CHASED BY POTENTIAL CHILDBIRTH.”

⸻

One hospital visit, two hours, and a very calm nurse later…

“It was false labor,” Azzi said, pulling her hoodie over her bump and sighing. “Braxton Hicks. Not real contractions.”

Paige flopped dramatically into the hospital chair. “So our baby just punked me. That’s cool. Love that.”

Azzi snorted. “You were ready to fight a nurse.”

“She said your contractions were ‘mild.’ Like… don’t minimize her pain, Sarah.”

“It’s her job.”

“Still rude.”

Back home, Azzi was finally curled on the couch with her head in Paige’s lap, a warm compress on her back. The nursery was still in chaos. So were their emotions.

Paige’s fingers moved gently through her curls.

“I got so scared,” Paige whispered. “For a second I thought… I wasn’t ready.”

Azzi looked up, her eyes soft and tired. “You’re always ready.”

Paige shook her head. “I’m trying to be. But sometimes I look at you—this glowing, strong, literal miracle—and I think, how the hell do I deserve this? You. Them. All of it.”

Azzi reached up and cupped her cheek. “You deserve every ounce of it. You’re already the best mom. Just a little… psychotic right now.”

“I’m sorry I bought the baby three bathrobes.”

“They don’t even bathe for like a month.”

They both started laughing, and then, almost at the same time, their eyes filled with tears.

Paige leaned down, pressing her forehead to Azzi’s.

“We’re really doing this,” she whispered.

Azzi nodded. “We already are.”

———

Azzi was quiet when they got home.

Not because she was scared or hurting, but because Paige hadn’t stopped hovering for the last five hours and now, even the silence felt loud.

She shuffled into their bedroom, hands resting under her belly, the soft ache of the day still lingering in her back.

Paige trailed behind her, slower now, the fire in her steps replaced with something softer. Heavier.

“Az?” she said quietly.

Azzi sat down on the edge of the bed with a little grunt, rubbing her swollen belly. “I’m okay.”

“I know.” Paige crouched in front of her. “But I also know you’re not.”

Azzi looked down at her. “You can’t fix everything.”

“I know that too.” Paige took a slow breath, resting her hands gently on Azzi’s knees. “But I can love you through all of it.”

Azzi’s shoulders fell.

And just like that, the tension started to fade.

“I’m sorry for freaking you out earlier,” Azzi whispered. “It wasn’t real labor.”

“I don’t care.” Paige looked up at her like she was everything good in the world. “Real or not I’ll always want to be there. Always.”

Azzi threaded her fingers through Paige’s hair. “I know.”

Paige leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Azzi’s belly, then another… and another. Her lips lingered there, like she was grounding herself.

“I’ve never loved anything like I love you,” Paige whispered. “And now you’re carrying us. Our baby. Our everything. Do you even understand what you’re doing?”

Azzi’s eyes glistened. “I’m just… being me.”

“No,” Paige said, shaking her head slowly. “You’re being strong. And selfless. And so soft and brave. You’re doing the one thing I wish I could do for us, and it wrecks me in the best way.”

Azzi’s hand curled around the back of her neck, tugging gently. “Come here.”

Paige rose to her knees and kissed her deep, slow, reverent. One hand resting on Azzi’s belly. The other gripping her thigh.

“I’d do anything for you,” Paige murmured against her lips. “Anything. You need a body pillow? Done. You want your ankles rubbed for an hour? Done. You want to cry for no reason and then make out for twenty minutes? Say less.”

Azzi giggled, her cheeks flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige kissed her again, rougher this time. Then softened immediately. “You’re mine.”

Azzi exhaled. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, eyes dark and soft all at once. “And now you’re giving me something I’ll never be able to repay.”

“You don’t have to repay me. This is ours.” Azzi placed her hand over Paige’s. “I wanted this too. I still do.”

Paige kissed her again, slower this time worshipful, grateful. “I’m gonna take care of you. Tonight. Every night. Always.”

Azzi leaned into her, breath catching as Paige eased her down onto the bed with infinite care, settling beside her, one hand splayed wide over her belly and the other cradling the back of her head.

They didn’t speak much after that.

Just quiet touches. Paige whispering to the baby. Azzi drifting in and out of sleep, safe and warm in Paige’s arms.

And as Paige stared at the woman she loved more than anything, at the round swell of her stomach, she blinked back tears and smiled to herself.

She couldn’t wait.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd

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edens-melodies · 2 months ago

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LaDs Men Smoker Headcanons

Question: You are a gardener. A plant lover. A cloud admirer. But what about the boys? Who out of the LaDs men would smoke weed?

ft: Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb, and Zayne

a/n: in my head personally, all five of them are in a relationship with one another and you/mc, and they all just take turns sleeping over at each others houses and whatnot. these are my takes on what each of them would be like, and if you don't like, don't read 🤷🏽‍♀️

Rafayel:

would 100% be a smoker. it helps whenever his creative juices aren’t flowing as strong as he wants.

loves some good bud when offered but is the most notorious cart hitter. has that shit on him 25/8.

gets the savvy two gram carts on his custom gold plated battery. (he custom made it himself and engraved little grooves in it to look like ocean waves with lemurian phrases on it).

you would be surprised to occasionally walk in and see his beautiful handcrafted cerulean straight tube bong sitting on the floor next to his ladder instead of his cart in one hand, paint brush in the other. (don’t be fooled that shit is tucked into the waistband of his pants, i can’t-)

would actually not know that you smoked weed until one day he came home late from picking up more obscure art supplies (“i promise you, this specific shade of periwinkle exists! i swear!) and forgot that you said you’d be waiting for him there.

~~~~~

he walks through his quiet home leisurely, trying to see where he was going since he never remembered to turn the lights on, the sun setting quickly in the distance.

he only remembers vaguely that you said you would be stopping by while he was out when he sees your shoes by the couch, and when he looks up he sees your back facing him, the doors to his balcony leading to the beach wide open.

a smile pushes its way to his face before he can stop it, and just as he goes to call out to you, the sweet musky scent of weed hits his nose at the same time the salt air does.

with wide eyes, he watches as you shift, taking another drag of your blunt as it billows from your lips and curls around your figure before the wind blows away.

you only know he’s there when you jump in your spot, whipping around with blunt still hanging from your lips as you see the image of rafayel on his knees, tears pouring down his eyes as he smiles watery at you.

“oh my god are you okay??!?”

“i knew you would always be the one for me, cutie…”

“WHY ARE YOU CRYING??”

Xavier:

would be completely against it at first only because he’s never heard of it before, or if he has, very minimal information

(and after a quick yet stressful google search while your outside casually dragging a jay on ur balcony) decided that all the warnings and dangers of the drug was too much of a risk to take.

but after you talk him off a ledge after he started to spiral while watching you smoke, thinking you were going to develop lung cancer and CHS overnight, he learns that not everything on the internet is to be trusted.

sits and listens intently as you explain to him all the pros and cons to smoking weed, and why it’s even recommended in the first place.

after being assured that you weren’t going to die in your sleep from your lungs collapsing and that he wouldn’t start seeing demons in the corners of rooms, he would calm down significantly and actually become a little curious to what it would make him feel like.

doesn’t become a regular smoker, but if he sees you on the balcony with a joint in hand, he’ll pop his head out for a quick little puff puff before going back inside and watching how it’s made on the tv with heavy set eyes.

~~~~~

you take your last puff with a deep inhale, crushing the filter in the ashtray to your right, releasing the pillowy smoke as you ensure the cherry wouldn’t fly out and cause someone’s backyard to catch on fire.

you turn to step back into your apartment, and as the sliding glass door clicks shut behind you, the smooth steady cadence from the tv hits your ears.

with a slow but fast growing smile spreading across your face, you take in the sight of xavier watching the tv with such a dedication that you haven’t even seen him make that expression even on missions. a half empty bowl of chips sits in close reach of his right hand, and his left hand is currently moving towards his bottle of juice, eyes never leaving the screen.

“is it a good episode, baby?”

“yeah… i never released how complicated it is to make a industrial sized ceiling fan…”

“xavi…”

“yes, my love?”

“you’re spilling cranberry juice on my sofa.”

“ah…”

Sylus:

are we kidding me? this man has to deal with so much on a daily basis, that not only does our boy partake in the devils lettuce, but like everything he does, he does it with style.

actually has a private plot of farmland in a undisclosed tropical country where he has a dedicated team there to grow and harvest it for him.

gets it shipped out to his house and it comes in a embossed black crate, perfectly preserved in amber jars to protect it from light.

has a thin golden metal cigar holder that’s just packed with artistinally rolled joints, each one looking like it would cost more than a month’s paycheck from your job.

regularly is seen around the base with a joint hanging from his lips, but if it’s been particularly stressful recently or a deal that went wrong, he has as special room in the base only he and you know of where is dab rigs are set up with two comfy chairs and a wet bar tucked against the wall.

has a collection of all his favorite bowls and bangers, shelves lined with one of a kind custom glass pieces that he’s picked up over the years and is that imported spring water for the rigs in the mini frid-

will always be down to smoke with you, whether you're a heavy smoker or a occasional puffer, if your down, he’s down, no matter the time.

~~~~~

sylus isn’t surprised when he rolls over to pull you to his chest, barely awake and a frown already on his lips when he feels the cooling sheets where your body was supposed to be.

the clock on his bedside shined with the time, the bright red 02:16 mocking him from his bed. the events of the day had worn the both of you down, after a supposedly easy transaction ended in a gun fight where the two of you had emerged victorious, but at the cost of your mental and physical energy.

already knowing where you would be, especially after days like the one you two just had, he didn’t even bother putting on a robe, feet already moving to bring him out of the bed and to your exact location.

when he put in the passcode to the door hidden behind the armory, he was greeted with the sight of your frame curled up in a ball on the extra large memory foam bean bag, foldable table to your left with a freshly prepared rig, torch and dab nail sitting pristinely next to your shallow glass jar of wax.

the tv was playing your favorite calm playlist on spotify, home maker by sudan archives playing softly in the space, and he couldnt help the smile the warmed his face when you gave him a million dollar smile, tired eyes shining in happiness while you looked at him.

“didn’t think to even invite me, sweetheart? i’m hurt.”

“i knew you’d feel me leave the bed. you forget i know you’re a light sleeper.”

“so it seems i’ve been caught. so i’m to assume you prepared me a serving as well?”

“this first hit has already been dedicated to you, lovey.”

“…god i can’t wait to marry you i’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.”

“SYLUS!”

Caleb:

okay so he doesn’t smoke per say, but he can fuck up a good edible. gummies, chocolates, candies, even the occasional lemonade when he wants something light.

is definitely the type to do a shit ton of eddies right before going into an aquarium or planetarium, speechless not only from the beautiful sights but also because he’s pretty sure he just ingested about 500mg of happiness.

will 100% master the art of making cannabutter and cannaoil so he can make edibles not only for himself, but for you as well.

buys the highest quality bud and has a specific device that measures the thc percentage of it, just in case the dispensary was off on their end.

does all the calculations of thc milligram per serving three times over so each high is perfect each time, and loves spoiling you with new ways he incorporates it into anything he makes, whether it’s something savory like his signatures braised chicken wings, to something sweet, like the glazed chocolate chip banana bread he just finished up on.

but one thing he does forget to do occasionally is labeling which ones were normal, and which ones were spicy…

~~~~~

“hey pips, how was your hangout with zayne today?”

“it was great! you know how busy he’s been at the hospital recently so it was good to see him relax and not in work mode. he said he misses you!”

“i’m glad to hear he’s taking a breather, tell him i miss him, too.”

“i will, he said he plans to come visit sometime soon or we can go see him because he really wants to know how you made that chocolate chip banana bread. he couldn’t keep his hands off it.”

“…. was it the one that was on top of the fridge in the three layers of seran wrap?”

“yeah…why?”

“…. oh my god wE NEED TO GET TO ZAYNE’S RIGHT NOW!!!”

“?!??”

Zayne:

doesn’t partake in it (willingly) not only because of his job, yk, cardiac surgeon hello??? but also because he has tried it once before, years ago when he was still in school learning surgery period, and didn’t like the way it made him feel.

would be totally okay with you smoking, but would monitor your health more closely, making sure you weren’t overdoing anything or causing unnecessary strain on your lungs or heart.

he’s totally the type to hand you water when you take a rip of the pen too hard next to him, eyes never leaving the article he was reading while took turns patting your back and waving the smoke away from his nose.

he is well aware that caleb is a professional in the kitchen, and he also knows that caleb is as meticulous as he is, so whenever you spend time at his place and bring goodies that caleb makes, he knows whatever he’s eating won’t be hiding any malicious intent in the sweet interior.

until one time it did, and no one knew.

~~~~~

about now it’s two hours after you headed out to go meet up with caleb, and zayne is sprawled out on his back on his living room sofa, hazel eyes staring mutely at the shadows casted on his ceiling.

at first he thought his body was feeling extra relaxed because he had the next couple of days completely free from work, and he finally had a chance to breathe. you had come to surprise him after he got off his last shift, finally free for a couple of days. you had your arms stuffed with sweets and a bright smile aimed right at him.

your company has always soothed something raw in him, and so did caleb whenever the two of you would drop by and visit him, both on his off days and during his shifts.

apparently caleb couldn’t make it to today’s surprise because the fleet had him stay back for something urgent, so it was just the two of you in zayne’s house, sharing the sweets caleb had made that you brought.

after you had left, saying that you were going to see if caleb was home yet and if he wanted to join you two for a potential sleep over tonight, zayne’s body was a metaphorical puddle at this point, body warm and a small smile on his face in anticipation of seeing you two again tonight.

at least, it was metaphorical until he realized he couldn’t move his legs more than a couple of inches of the sofa and his tongue was now sandier than the beaches by rafayel’s house, and the answer came slower to mind than he would’ve liked.

oh.

oh no.

(at least this experience is a lot more pleasant than the initial time, but he still isnt happy about this.)

“ZAYNE IM SO FUCKING SORRY!”

“you don’t have to shout, (y/n), i’m right here.”

“zaynie i’m so sorry, i forgot to label the wrap and i thought i put it somewhere she couldn’t reach-“

“caleb i already said i forgive you, i know it wasn’t intentional.”

“but you can’t even stand up on your own!”

“and you don’t even know it was really us when we came in until i started talking and you said ‘oh my god this time you’re real’!”

“that doesn’t make me feel any better…”

“well for now, we’re not going anywhere til you feel better, right pipsqueak?”

“at least we can all still have a sleepover tonight?”

“…”

“caleb, i call dibs on helping him get into his pajamas.”

“wAIT NO! not fair, you don’t even warn me!”

“wait wha-“

hope you enjoyed! i had so much writing this ngl cuz not only can i perfectly envision everything in my head, but i was taking a hit for each boy i had to write, so it was just a great time all around.

please send in some requests! im trying to get back into the swing of writing again so any ideas are more than welcome!

thank you for the read, and have a beautiful day <3

189 notes · View notes

musedblues · 1 year ago

Text

AMORE ~ FATI (part 1)

a/n: wait until the movie? nah. haven't stopped thinking about this freaky fucker since the trailer dropped! eat up, babes. also the horny police called and there is a warrant out for my arrest.

description: after winding up in a crime related to the royals, geta strikes up a deal with you.

warnings: down right hoe shit, sexual descriptions, gruesome descriptions, minimal historical research/ distant memories from high school test, cliff hanger. MINORS DNI

Part 1 of 2 (at least)

///

The afternoon was like any other, the day your life changed. You awoke to an empty home, gathered your cart of crafts, and headed to the stalls. You sold your paintings there and begged the clouds to cover the swelter of the sun.

For your landscape art, you accepted coin. You accepted food. You accepted a jeweled ring that afternoon, just as well. An exchange like it wasn't out of the ordinary. You pawned the adornment for cash that evening, and made the trek back home. With plans to paint pictures into the night, to sell off the next day.

Your home was quaint, once big enough for two, now only you haunted the halls. The man you'd once been forced to marry had been dead for many months now, and a certain freedom was found in his absence. But a certain monotony about your routine seemed to predetermine the days ahead as far as you could see them. So, you painted.

As you fiddled with brushes and stained your grey dress with speckles of deep amber, a bursting knock came across your door. The guest gave you no time to greet them before turning into an intruder. Two royal guards burst into your home, shouting and grabbing you and dragging you away. All so quickly.

You went fighting. You cursed as they held you in a carriage. You demanded their silence broken. But they remained stone faced as you begged to know why you'd been abducted from your home.

Your captors rode into the city, past the colosseum, right through the gates that led to the home of the reigning family. Your heart hammered in fear, knowing what you knew about the rulers. Caracalla and Geta had only just taken over the reign of their father, their mother looming near, picking sides; as you understood. Since the change in leadership, Rome hadn't suffered en mass. But a growing dread hung heavy over the population, knowing the brothers were struggling to join together in power. Knowing their clash divided not only their power, but all of Rome.

You were grabbed at once more, forced out of the carriage and into the great hall of the estate. Gold and red statues lined the entrance. A plum rug stretched before your feet, a welcoming cushion as the rest of your senses were drowned by harshness. Before you, pacing near his throne, Geta waited.

You'd seen him and his brother before, trailing behind their father at rallies. Lingering near the stands at games. You'd always let your gaze settle on Geta, if ever you'd seen him. You'd always been drawn to gawk at the trimness of his figure. The enigmatic expressions he would pull. The presence he commanded. He was easy to admire, from afar. And the towns ladies often gossiped of how alluring he could be up close, if they were lucky enough to be invited to do so. No one spoke as much of Caracalla. In his name, fear and loathing often followed.

With a glare in your direction, Geta ceased pacing. He nodded toward his guards to relinquish their hold on you.

"What is all this?" You demanded, refusing to bow or humble yourself before this ruler in anyway. How could you dare offer up respect when little to none had been offered to you? Geta seemed taken aback, for a flash. His brows furrowed and his lips parted in shock, at your boldness. But then a grin flickered across his lips and his pacing started up once more.

"You're in possession of something of mine, no?" Geta alluded. Want as you might've to argue, to proclaim your innocence, you were too baffled. What could he possibly be on about?

"You were seen taking a ring as payment today, at your stall." Geta boomed, voice filling the room, echoing off the tall painted ceilings. He started into a story, then, that made things clearer. You learned that ring was a family heirloom, stolen by a servant only one night ago. That he'd sold it to a carriage driver for freedom. You learned that servant had been slain. But the ring was still gone. And you were the last person seen with the distinct bluish jewel in your palm. There were many a shopper along the street market this morning. Several were looking into your stall as you accepted the ring for payment. You couldn't deny the action. But you didn't have it any longer, anyhow.

"I exchanged it for money. With the sellers near the river." You decidedly conceded. "I've got nothing more to do with this now release me." Your voice shook, out of fear for your fate, and anger for your circumstance.

"Names." Geta stalled his meander, a few steps away from you. His dark eyes had cast across your figure before boring right into yours. You couldn't look right at him without feeling a shiver up your spine. And you were not about to let on that Geta had this effect on you. So, you cast your gaze to the hands at his sides, and scoffed at what you saw.

"Why? Are the rings already on your fingers not good enough? You cannot be allowed to want for what you don't have, if you're in possession of more than enough already."

"What's mine is mine! No one else's." Geta yelled, keeping his eye's boring into yours. His voice shook through the halls, and fueled your rage further. Your rage for your circumstance, and for that of this nation.

"Your greed shall poison this empire." You spat at the man.

"An empire I was born to rule cannot be soured, destiny has been at work since my conception and my father's before me." Geta grinned, an all-knowing sort of smile that was meant to belittle you, you were certain. But you couldn't be made to feel so worthless.

"We are all born to die, your highness."

"Your opposition will result in bleakness if you do not answer my call for this information. Give me their names." Geta shouted, still inches from you. Geta was giving you a chance to answer. And that shocked you. You voiced your opposition only because you thought you were surely moments away from being killed, and refused to die without standing your ground. But here you still stood. Geta was letting you.

As taken aback by his patience as you were, his arrogance and demanding shouts were only deepening your desire to withhold. To stand resolute. Who were you to ruin some poor people's lives over a bit of jewelry? Your silence was deafening, each passing moment tensing at Geta's shoulders. You watched his jaw clench, you watched his eye's dance between your own. You smiled.

"Get her out of my sight." Geta hissed, waving his men to capture you once more. You rolled your eyes as they grabbed at you. "Keep her in the cellar until she starts talking. Do not, however... take drastic measures."

You shot a perplexed frown the rulers way as he shook his head in your direction. A scowl turned Geta's lips down. But as he watched you begin to growl in unwillingness to go, his smile curled to life.

"And what of you? What punishments are you allotted?" You yelled as the guards dragged you away. Geta kept his furrowed smirk pointed at you, a puzzled sparkle in his eye.

///

The cellar smelled damp as it felt, your feet squelching along the dirt paths. You'd been taken past a row of prisoners, all in various stages of wither. You closed your eyes too them, offering silent prayers for their fates in passing.

"In you go," A guard shoved you toward the back of a small cell, chuckling as he locked the barred off door. "When you're ready to talk, we just might be around to listen. Let's hope we don't forget about you all the way over in this corner."

How had you ended up here? Hours ago, you'd been at peace in your quiet cottage, paint brush in hand. Now you sat on a wooden bench, senses filled with cold. How were the gods so cruel? Why did you have to accept that stupid ring? Why didn't you admire it longer? Maybe you would've found evidence of its owner, somehow, in the royal gleam of the thing. Maybe you could have returned it with honor, the promise of your home awaiting you. But none of that was happening. Now, you were unsure of everything. But you weren't going to go down without a fight. You weren't going to rat out the innocent fellow you pawned with, for simply surviving another day of this confounding life. You weren't eager to play into the rulers demands for more, as if he didn't have enough. As if he deserved to be granted assurance when himself and his brother offered Rome none.

Hours must've passed. Guards floated by time and again, jeering at you through the bars of your cell. As they passed you by, the voices grew louder yet, giving other prisoners hell. You heard shouts and screams. You heard begging for torture to cease. You heard the stabbing of flesh and the gurgle of blood. You heard the quiet from your own cell. Why were you being spared of such treatment? Why was your confinement different from the others?

As you began to question your own sanity, and the fate the gods had in store for you, a guard was passing by your cell once more. He stopped there, jamming a key into the lock. This was it. Your turn had come. You braced to be berated as the man reached in and yanked you to stand. The guard demanded you to follow as he dragged you through the cellar the same way you'd come in.

Suddenly you were in the great hall again. The purple carpet like clouds under your step. There were servants arranging decor as if an event were to be taking place soon. Your observation of the hall was short lived as the single guard dragged you up a marble staircase. The home was vast, and full of well painted statues and portraits and windows. The sun was long gone from the sky. It had to be later than midnight. As you soaked up your surroundings and let your imagination run wild, you tried not to worry how you'd be executed. You tried to remind yourself that death waited for no one. You tried to remember the last picture you'd been painting, a field of sheep under a setting sun.

Your captor stalled before a great carved door, twisting the handle. Your captor dragged you inside.

Candles lit a room with a bed in the middle, the biggest you'd ever seen. The amber glow of the space was welcoming, despite the terror that resided about your situation. Beyond the bed was a table full of wine, bottles of all sort decorated the clothed stand. Before the table, was Geta. His slump on a stool shifted when he saw you. Moving to stand, the man dressed more scarcely than before was slow to approach you. His expression unreadable.

"Leave us." He demanded, pointing the guard to exit the room. The man's parting left chills in his wake. What was to become of you now? What was this all about?

Geta did not stay still at your front. He instead let his head roll from one side to the other as his pace turned back toward the cloth covered table. Among the bottles of wine were a scattered few chalices. He filled one with a drink. And then another.

"We caught the carriage driver who initially accepted the ring." Geta announced, back toward you all the while. You admired the tone of his shoulders, as one was left uncovered by his robe. The cloth stayed tied among his waist. "We also captured the man you pawned the ring off to. We have the ring." Geta continued, bringing both cups of wine over to where you stood. Ah, so poison was to be your execution?

Accepting the chalice in a fist, you stayed silent all the while. Geta locked his tired gaze on yours and kept talking.

"The ring was my fathers. Something he left just to me. Caracalla was given finery as well, just for himself. We do not do well with equity, my brother and I." Geta raised his wine for a sip and kept his dark gaze locked on your own. His eye's were red from lack of sleep, it seemed. His eyes were bright, all the while, as they peered into yours. This leader had a way of drawing you in. This leader had a way of making you forget you were probably on the verge of slaughter or worse.

"And while this mission to hunt down the ring has been my mission alone, Caracalla's wrath has still been promoted since he learned something of our fathers had gone missing." Geta explained.

"What's become of the carriage driver and the man I sold your ring to?" You dared to wonder.

"The servant was killed as you know, by Caracalla's own sword. The driver has been exiled at my command." Geta said. "But the man you sold it too was killed as well, by my brother's guards. Before I could get to him. You see my wrath is often equal to Caracalla's. But my bloodlust isn't as insatiable. And I can see his way of violence has stirred fear among our people. Would you agree?"

You had to nod.

"I do not wish death upon you. Blood should only be shed in battles and in honor. You were a simple moving part. You should not deserve to be killed in the crossfire. But you should pay for stumbling where you dared not have stepped. Otherwise, Caracalla will catch wind that I let you slip away without a punishment. And he will do worse."

"So, what is my fate?" You wondered, clutching the wine in your fist, unmoving. Mind whirring. Had you really been shown a backhanded kindness by the ruler you'd always believed to be more unyielding? His already alluring nature becoming more attractive as you understood this to be true.

"Exile seems drastic, yes. But it's an option." Geta raised his glass to gesture, moving to pace before a cushioned chaise. This room, his room, wanted for nothing. There was space and comfort and treasure promised throughout its expanses.

"Then there could be a fine. You'd be meant to pay every fortnight." Geta reasoned drinking once more. Still not entirely trusting of your own wine, you rested the chalice on a nearby chest, crossing your arms with a scowl. As if this Empire needed more money.

"I'm too poor to keep that up." You spat, expressing displeasure in your tone. Geta raised a brow and frowned when he realized your implication, how much work needed to be done for the betterment of the population. With a sigh, Geta cast his gaze about the room. When his pace turned naturally closer to you, his eye's locked on your face as a realization dawned across his. Geta let a smirk hint at his lips as his dark eyes glanced into yours.

"There is... another way..." Geta implied something you didn't see coming. As the man continued his languid back and forth, his gaze stayed ever fixed on your figure. And you hadn't really been ashamed of the glances you'd stolen of his, this day. He was drawing closer, as if to entice you. He didn't need to know that it wouldn't have taken much seduction. He didn't need to know that you'd already been wondering what it would be like to untie the robe at his waist.

Geta didn't need to know that you were becoming less wrought with terror by the second. You'd hoped he'd never known you were afraid, before. But now, in the flickering candlelight of his lavish room, you saw him. The persona Geta had put on all these years, all this time, was just that. You could see plain as day. Geta was full of anger, yes. But he seemed full of so much more, to you, now, too. The man seemed to hold a brewing mixture of depth about him that felt so obvious all of a sudden. Now, more endeared to the ruler, and just as attracted, you made up your mind.

"Seeing as I have no funds... let's just get this over with." You sighed, feigning impatience for the wrong reasons.

Geta circled you, eyeing you up. You wanted to melt under how hot his gaze was. But right now this was all happening far too slowly. Your interest had skyrocketed. But your time had also been heavily wasted here. You had plans, after all. He'd held you captive long enough.

"Sit down. I'm tired of waiting." You barked at him, shoving his shoulder so he collapsed into the chaise. Geta fell seated at your order but looked up to you with an irate sneer. An anger passed over his expression but morphed into curiosity in a blink.

"Seeing as to how I'm getting what I want out of you, I don't mind giving into your demands." Geta announced, as if to remind you he was the one calling the shots. You couldn't help but grin, struggling not to roll your eyes at the man's obsession with power. Humming so he knew you heard him, you settled either knee at Geta's sides.

As the ruler's fingers reached to grab at your hips, your day flashed before your imagination. Funny how life worked. How days could be spent so monotonously for so long only to become upturned and scattered about the next. You never imagined you'd find yourself straddling one of Rome's emperors over a payment for your latest painting.

Geta's kiss surprised you. Not the fact that it was bruising, and harsh. But the fact that it was. You assumed this would go quickly, without much effort put into anything besides a quick and vulgar shagging. Granted, his lips didn't press into yours longer than a couple minutes, before his teeth were digging into your neck. But the way his hands wandered to grab at your limbs and claw at your skin was a welcomed affection you had not expected.

When you finally got to untie the robe around his waist, you couldn't help but admire the build of his core, the shape of his figure. You'd heard girl's oggle over the emperor before, he was no stranger to trysts of most kind. You'd heard girl's trade deadly details of their nights spent with Geta, his lust unbridled. But the sight of his body bare before yours was better than any rumor you'd caught wind of.

As you lowered yourself into Geta's lap, he was quick to rock his hips against yours with force you had been bracing for. His grip on your hips threatened to turn you over, but you'd be damned if you let him gain complete control. You rose a hand to the man's head, raking a set of fingers through his hair. Your fingers curled to grip with perhaps too much gusto, and your hips rolled to force Geta back, more fully seated.

You heard the man let out a hoarse curse as his grip lightened, as he accepted your dominance. Did this really count as payment if you were getting more out of it?

Geta pushed you away when it was all said and done, a steady hand stayed holding your side as he nudged you off of his lap. You maneuvered to stand, adjusting the skirt of your dress with a sigh.

"I suppose I should thank you for sparing my life. Surely thought you'd take it. Shame our exchange has come to an end. Didn't quite feel like a payment at all." A daring smirk painted your face as you turned to head for the door. You heard Geta lumber to stand, perhaps drunk off wine and pleasure. His feet padded as your hand reached for the handle of your escape.

"What was the painting?" Geta asked, stalling your leave and perplexing you to turn to face him. He was shrugging his robe back into place with a raised brow. "The painting bought with my ring, what was it?"

"Oh," You realized, pursing a frown. "I- I don't exactly recall. I do a lot of landscapes. Seascapes. Could've been anything like it." You noted. Geta watched you speak, mouth opened, stalled to say more. His tongue glided over the ends of his teeth as the man nodded and sauntered back toward his table full of wine.

"My guards will see to your return home." Geta called, back facing you. You took that as your leave, anxious for some rest after exhausting your mind with wonder all day, and your body with pleasure this night. As you shut the emperor's door with a soft click, a gratitude filled your chest. That could've gone a lot worse.

///

The next day seemed surreal. You recalled the night like a fevered dream, like a plot from a book. But there were scratches along your thighs that reminded you what had happened was very truly real. You recalled the feelings Geta stirred in you with warmth.

You milled from room to room, mind in constant awe of the way your life had been spared. Since the brothers had come into power, so many senseless killings had been threatened and followed through. So much violence had afflicted common criminals and the odd person out of place alike. Was it more to do with Caracalla? Was he truly the more cruel? Did Geta have a softness about him? Or had you just gotten damn lucky?

You went about your daily chores and sat down to paint. Your art displayed sheep dotting across greyish green land. Your setting sun was in progress. A breeze flowed through the window, and you imagined it in your painting as well. A knocking rattled your door. It's persistence grating your nerves. Only now, at least, no one was intruding.

Maybe that's why you were shocked more so now than before, to see two royal guards at your front door.

"Geta is demanding your audience." One of them chuckled lowly before reaching to grab at you. He was too strong to fight off, though kick and yell you did.

Oh God, he'd realized he'd let you off easy, hadn't he? You should've pretended to hate rocking against his lap in that chair. You should've begged for freedom. Or maybe it was Caracalla after all. Maybe he'd heard of your involvement with his father's stolen ring and wished you dead. And these guards were luring you in with a false promise that Geta was the one wishing for a meeting.

While your mind raced, and the carriage took off into the city and passed the colosseum, you cursed the guards for dragging you away again. For being such fowl scum of the earth to manhandle women like they did.

It wasn't long before you were being yanked from the ride and marched into the great hall with that luscious purple carpet underfoot. Geta was there, assessing a scroll with a couple of servants nearby. His shock surprised you, when his glance looked up from the papers.

As you squirmed against the holds the guards kept on you, Geta shoved the scroll he held onto, into the grasp of a servant. He drew his sword from his side, the instrument of war and horror blinding you in its brightness. The emperors stomp in your direction was quick, his footfall shaking the building and you to your core. This was it. This was your fate.

"Release her now!" Geta yelled, directing his fury to one of the guards at your side. Before the words fully formed from the man's mouth, either of the guard's grips had unlatched from your arms. You did not see that coming. You almost couldn't comprehend that his blade had missed piercing straight through you.

"You were gone for all of a few seconds before you bring her back here?" Geta quizzed, face red with anger. He held the end of his sword to the man's chin, forcing his footsteps back.

"You- you told us to go fetch the girl from last afternoon, is that not what we did your highness?" The guard was bold in asking, though his voice trembled.

"I told you to ask her to come. I told you to remain at her door in patience. And you dare drag the woman back in the matter of mere moments? With force? That's a direct disregard of my orders!" With speed that rallied a gasp from your throat, Geta whipped his sword to slash at the knees of the guard that defied him. The man let out a cry as his legs gave way, sending the fellow to collapse. Geta ordered the other guard to take the injured one to a medic and stay there until he was ready to deal with them further. His blood pooled and stained the purple carpet.

"Why am I here again?" You couldn't linger in uncertainty any longer, once again failing to greet the leader without any respect of his authority. Geta plunged his red stained sword into its sheath as he demanded his servants get out. The workers scattered at the sound of his command, scurrying toward exits. The room was filled with quiet as Geta turned to face you fully.

"I'm sorry they dragged you here. You were only meant to show up if you so wished." Geta's voice was lower, his rage subdued. He confounded you, the way he held so much darkness and contempt about him. The way he eased into constraint. These were not the stories you had heard. This was not the man described to you by retired servants and wives of soldiers. He was more withheld, before you. And it caught you by surprise time and again.

"But since you are here now, and you have not yet raised a hand to lash across my cheek, I shall tell you," Geta went on, letting his eyes do what they had done before. Letting his gaze sweep across your figure. "I asked you here to present to you a proposition. An invitation to spend more evenings like the one we shared just before."

"You cannot be serious." You let a breath of a laugh fan from your throat.

"I'm hardly ever anything but." Geta reasoned with a curled lip and a shrug of his shoulder in a way you knew was meant to get you to chuckle for real. This man continued to confound you. This man contained multitudes. How had no one else, in all their gossip, mentioned this?

"Is this more to do with payment? Did our exchange not suffice?" You reasoned, still uncertain of the terms in which Geta was asking.

"I think you know exactly how well our exchange sufficed. Well enough for me to not have stopped dreaming of doing exactly that time and time again. I'm merely asking because I wish too." Geta was so close, his breath ghosting across your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "And now you get to decide what you wish. Who am I to deny you a choice?"

"What happens should I turn to leave?" You wondered.

"A guard would take you home. And with fair treatment, I'd make certain."

"What happens should I stay?"

"A servant would take you upstairs. And your imagination could fill in the rest."

Well, this certainly wasn't how you expected your day to turn out. That painting of all the sheep and the sunset would have to wait another long day. You suddenly couldn't dream of plans outside of those featuring Rome's half reigning emperor.

With a nod toward the door you'd seen Geta's servants go through, he grinned.

With footsteps more certain of the direction of his room, you found yourself locked in there, waiting.

///

The next weeks were filled with plans you couldn't tell anyone without fear they'd think you'd gone mad. You spent days milling about the stalls to sell your landscape paintings, careful of the payments you accepted. You'd harvest the fruits from your garden for meals and wait until night fall, when your promised escort arrived.

Nights were spent in Geta's room, on his floor, against his wall, in that blessed chaise. Nights were spent shoving the emperors head into the pillows as your hips rocked together. Nights were spent demanding he speed up and slow down at your desire. Nights were spent with Geta sharing wine in between drawn-out romps. You'd drink and laugh and carry on, a couple times until the sun peaked dimly into a new day. You'd stay drinking, sharing stories about where you had come from and your hardships. Things you'd hardly spoken of before. Things you couldn't believe Geta would listen so intently to.

It started off as only a few times throughout any given week. But at the end of those nights Geta would always ask about the next. You'd offer up a day or a time and he'd promise you that he'd see to it happening. He would pour you more wine and tell you the dirtiest jokes, and ask what pleased you most before those nights ended.

But after a while, he stopped asking. And your escort showed up outside your door more nights than most. And it became a rather expected part of the schedule of either of your days.

This night as you padded across the purple carpet, following behind a servant you'd come to trust; a ruckus was sounding from the stairwell you headed toward.

There you found Geta and his brother spitting fowl words in one another's direction. The men were swarmed by guards, ready to take on any outcome of the boys spat. And while they argued about political things you weren't privy to the full details of, you understood they spoke their father's name. You heard Caracalla remind Geta that their father had decidedly upped Rome's soldiers pay to ensure their loyalties to the empire. You heard Geta shout something about how his father was dead, how the brothers needed to learn to ensure loyalties in their own manner. And then he noticed you had arrived.

"Thank God." Geta seethed, waving his brother off, taking the stairs two at a time to lower himself to greet you.

"For you, Geta, trust is easily earned, isn't it?" Caracalla shouted, still domineering about the stairs. "A bat of your lashed eyes toward any common whore and they come flooding through our halls." Caracalla cast a snarl in your direction that turned Geta's blood so hot you swore you could feel the smoke coming off him. With a decidedly quick hand, you rested your fingers to grip Geta's arm, stopping him from running up the staircase to rip his brother in two. You didn't care so much what Caracalla thought of you, so long as Geta's opinion remained unchanged.

"But my powers of persuasion are not so charming. And I must demand trust more harshly. And I must remain harsh to keep control. And I do control the half of this empire entrusted in my name!" Caracalla was seething, fists balled at his sides, eyes bulging with rage. You'd never known anyone to be fueled by such negativity. Geta had slowly started toward his brother, letting your grip remain on his arm.

"We'll reach an agreement. But not till morning. Go back to your side of the estate, now." Geta demanded, taking the staircase slowly, keeping his eyes on his brother. The younger one stood shaking with fury as the elder led you to his room. Guards and servants followed, wordlessly seeing the pair of you behind closed doors. A couple of soldiers usually waited on either end of this hall, but tonight a few more lingered near in addition. These boys really hated each other.

Once locked in his room, safe from rage and question, Geta had you pinned against the wall. He'd usually greet you. He'd usually ask about what paintings you'd sold that day, or if you'd had any great stories of your family before they sold you to a husband. Or of your husband before he died. But tonight, Geta was ravenous. Tonight, he moved more accordingly to the rumors you'd once heard about him.

The emperor didn't fuss with your clothes. He didn't give you time to unravel his either. No sooner than his hand had crept up the skirt of your dress, was he rocking his hips into yours, pounding your back against the wall.

Your nails clawed at the back of his neck and your legs curled to flex around his waist. Geta was relentless as his body hammered into yours. He huffed harder with each new pulse and let out some cursed sighs when your teeth pierced into his shoulder, to keep from screeching all the same. You knew the guards could hear from the hall. But they didn't need to hear more than they had too.

His efforts had ended, his face stayed buried in your neck. But you weren't ready for it to cease.

"You think you're finished? You're only just getting started." You barked, pawing at Geta's head and forearm, shoving him downward. He didn't hesitate, his knees cracked to the floor with force you knew had to hurt. But he didn't seem phased. Geta seemed entirely entranced on bending your knee over his shoulder. Scratching his fingers along your skin. Burying his head between your legs. And he did so consciously, like a duty being fulfilled. He was relentless tonight, and you felt lucky to be relented against.

When your pleasure had ended, and you were left to slide from the wall to find footing, you found the wine too.

"Well, I can't help solve Rome's problems," You began, pouring you each a drink. "But I hope I've just helped solve some of your own, your highness." You half mocked, but half spoke in well-meaning regard. Geta hummed somewhere behind you. His voice sounded nearby. But his hands fell to close the space between you, gripping at the hilt of your hips.

"Dunno, might need to try a couple more times." You could hear the smile in his tone, and you felt his sultry chuckle against your neck, where he nearly dared to place a kiss, but didn't. Geta only reached ahead for his chalice, and asked about your day.

///

You didn't need to sell paintings. You could've lived a basic enough life, fed from the food you grew in your garden, rested from the comfort of your own bed. Secure enough in your late spouses left over finances.

You had known married life for all of five years. Wed before you'd even turned old enough to know better. All because your parents thought it best. They said you'd been sold to a husband to take care of you, in the long run. He did care for you, in his own twisted way. He kept you fed and housed until he died. And he left all his meager earnings to you in his passing. It wasn't much, but it was enough for you, for now, for a while.

You started painting when you moved in with him, to fill the days that dragged on so endlessly. You dreamed of freedom from the man for so long. And kept painting when he died, to fill those same days that were just as endless and a lot quieter to boot. He'd left you all alone in the expanses of the great wide world, yet freedom seemed even more unobtainable to you then, somehow. So, you painted. And decidedly started selling those paintings when the house filled up without room for any more of them. You kept selling them when you realized how eagerly peers bought from you.

You'd made friends down at the stalls. You found a quaint routine there, waiting in the sun to trade paintings for coins, and chattering with townspeople while the mornings stayed young. Bakers and seamstresses and writers alike shared your routine, all becoming familiar faces you were pleased to see each day.

"Goodmorning, you!" A trio of girls your age came giggling your way. Girls you'd invited over a few times. Girls you were happy to see now.

"Listen, are you going to the games in three day's time? I'd like us all to twirl about the colosseum buzzed on vino, carefree!" The small brunette leaned across the table your art was displayed on.

"She just wants to go to wait on Geta, afterward. He always invites girls in after the games." The blonde rolled her eyes, leaning against the post of your stall as you chuckled in understanding, and out of sudden apprehension. You and Geta agreed to your trysts because he trusted how discreet you could be. When you refused to bend your will to give the names of the people you pawned his ring to, he admired that. You couldn't give yourself away, now.

"But haven't you heard?" The redhead leaned in, waving you all to listen closer. "Geta hasn't invited any of the girls that wait at the empire gates in, in weeks."

You'd often trailed in past that very line of girls in question, much to their growing displeasure. Luckily, none of them were from the side of the country you had resided. None of them could spread your name around in whispers, as they did not know it.

"I'm still eager to take my chances." The brunette joked, going on to beg you to come to the games at the colosseum.

"I don't know." Was the best answer you could give without disappointing your friends, or thinking up a messy lie on the spot.

///

Another night in Geta's room was unusually spent in his bed. You'd been used to being forced against a chest of drawers, his voice growling in your ear. Or yours demanding the emperor sit on the stool before the table of wine, and wait in agony like a good, obedient, merciful ruler.

But tonight, Geta had you moving slower in his sheets. He'd closed his eyes as your hips rocked atop his, nice and easy. And when he reached to flip you over, his core pierced languidly into yours. His hand brushed across your cheek and his eyes stayed steadily locked on yours.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" You couldn't help but worry, too overcome with the silence that fell about the room. Geta had been resting at your side, his finger tracing the same pattern against your stomach forever.

"What if you stayed, tonight?" The ruler asked, after a while.

"You didn't answer my question. You realized, still confused as to what mood you'd found Geta in tonight. You'd been often surprised by his wit and his resolution. But this wasn't a way you'd known the emperor before.

"You didn't answer mine either." He pointed, finger still dancing across the skin of your abdomen. You turned your head to find Geta's gaze. His head rested on a pillow at your side, his eyes rolling up to lock with yours. His dark brown stare was illuminating. His curls graced his head so delicately. His silence was so reticent this night. Maybe it was the fact neither of you had had any wine.

"I'll stay if you tell me what's going on in that head of yours." You shot a pointed look to the man at your side who let a lifeless smile flash across his lips as his eyes turned away from yours. Silence filled the room once more, but you got the sense that Geta was choosing his words a while.

"Nothing... none of this is how I thought it would be." Geta spoke. You kept your eyes cast across his amber lit room, fixating on the pattern of the wallpaper. What did he mean?

"What's this?" You quizzed. "Ruling an empire? Sleeping with me? Sobriety from wine for a night?" You tried to joke, desperate for some kind of clarity.

"None of it." Geta responded, his inflection implying everything you listed was weighing on his mind then. And that surprised you. He was always surprising you. Silence settled yet again, and stayed for a while. It was Geta who broke it, after so long. He sat up to meet your eye, searching your gaze before offering a nod. You nodded back, knowing that meant your promise to stay here had been sealed. He rose from the bed to dim the candles, and crashed back into it with a sigh.

When Geta rested his head of golden curls on your chest, in the dark and quiet of his room, you finally understood what he meant. This was all very different now, than it started. None of it had turned out in an expected way. But you felt at ease with it all. You hadn't shared a bed with anyone since your late husband, and those times simply did not count in your mind. You did not care for that man as you had come to care for the one laying against you now. And that dawned on you in fear. But then, a realization that it didn't matter. Not now. Now, you got to rest under the weight of the emperor, for one peaceful night.

///

The next morning was bright and felt early in your bones. And it wasn't long before it hit you, the games were meant to happen today. Geta's stirring at your side was a relished wonder, as his smile widened to see you upon waking. But it all came crashing down as servants and soldiers demanded quick work of getting up and ready for the day of events.

"It will be too hard to send you away now, with all the crowds starting to gather." Geta realized, peering from the window of his room to the public below. "I'll have some appropriate attire sent for you. You shall join us today." The emperor's smile was bitten back, but you saw it reached his eyes as his looked into yours.

Things were shifting with Geta. Night's were turning into days with him. Festivities were offered to be shared. You knew better than to ask. You knew better than to wonder why. You simply thanked him for his offer and waited for clothes to change into as the leader headed out of his room, yelling for a guard to hurry along and follow. You milled about Geta's room, admiring the wallpaper in the daylight. Admiring the stained glass of his window. You traced your finger along carved chests and bed posts. You dared to open a drawer, finding a collection of jewelry there, a familiar blue stoned ring at the front of the collection.

You snapped the drawer shut in a hurry when a knock came across the door.

"Hello." A familiar face entered. Julia, the Emperors mother, twirled in the room with a stack of garments. "These are mine from seasons past. I brought a few, just in case." The woman was dear, with soft curls that matched her sons, gold earrings that brightened her blue eyes. She smiled and introduced herself as if she needed too. For her, you bowed.

"Such a pretty thing, you are." Julia cooed, resting her clothes at the foot of the emperor's bed before turning to consider you. "I've seen you come and go. Quite the feat to boast over. Geta never struggled to make friends, not like Caracalla. But he has failed to keep so many of them."

Julia kept a studying gaze on you as you thanked her for her kindness and watched her saunter out the door. The woman told you to meet the family downstairs once you readied yourself. That's when a certain anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. What was this? What had you gotten yourself into? Worry plagued your mind as you squeezed into a bright blue and plum skirt. The fabric hugged at your figure but fell so elegantly to the floor. You never dreamed of such finery adorning you. You'd never dreamed of a life so different from the one you'd been used to living.

Downstairs, everyone had gathered, gearing up to head out. Guards of every kind kept the ruling brothers on either side of the room while Julia flitted about, laughing with a man you didn't know. Senators and councilors seemed to mingle with the family just as well, their wives and children patiently lingering on the outskirts of the gathering.

When Julia found you descending the stairs her first greeting after a smile was to tell you how perfectly the dress fit, how powerful you seemed entering the room. She said you held a certain presence about you, keeping a watchful eye on your expression as you gushed to thank her for such continued kindness.

And then you were off, trailing with the wives and the children of the party as the royal family presented themselves before the public. They were loved and hated so that the cheers and boo's from the crowd muddled together in an indistinguishable roar. Your heart pounded to realize how close you were to the action of the day, to realize how viscerally the opinion of the public mattered to the fate of the royals.

You watched Caracalla pull some face, pointing a finger at a citizen who cursed his name on the families walk toward the colosseum. You watched women line themselves along the path Geta walked, his politics be damned. You watched as he turned to look back, smile stretching wider as his eyes found yours. You watched then, as Julia stalled to join your side, and failed to calm the quickening of your heart as she held your arm to walk with you. None of this was how it used to be.

The woman leaned in, explaining exactly how today's games were meant to go. She yammered about the history of it all and pulled a few giggles from your throat as she threw in some personal deadly details about old games she'd bore witness too.

Once you'd all reached the colosseum, the brothers were ushered off to find their royal box, while Julia strategically placed you just outside of there. She frowned when she reminded you could not be allowed to join them further than here, but smiled when she hoped you'd enjoy the day's events. You watched her saunter off, stopping a guard and pointing in your direction before she disappeared in the box all the while. The guard locked his gaze with yours, offering a respectful nod as you considered your surroundings.

All kinds of vendors and stalls were open around every entrance of the arena. All kinds of people wandered about, sampling food and drink, playing cards at tables until the event's kicked off. You decidedly began to wander about, accepting free samples and smiling to people you'd seen in passing. You shielded your eyes from the sun and noticed that guard trailing nearby, keeping a steady eye on your every move.

When the crowds began to clamor toward the inside of the arena, you realized the games were about to begin. You downed a free sample of wine and found your way to watch from afar. Caracalla and Geta were announced in, and greeted with that same muddled roar of praise and disregard. You watched as Geta ate up the attention. You watched as Caracalla fought against it, spitting and arguing with some poor guard in the box. There was something so volatile in the air, as if one wrong move from either of the emperors would unleash havoc. The public was only one excitable realization away from realizing their joined forces could rip the royals from limb to limb. Geta was quick to shift focus to the games, demanding the publics energy be reserved for the battles that were begun, turning the spotlight away from himself. It was a tactical move, but you worried if he and his brother did not change the course of their political actions soon, no amount of pantomime could save them.

Another few swallows of wine helped ease your nerves, all the while. You'd forgotten how on edge the public had only just seemed. You'd been entranced by Geta's presence even from so many miles away. His distraction's had worked wonders on the crowd, his excitable reactions to the winners and losers kept the arena entertained for the better, for now. He kept you entertained all the while. When he would tear his gaze from the games every once and a while, you liked to imagine he was looking for wherever you might've been.

When you wandered off to find more wine, the guard that had been following you stayed back, glued to the battle that was happening. You returned with two cups, to share. The guard tried to deny your kindness but caved with a smile at your insistence to have at least one drink. It was a day of festivities after all.

"We thought you weren't going to make it!" A voice familiar echoed over your ear. Turning from the view of the battle, you found your friends. You chuckled as you greeted the small brunette, buzzed enough off wine to shrug your nerves away. You couldn't exactly explain how you ended up here, to them. Or how you'd come to dress so finely. But they didn't pester you too much about it, drunk all the same. The girls swarmed you with giggles and hello's and how are you's.

"Change your mind, have you?" The blonde teased, raising her brow at you. But your mind was too slow to understand why.

"This is the gate the royals always leave from. Isn't it obvious?" The small brunette pointed, waving her hand to gesture around. When you glanced up, you noticed a particularly increasing population of young women that had begun to collect around the area. Geta always famously exited from this path, and always famously collected a girl or two to follow him back to the royal hall.

"Oh, no, I just sort of-" You stumbled over words, "ended up on this side." How were you to explain this all away? "I actually... should be going now that it's nearing an end. Get home before sun set." This reason sounded good enough in your head to speak aloud, as you began to walk backward, waving to your friends all the while. You spun on your heels, anxious to get away, making up your mind to head home should that be your only sound escape. But you'd barely walked a dozen paces before that guard was gliding close and halting your leave.

"You're not to go. I'm to see you united with her highness when she passes through that exit."

"Is- is that what she ordered?" You asked meekly, looking up to the roman soldier who loomed over you with his bulky build, yet kind eyes. The man did not speak, but lifted a hand to spin you around by the shoulder, placing a gentle palm there to guide you back where you came from. You saw your friends notice, perplexed gaze's settled on your march as you stepped closer to where they'd stayed waiting.

Caracalla was the first one to storm through the arched entrance, scowling at you on his storm toward his chariot. But then, a spectator, too drunk for his own good, began to slur insults to the emperor. The fellow had barely began cursing Caracalla's name, before the ruler stepped close to grab the man by his throat, strong enough to lift him to the tips of his dirty toes. The citizen struggled to breathe, squirming for relief. Caracalla shouted in the man's face, something about knowing better. The ruler let go, the citizen dropped to the floor in a rattled gasp. When Caracalla demanded the guards that followed him, to slaughter the citizen still choking for breath on the ground, you'd had enough.

"Do not do that. Have you such little mercy?" It wasn't to be helped, the way your body and mind worked together to force out a shout. You should have been more afraid of the way Caracalla turned to fix his fiery gaze on you. But rage at the senseless violence was all you could feel. Yet, the guards were already slashing their swords at the belly of the the citizen, so he might suffer still before passing.

Caracalla stood considering you, longer than you expected. The crowds fell silent, the only noises were the hoarse cries from the dying man. And your heart hammering in place.

Caracalla moved his look from you, to the guard steady at your side, and back to you. His head shook, and a scoff left his throat. He turned to leave, kicking the man he'd murdered on his exit. Your body shook with panic. Your stomach churned at the realization that you'd escaped yet another royal execution.

The crowds parted to let Caracalla pass, steering clear of the angry little man. Your friends seemed to think of walking closer to where the guard had stalled you to wait. But their confounded and horrified expressions morphed into something more wonder filled, as their collective eye unfocused from your position.

You were too busy assessing your friend's questioning gazes to see he'd appeared. But instead, you heard Geta's voice in your ear.

"I'd say you're lucky he spared you. But I think there are more powerful forces than luck working on your side." You heard him say. Your friend's gazes had no doubt been locked on the emperor, but soon fell more perplexed onto you, yet again. And then you realized everyone's eyes had shifted to you. The entire crowd that had watched you speak against the vindictive leader just ahead. The same crow that had pushed closer to wait for a scrap of attention from the man that spoke to only you, now, was casting a collective stupefied glare right at you.

"I'd like to take you away now, but I'll have you wait on my mother. She hasn't stopped bringing up your name since this day has begun." Geta stayed speaking lowly, and you nodded to assure you understood, keeping your nervous gaze cast on the crowd that had fixated their attentions on you. "Do not worry though, tonight we can debrief in more ways than one."

You had to turn and grin at him then, pleased to see he'd waited to share a smirk with you. He was off no sooner though, parting through the crowd with little acknowledgement their way. Your friends kept their slack jawed gazes set on you as you wondered for a beat about saying something to them. But then Julia was sweeping you away, resting her clutch at the bend of your arm like she'd done before.

They watched you leave, just as everyone had. You shot your friends a quick shrug and an expression you hoped they'd understand meant you'd catch them all up later, if ever you could dream up a good enough fib.

Unlike your journey here, Julia asked all about you on your trek back. You gave thoughtful answers, not daring to spare the truth of your meager life to the woman, but hoping the way you spoke of it would endear you to her somehow. It wasn't like you needed to be adored by Julia. But you did long to be respected in some basic human way, by the royal woman.

///

That evening went on strangely. Caracalla locked himself away in the furthest parts of the halls. No one dared speak about him in his absence. No one had dared to allude to his fury or righteousness at all. Instead, the tone of the evening was rather merry. You shared a meal with a mile long table of strangers, glad all the while to have been welcomed in the celebrations of the day. You gabbed with socialites and senators alike, until one by one they headed for home and bed. Try as you might to take your leave, Julia would not let you. She only kept dragging you from guest to guest to introduce. Until you were the last one standing. Until even Julia had made her exit from the room, Geta too. Leaving you to wait in the parlor until further command.

A pair of guards stood unmoving near the doors, as you sat at the head of the dirty table. There were plates and glasses and saucers left awry, covered in crumbs for the kitchen maids to come and handle. There was a steady crackling fire on the opposite end of the room. There was wallpaper that didn't put your senses at ease the way the kind in Geta's room often had.

When the sound of the door opening stirred you from blank thoughts, you shifted to stand. Julia was easing into the room, smile and curls soft as ever. Eye's full of a certain kind of knowing. Behind her, Geta followed. His mother spoke your name, as if to grab your attention, as if she didn't already have it.

"You're not to return home." The woman began, gliding to stall before you. Geta shouldered past her, moving to stand at your side and watching as his mother spoke. "I've noticed you come and go, as I mentioned." Julia went on. "And I've noticed how my son has been less fraught, during the time you've been around. I've heard you speak, and I've seen you command a presence in any room you enter."

"What are you on about? What is this?" Geta demanded, that brooding gaze of his beginning to darken as understanding evaded him.

"As good as she has been for you, son, I'm certain she'll benefit our empire just as well." Julia glanced to Geta before her gaze settled unmovably on yours. Your chest filled with the weight of a realization. Your mind buzzed with wonders of her implications. "You will marry in two days time. Enough to spread the news across the public, and plan something grand."

"Marry?" You breathed, feeling your heart hammer in your stomach.

"You actually don't-" Geta began.

"I actually am watching this empire teeter on the edge of collapse." Julia interrupted Geta, causing his jaw to clench and his brow to darken further than before. "If we do not start moving more intentionally in the direction of change, you and your brother will ruin everything. If you marry this girl, you will marry someone from the very public you've been so often accused of dismissing. This girl is clearly capable of not only earning our family greater public favor. But she would be your bride, and you two together would have a better chance of making sense of this empire than your brother. Caracalla cannot be allowed to overpower your rule, Geta. Do you realize how close that idea is to becoming our reality?" Julia was insistent. "You do not have a choice. This has to happen. For all our fates." She was looking right at you again.

You were shaken, stunned, totally unprepared. Just days ago you were living such a carefree reality, all you knew were paints and pleasure by way of the emperor's hands. But now all of a sudden, all of Rome's fate depended on if you stayed standing here or made a break to sprint for the door.

"Get out." Geta pointed, coldly dismissing his mother. She began to argue back, pleading his name to listen. "Get out! I command it!" Geta was fuming, rage becoming his entire essence. You couldn't help but screw your eyes shut at the boom of his voice. You heard a guard approach to see the royal mother out of the door. She went without a fight, but insisted Geta had no choice, insisting she was already making plans to assure this fate for the both of you. As one guard saw her out of the room, the other followed, leaving you and Geta alone in the room with the ugly wallpaper.

The fire stayed crackling in the corner. The table stayed dirty. Geta began to pace, like he did, hands on his hips, head shaking in an effort to make sense of things.

"You are quiet." He spoke up, softer than he had spoken all night.

"I am choiceless." You warbled. Hadn't this already happened to you? Hadn't you already been forced to wed a man for the betterment of some kind of future? You thought you'd already paid your dues. You thought freedom was supposed to be promised at some point. You thought you'd had it, just days ago. But even still you were captured by the powers that be. It wasn't like you were opposed to being Geta's bride. But you were rocked to realize it didn't matter what you wanted, in this life. It was just going to keep happening to you, against you, despite you.

You watched as Geta sped up his pace, thinking. His eyes danced as if to keep up with an invisible coming together idea. And then his moving stalled. He rolled his shoulders and let his eyes rake up your figure, like they so often did. Geta's brown stare bore into yours, as if to search for an answer to a question not yet asked.

"You claim to have been born to die." Geta gestured, sauntering closer. "I claim to have been born to rule. But we have failed to consider what there could be to live for. I have reason to believe my answer to living lies within you." His speech was imploring. He meant it. He only ever spoke with authority, by that you weren't surprised. But by his meaning, by the tenderness in it, you were. "As ruler, I shall make the final decision regarding my mother's demands. But... I shall also wait here in silence as you choose your fate. I will command no guard after you should you flee. This time, this wedding, you'll be allowed to choose."

"Should I flee, will there be fines? Will I forever be in your debt somehow?"

"I shall see to it that you owe nothing to this empire if you leave it. But you must leave it entirely, you must go far from here. It's the only way I could make these guarantees."

"Should I stay..."

Geta loomed closer, until his breath fanned across your face. So close you could see the golds speckled across the brown of his eyes. Close enough to kiss.

"I would see to your value." Geta breathed, stalling an inch before you. "Your profile on coins. Your voice heard above others. Your throne... My bed... I'd see to it."

Your heart hadn't stopped pounding since this conversation spun to life. But it beat harder yet, at Geta's tone and implication now.

"Take my hand." Geta held an open face palm before you. "Or turn away." You glanced to the door.

You considered all that lie beyond it, the quiet, the vastness. The race to the finish line of life would be slow and steady outside these doors. Your freedom would be quiet and lonely. Then you turned to Geta and saw a different kind of future to consider. And then a thought dawned on you. What if the freedom you'd always been in search of, was not just yours alone? What if an entire empires fate had always been pressed into the back of your heart, clear in the front of your mind only now that you understood everything Julia had said. You thought of your latest painting. The one with the sheep and the sunset. You wondered if maybe it was a sunrise all along.

Your hand flexed, knuckles deciding between clenching and raising up. Until suddenly your palm was in Getas. Until suddenly your fate, and all of Rome's, had been sealed.

///

Part 2 Coming Soon...

#joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #emperor geta #emperor geta fanfic #geta x reader #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn x reader #fem!reader #joe quinn smut #minors dni

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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 months ago

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Love Abbot with all my heart but i’m feining for more robby 😭❤️ i wanna request a hurt/comfort fic where reader lashes out at robby because she’s having a rough day or was dealing with a case that was kinda personal to her? Or maybe they have a really bad argument at work? Thank you 🥺✨

Black Scrubs, Red Lines | Pairing: Dr. Robby x Physician!Reader

The hospital lights never turn off. They just dim slightly, like the building itself is trying to fall asleep but keeps remembering someone might code at any moment.

You're still in your scrubs. Still covered in dried blood and sweat and the acidic sting of failure. The girl couldn’t have been older than sixteen. OD. Fentanyl, maybe cut with something worse. You got her pulse back once. Lost it again minutes later.

And now she’s just another line on a clipboard. Another mother screaming into the void.

You're not crying. Not really. You’ve done this long enough to stay functional. But you’re not okay either, and the worst part is that you could’ve handled it — maybe — if Robby hadn’t come in running his goddamn mouth like nothing had happened.

“She coded twice,” you’d snapped, standing over a tray of discarded syringes. “I know,” he said carefully, hands in his pockets. “But we’ve still got six more post-op in recovery and—” “Jesus, Robby. I’m not asking you to care, just act like it matters.” “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “Weaponize it. I’m not the enemy here.”

You’d laughed bitterly. “Sure. Just the guy giving me a lecture while I’m still covered in a teenager’s blood.”

You hadn’t waited for a response. You walked out before you could say something worse — like how her face reminded you of your cousin. Like how the last OD you saw didn’t make it either. Like how you still dream about the ones you couldn’t save.

You’re on the floor now, in the locked staff break room. Back against the sink, legs pulled up to your chest. The sterile tile presses cold through your scrubs. Your fingers are twitchy. Like your body’s still in fight mode but there’s no one left to fight.

Then there’s a knock. Gentle. Twice. You don’t move.

“It’s me,” Robby says quietly from the other side.

Your throat tightens. You swipe at your face and stare at the floor. “Go away.”

Silence.

Then, his voice again: “I can. If you really want me to.”

You don’t answer. You don’t know the answer.

A soft click — the door opens slowly. He slips in, closes it behind him, and lowers himself to the floor across from you. Not too close. Just enough to remind you he’s there.

For a while, neither of you speak. You can hear someone’s monitor beeping faintly down the hall. A cart squeaking. The world continues turning, unaware of how sharp your insides feel.

You don’t look at him when you finally say: “She reminded me of someone.”

He nods slowly. His voice stays low. “I figured.”

You wrap your arms around your knees tighter.

“My cousin. Same age. Same look in her eyes when she came to me the first time. Told me she’d stop.” You breathe in hard. “She didn’t.”

You let the words hang. If they hurt, let them. It feels better than holding them in.

Robby leans back against the opposite cabinet. His shoulders are tense, but his face is open. Tired, but open.

“I didn’t mean to be cold,” he says after a moment. “I just… I compartmentalize. Sometimes too fast.”

You glance up. “Yeah. I noticed.”

There’s no bite in it now — just tiredness. He hears the shift and softens.

“I wasn’t trying to minimize what happened. I just didn’t know how to help without making it worse.”

You exhale through your nose. “You didn’t make it worse.”

He raises an eyebrow gently. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You shake your head. “I just… I was already cracked open. You were the first person I saw after she died.” A beat. “It wasn’t fair. I know that.”

He shifts closer, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. You don’t stop him.

“Hey,” he says, voice dipping to something fragile. “You can break around me. You know that, right?”

Your breath catches. “I didn’t want to break at all.”

He offers a small smile. “You’re allowed to.”

You close your eyes for a second. Let the weight of it settle. It’s a rare thing — being seen. Not just professionally, not just as someone competent or capable. But like this. Raw. Human.

You feel his hand near yours. He doesn’t touch, just hovers. Waiting. This time, you close the distance. Your fingers graze his. He links them gently, warm and steady.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Me too.”

You sit like that for a while. Two tired doctors on a hospital floor, hearts frayed at the edges. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs. Someone cries.

You just breathe.

And for the first time that day, your chest doesn’t ache from it.

#dr robinavitch #dr robby x reader #dr robby imagine #dr robinavitch x reader #dr robby fanfic #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt #the pitt fanfic

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ohraicodoll · 3 months ago

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Tumbling After

Joel Miller x Feral Reader/OC The Last of Us 3.1k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: All the fear Joel feels at the fact she's no longer expendable, that it's not just sex, and the only way he knows how to cope with it. Warning: 18+ Minors DNI. Sexual content and mild violence/language. AN: I'm slowly working through all my ancient drafts to get back into writing after over a year, almost two, without writing. I don't know if this is good at all, but I finished it so yall are getting it now. Would roughly take place after Honey but can be read as a standalone with no real backstory.

The lantern illuminated the small dark room, casting sharp angles all over his face and the small flashlight he held between his teeth. The contents of their small first aid kit was scattered all over the toilet seat, his rough fingers shuffling through their supply while Red stayed sitting on the broken counter. The rain outside was pounding heavily against the dilapidated walls of the broken down RV they were taking refuge in, thick droplets sounding like bullets against the metal walls. Even in the noise he could hear the telltale drip, drip, drip of a leak as water fell into the ceramic bottom of the shower. It’d been a decent travel day up until the flooded tunnel.

Minimal contact with infected, no signs of people, and he had managed to catch a couple of suppressed smiles out of Red as Ellie went on a rant about how people were dumb for not traveling wherever they wanted when they could before the world went to shit. It was hard to argue with her when she was not only on a roll but also kind of right. The tunnel crossing was meant to be a safer way through the city and crossing water wasn’t new for them by now. The cars were close enough they could hop across and then he’d swim a flat wooden palette holding Ellie to the exit and Red would follow. Easy. Routine.

But halfway through swimming Ellie to the exit the bus Red was standing on shifted and the wall gave way underneath her. He heard her curse and the distinct thunk of a body hitting something and a splash. It’d taken him shouting at Ellie to stay back and not to jump into the damn water, leaving her floating close enough to the tunnel exit ramp, before he dove back in and raced for the bus. He’d never swam so fast, pushing his aging body further than he’d had to in a while. Red luckily hadn’t been knocked unconscious, but was worse for wear. Joel had no clue how he managed to bust through the window and get inside in the span of a heartbeat. He had gotten to her in record desperate speed and carted her all the way to dry ground, an arm across her chest and swimming one handed back. He didn’t even have it in him to yell at Ellie when she had finally splashed in after them only for him to drag her back out like a wet cat all while checking his companion over for injuries. Then of course the day went completely and utterly to shit when it started raining. Absolutely pouring right onto them. Now Ellie was passed out in the RV’s only bedroom, exhausted from being drenched and panicked and hiking half an hour in the cold rain. And he was trying to patch a long gash in Red’s arm and along her ribs where the busted metal wall had sliced her. He didn’t like how his heart was still in his throat, how he needed to take care of her wounds himself to make himself feel better and ensure that she was okay and whole. It had been a few hours but he couldn’t calm himself down and could see her disappearing over and over again into the abyss, the water swallowing her.

What if he had been slower? What if it had been her throat sliced up rather than her arm? Finding the needle and thread, he set them and the flashlight aside and grunted, “arms up,” before tugging her soaked shirt off her body. She didn’t protest, only raised an eyebrow and complied silently while letting him peel the piece of clothing off her skin. He wrung it out and tossed it over the small shower curtain rod to dry, the drip increasing twice as much. His focus was on making her okay, barely reacting to her now sitting topless in front of him.

It was the bleeding that concerned him more.

He intruded on her space, slipping in between her thighs naturally as he grabbed her chin, forcing her head to the side so he could see the scrape there too. It ran high on her cheekbones and was rough, but not too serious. Nothing like the other injuries, barely anything really, but there were small specks of dirt still clinging to her face alongside the blood. He could feel her breath on his hand, his skin, from how close he was standing to look her over.

Softly, slowly, she blinked at him and he dropped his hand before gruffly handing her the flashlight to hold. Again, silently she did as he asked, watching him. He got to work. It was becoming harder to ignore her, ignore….this. The way she looked, the small mannerisms that sometimes set him off. It was like that night in the cabin, in the store, had opened up the floodgates of possibility and that was enough to tempt him every second. Almost like she could sense the hitch in his breath, the change in thought, her eyes always burned into him as she stared unblinking. Predator watching prey.

She wasn’t unaffected though. It was the way her cheeks would flush slightly, pupils dilated, a fire in her eyes along with something like uncertainty. She’d never say anything, but wouldn’t protest when his fingers found her skin. He remembered another night like this one in another small bathroom. A shitty gas station after a long day, another reckless instance where she hadn’t stopped to think before shoving Ellie out the way of a collapsing pillar.

Joel had dragged her to the bathroom to clean her up. Had stood close and met her eye to eye as she watched him silently. That was when he attempted to put the wall up. For the first time at least. To distance himself from whatever this was. He had swallowed and braved speaking as he felt his heart speed up in anticipation, “That night and the other time…. they don’t mean anything.” Nothing had changed in her eyes, no disappointment, no dying hope. “Okay?” she replied almost mockingly with a raised eyebrow. “Okay,” Joel breathed out. More words caught behind his throat, more excuses, but they choked deep down. The words hidden in the space between explained it all. This was release, only sex, it meant nothing. An agreement. For a brief moment his mind brought up a similar conversation with Tess. The same dull , shallow agreement and her reply like she was annoyed he had expected her to get emotional. But neither of them did. In the back of his head, he wondered if it had always been him that got more attached. If he found himself with women that he hoped were apathetic so it would give him the excuse to be the same. But that wasn’t true. Because Tess had always wanted more even when she fought back against him and said she was fine with the status quo. She wanted to occupy his body and blood and mind and heart. To find a home in him instead of the shitty places they ended up. Yet he hadn’t been willing to give that. The memory of his previous companion had been sharp that night, painful, and he had slammed his lips into Red’s if only to forget faster. Forget what had happened, the people he had lost, the booming sound that popped his ears and the fire that crackled after. The things that only lived in memory. He had kissed her hard, aggressively, and her thighs welcomed him, hitching around his waist. She had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bringing him in closer while his hands found the bare skin under her shirt. The bathroom was small, but they would take whatever privacy they could with the kid in the other room.

She always kissed him like she was drowning and he was air, desperate and pleading. The only desperation she ever showed. He would never get over how good she felt and how well she took everything he gave her. Joel didn’t have to worry about being soft, reassuring, apologetic to her. They weren’t like that. It was a release for them. All the frustration at the world, the tireless pushing onward and watching their backs, the worry and the stress all getting taken out on the other. She never backed down from his broken edges and she never asked if he cared about hers.

It was a hurt they both craved.

Things were different and the same now. Months of learning each other, of surviving together. Some of the tentativeness had washed away and was replaced by something else. Something that somehow felt closer than what he had had with Tess in the years, decade, he had spent with the woman. And that was terrifying.

She had wormed her way in so quickly.

Joel finished the knot for the stitches in her side, bending down and snapping the string with his teeth. She shivered as his beard grazed her ribs, his breath hot on her frozen skin. He clocked the motion and straightened, closer than before, the light bouncing off between them. Silently, he dropped the bloody needle on the counter and took the flashlight, setting it to the side. His shadow cast wide and tall behind him like a dark giant and she sat mostly in darkness.

The only sound was the pounding of the rain on the walls and the drips and the quiet of their shallow breaths as they stared each other down. He could easily pinpoint every detail about her even in the dim light. Joel had mapped out every inch of her skin blind, didn’t need the light to know her. He didn’t have to break contact to notice the way she swallowed and licked her lips before saying, “What? No beratement?”

“Should I be berating you?” Joel whispered roughly back, the sound too loud in the small room, “You jump up and down and do the fucking hokey pokey to make the goddamn wall collapse or something?”

That one got him a twinge of her lips, a mile of progress for how small the movement was.

“I wish. Would have been more entertaining. Though usually all I need to do is breathe wrong for you to jump down my throat for getting hurt,” she quirked an eyebrow and almost relaxed, leaning back on her hands despite how painful the movement must have been from the fresh wounds. He chewed on the inside of his mouth, eyes tracking the way the skin of her ribs stretched at the thread holding it roughly together and how her breasts were pushed forward more. Joel didn’t reply though, only skimmed his fingers along the wounded skin and watched the goosebumps rise in their wake. It was the main hint that she wasn’t as unaffected and he loved seeing any reaction.

She wasn’t as tightly in control as she thought she was.

The silence stretched but he stayed transfixed with the cut and the steadiness of her breathing. This time it was her who cupped his chin, raising his gaze to meet hers with a sharpness that made him want to wince.

“I’m not dead, Tex,” she frowned, “And I’m not made of glass. Shit happens, we move on.”

She was right. But his heart was still in his throat and the image was on repeat and he fucking hated that he couldn’t shake it. Hated her for making him feel that fear for another person when he was trying to just handle Ellie. So many weak spots to hit him with.

“You constantly scare the shit out of me. More than the kid most days,” he whispered aggressively. The words were supposed to have more bite to them, but they came out both angry and fragile. Like she had somehow coerced them out against his will and he had confessed more than he wanted, “Goddamnit, I don’t know what to do with you.”

She frowned, face all shadows and harsh lines, “Do with me? I am not something you have to do anything with.”

He scoffed bitterly, nostrils flaring in irritation, “Then what? Next time you go down I fucking leave you?” He knew what the answer should be. Yes. He should. Because she wasn’t priority, she wasn’t the potential cure that would save humanity, she was simply a tag-a-long he had allowed Ellie to drag along for comfort. Like an angry emotional guard dog.

Yeah he knew what the answer should be but part of his anger was the fact that he also knew it was no longer something he could follow through with. He would jump into that cold water, beat a raider with his bare fists, sew her up time and time again without hesitation. That had been the issue he had been wrestling with since that cabin, since giving in and getting involved. He let his walls down and she had slithered in, slicing a part for herself whether she knew it or not.

But this was Red, who didn’t know what to do with that. Fragility or soft whispers or confessions, whether they were intentional or not. Who saw herself as a weapon. All claws and teeth and hard broken edges because it was safer to be a knife than a person. She tightened her grip on his chin and dug her nails in while jerking forward until they were flush together and she was growling into his mouth, “Yes, that’s exactly what you fucking do. You leave me and get Ellie out. I am not weak, Tex. I am not a child for you to babysit-”

He winced at the sharp stab from her nails and tried to pull back but she pressed in harder. Gritting his teeth, he opened his mouth to argue back and she snarled. Lips pulled back and teeth bared, she closed in, a couple inches away from his face, “I sink, you move the fuck on. Whatever it takes to make sure Ellie is safe first and foremost. That’s what we agreed, what you told me from the start. I refuse to be a fucking liability to her so don’t you fucking make me into one. I’m not a goddamn damsel for you to save, Miller.”

His mind almost violently objected to what she was commanding him. And that more than anything made him want to force her own words down her throat, to push them back in from the air and make her swallow them so he didn’t have to confront the fact that he didn’t know if he could anymore.

So Joel hissed back, “You’re so fucking frustrating,” and kissed her, roughly, teeth a harsh clash and his own grip as painful as hers because physical pain was better than whatever was happening. Her nails dragged sharp lines through his hair and along his scalp and he moaned at the feeling, the sound slipping out and swallowed by her. Her thighs tightened around him and more sounds almost left his throat at the way the restricted hard press of his arousal met her center so perfectly. This was the battlefield he knew well when it came to her. He could fight her easily this way, lick and bite and make her moan in submission.

He felt steadier between her thighs.

Not when they were outside the room, with clothes on, confronting the fact that she had risen far up the priority list for him.

His hands were tugging at her jeans, working to pull them off roughly. She didn’t want to be handled gently so he didn’t care that she hissed at how it jerked at her stitches, only that he wanted to get to where she burned hottest and didn’t care if it hurt to do that. It didn’t stop her and it wouldn’t stop him. Red’s mouth left his, pressing hot kisses along his beard and jawline, finding the tanned skin of his neck and the sensitive spot under his ear. It was fucking distracting and one of his hands dove into her hair, unable to stop himself from touching her and urging her on while also tightening his fist around the strands painfully. She bit down into his skin and he groaned as she soothed it with her tongue afterwards. There wasn’t much room, but they made due with what they could find and he didn’t care about going slow and careful. Joel wasn’t going to draw out the occasion or work her up until she was dripping and panting for him this time. He was angry and frustrated and conflicted and wanted to take it out on her. Because she could take it, was always able to take it.

He took pleasure in the growl that left her throat when he thrusted fully into her in one go, not giving her a chance to adjust for him, letting her feel the burn if only so she could feel an ounce of what he did.

His jeans and belt were uncomfortably digging into his skin but he didn’t care as he yanked her harshly and began to pump into her aggressively. His lips were on her chest, her collarbone, teeth nipping at those fucking little stars etched into her skin. Joel went hard and deep, fingers digging into her waist and other hand gripping the edge of the sink to brace himself. He faintly thought he could feel the sewing needle stabbing his palm, but he welcomed the pain.

Red met him for every thrust, head for head, teeth for teeth. They both were angry, maybe for different reasons or the same for all he knew. All he could think was that this was punishment. He’d make sure she felt every inch of him now and later tonight when he was leaking out of her and tomorrow when her hip would ache when she moved. He wanted to brand himself into her if only so she would get an ounce of what she did to him.

The rain was loud, almost deafening, working to cover up the way she gasped and moaned under her breath and hiding the fact he couldn’t stop whispering her name over and over and over again.

Not her name, her title.

Red was Red, taking every ounce of violence and punishment and riding it willingly to her peak. He felt her clench around him even as blood dribbled out of a popped stitch and his belt dug into her thigh and he had probably bruised her even further. She bit and tore at his skin like an animal, riding her orgasm. Even if he hadn’t cared about getting off. Even if he hadn’t cared about her getting off. She never backed down from his anger and would take what she wanted. So he tumbled right after her, whether he meant to or not, because he couldn’t resist her.

Joel always would follow after her.

_____________________________________ Taglist: (So sorry if you don't wanna be tagged anymore cause omg this is so old) @alouise20 @faceache111 @hawsx3 @taxidriversainz @iluvbunnyhops @mrfitzdarcyslover @emlovesya @agent007knight @spaacerabbit @namgification @wonwoosthetic @wxnderingthoughts @sagggy @escaping-reality8 @badwolf00593 @themothersmercy @badwolf00593 @mxtokko @happinessinthebeing @taranicristeard @aroacefanenby @barbellpedro @maviee @sgt-morgan @peppesgirl @spideysimpossiblegirl @hreader7 @jackierose902109

#joel miller x feral reader #series: feral #raicodoll writes #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #joel miller x red #joel miller x oc

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 4: You Say I've Done A Lot Of Things I Can't Undo

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy and we all know he's a warning. Self deprecating thoughts, ANGST, SADNESS, Public Fight, Going Viral For The Wrong Reasons, Mentions of past graphic death, Mentions of past sex, Mentions of Torture, Cursing, Mentions of Death, Loneliness, Longing, Appearance of a World Class Bitch, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.8K

Song Inspiration For Chapter: Wait By Maroon 5 - Chapter title taken from this song

Playlist For Series!✨

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue Is in First Person And Is In Italics

A/N: I'm BACK BABY (a few days early)! I thought I'd start my return with a bang. This chapter is crazy and angsty, but I’m addicted to the angst and we all know you love it 😉

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Sunlight sifted through the canopy of trees overhead shifting the shadowy imprint of the leaves over the cracked sidewalk that wove through campus in a lazy wave. The smell of coffee came from the coffee cart perched nearby where students stood in an un-orderly line, impatiently waiting their turn to buy the one thing that would get them through the dreaded Monday slough.

The crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, and the jingle of backpacks rose on the wind from the people who walked by while others sat in groups on warm grass laughing and chattering with friends. Water rippled in a fountain nearby, and the soothing sound of drops smoothing marble brought a wave of relaxation over you.

You sat alone on your favorite bench with a book resting on your lap. The sun kissed the worn, familiar pages that you had read time and time again, illuminating the notes you'd written in the edges in an untidy scrawl.

It was the best form of distraction for what was becoming one of the longest Mondays of your life.

The weekend had passed in a graying blur that you spent in bed curled up beneath your comforter reading book after book, content to rot, because there was little else you could think to do.

Annie had shown up a few hours after Hughie had, but by then you'd been so tired of talking to other people that all you wanted to do was sleep, despite their encouragement to watch a movie with them.

You didn't want to.

The longer you sat with them together the more the dagger in your heart sharpened. All it did was solidify the fact that you'd never have what they did, because how could you?

Your soulmate did not have one soft or gentle bone in his body, he didn't care about anyone but himself. There was no future with someone like him, not with someone who felt no remorse for taking a life.

So you were back to square one, or, square negative one. At square one there had been the possibility of meeting your soulmate again and now that you'd met him you wished you could take it all back.

Take back all the years you spent wishing to meet the other half of your soul, take back every moment you spent with the night sky shining in your eyes while you prayed to the heavens that one day you'd meet him. You felt stupid for crying as much as you had over the past year when you thought that your soulmate didn't want you. And now a part of you thought it was comical how much time you'd spent thinking of him only to wish you could forget.

In every lull over the weekend there was only one place your mind went, exactly where you didn't want it to go, right to your soulmate. Each time the thought of him flashed through your head all it did was send a shiver of fear down your spine. You were afraid that he would find you somehow, worried he had a supernatural GPS in his head when it came to you and that he'd be able to find you anywhere.

For all you knew he could. The revelation of your shared ability to feel each others emotions and hear each others thoughts was astonishing. You'd scoured the internet to try and find the reason why it was that you could do that, but you'd come up empty. So not only was your soulmate a murderer, you were the only person who could know exactly what he was thinking and feeling.

Rotting in bed was the only thing that appealed to you, but even there you weren't safe. The dreams that came were worse than the ones you'd had over the past year. Each memory more violent than the last and each one made you wake up screaming bloody murder into the quiet of your bedroom. But they weren't the memories of him hurting people, they were memories of the time he spent in the lab. You'd seen snippets of it before, but you'd never felt it.

These memories you lived with him, felt his pain, his rage, and something else, something that pricked at your heart because it reminded you how you felt all those years you were alone.

The dreams made you want to find him again, to comfort him, because that's the kind of person you were. But you couldn't, not when the thought of being in the same room as him made you sick to your stomach.

You take in a calming breath and turn the page. You'd ended your afternoon class a few minutes early, hoping that a few moments soaking up the afternoon sun with a cup of coffee and a good book would get you back in the swing of things.

It was working, now that you'd turned your phone off. Hughie and Annie kept texting to check in, but you couldn't think of a reply that sounded genuine.

Every response you typed was riddled with forced smiles, and you were sick of acting like nothing was wrong.

Mrs. Charleson had invited you over for tea last night and rubbed your back while you cried. Like hell you were going to call your parents and tell them you finally found your soulmate, but he was a murderer. You had stopped trying to seek their approval years ago.

But there was something nagging at the back of your mind today. Your entire lecture you had the oddest feeling that there was someone watching you and every once in a while you thought you could feel something and hear something that you weren't thinking or feeling, but you attributed that to the PTSD.

"That's a big book." A familiar voice says with the hint of a smile. Warm tingles trace your spine with the low rumble of the words, your body reacting before your mind catches up.

It can't be-

You look up.

Your soulmate looks better than you remember. He's wearing a dark green shirt that makes his eyes seem brighter and has a black leather jacket that you wonder how he can fit over his broad shoulders. His hips are squeezed into a pair of blue jeans that are just a little worn in at the knees, but somehow it makes him seem real, authentic.

Lord Hades sprung from the soil to bring his wife to the underworld.

Something weaves through the air between the two of you once more, the pull that pops and crackles through your veins telling you that you want to be closer to him, that your soul wants to entwine with his, that the man standing there in front of you is made for you and nothing else in the world is right when the two of you are apart.

How can he be? He's everything I'm not.

The part of you that lives in him sings to you, beckons you with open arms to Ben, the hole inside of you that sat empty for years screaming to be filled.

However, the most jarring thing about seeing him again, is that he's holding one of the largest bouquets of sunflowers you'd ever seen in your entire life, which happened to be your favorite flower and the exact thing you'd imagined your soulmate doing in the past. But instead of a happy feeling at the gift, dread threads through you.

How did he find me?

Ben’s smile slips a little bit at your reaction, hearing your thoughts echo through his mind, and the wave of your fear flood over him.

What the fuck is her problem? I brought her flowers!

His words in your head make you wince slightly, eyes shifting to the people around you worried for their safety because you've seen exactly what happened when your soulmate lost his temper.

Ben tries again.

"I got these for you. Thought that maybe would could get some dinner tonight. Get to know each other a little better.” He holds out the bouquet as if it wasn’t obvious. “And I caught the end of your lecture. If any of my teachers looked anything like you doll I would have been at every class no question.” Ben gives you a wolfish grin that makes a shudder work its way down your spine.

It suddenly made sense why you'd spent your lecture hearing just the buzz of thoughts that weren't your own on the edge of your mind and why you could feel emotions that you didn't recognize flood through you while you spoke.

I should have known.

Maybe you were still hoping that the ability to hear Ben's thoughts and feel his emotions was something that you'd imagined. Apparently not.

Your hands tighten around the spine of the forgotten book in your lap, fear tracing through your limbs. There was no escape from him. He was simply everywhere. You'd thought that he'd been able to get hint of exactly what you thought of him at the apartment, that he'd know better than to track you down.

Ben senses your fear and the grin slips into a frown, eyebrows pulling down, and he blinks his green eyes in confusion.

All I did was bring her some flowers. It's not like I pulled a fucking knife! Or stuck a damn gun in her face! Why the fuck is she acting like this? Women are supposed to like this shit!

You shake your head to clear it from the angry monologue inside your soulmate's mind, the heat of his anger licking away at the chill of fear you had at his appearance.

"How did you find me?" You ask.

Ben's frown deepens and he lowers the flowers to his side realizing that you weren't going to take them. “Had someone track you down at work. No thanks to that little bitch and his fucking beard-“

“Hughie is my brother.” You interrupt Ben, temper flaring at his harsh words about Hughie. Soulmate and murder or no, you weren't going to let a bully make fun of the only person in your family that made you feel like you belonged there.

"He's your brother?" Ben sputters.

Who knew that someone like him could have a sister that looks like her?

Ben's eyes drop to trace along your figure with the thought. When you'd gotten dressed the long skirt, floral blouse, and suit jacket seemed like a good idea, but under his gaze you felt naked. But there was a minuscule part of you in the back of your mind that rejoiced, some small part of your soul that was reveling in the fact that your soulmate found you just as attractive to him as he was to you.

You weren't denying that. You were attracted to your soulmate. He looked like every leading man you'd ever imagined when you read a book. The kind of beauty carved from stone and tempered fire.

"Yes! And I told him that I didn't want him to tell you where I was." Somehow the words strengthen you and you reach for the leather messenger bag at your side, trying to shove the book inside, but afraid to look away from Ben in case if he tries to grab you again.

The bruise on your wrist had turned an ugly yellowish green by now not to mention it still hurt a little bit to bend it. And you were scared at what Ben would do to you if he didn't get his way. You'd seen enough of his memories to know exactly how he acted when he didn't.

A wave of anger and shock comes rippling through you that you know isn't your own.

“Why would you do that? You’re my soulmate.” You see something flicker in his green eyes, some wisp of unfamiliar emotion dragging behind it through your body that you can't place.

You find your feet, shouldering the leather bag. “I don’t care that I’m your soulmate. I don’t want anything to do with you. Now please leave I have a class-“

“What the fuck are you talking about? I got you flowers-“

“I don’t want those!” You try to step away from him, preparing to run, but Ben mirrors your movement to block you.

“They’re your favorites and I got them for you!” His voice raises enough that the people sitting across from you on the opposite bench turn to gaze at Ben.

It’s like she wants to piss me off.

“Please leave me alone-“

"You don't even know me!" Ben takes in a breath through gritted teeth, closing his eyes for a moment before finishing his sentence. "Come with me to dinner tonight. We can talk-"

"I don't want to talk to you. I know enough about you to know that I want you to leave me alone!" You look around for some way of pushing him back from you, of escaping from this hell.

It was becoming a soap opera. You'd spent your entire life feeling like a freak for the date printed on your wrist, spent every waking moment praying that you would meet your soulmate, not to mention you'd spent the past year thinking that he didn't want you, and now here he was asking you to do the one thing you wanted and yet all you can feel is how afraid you are and worry that he's going to hurt you or someone else.

“It’s not supposed to be like this damn it!” Ben snaps, nostrils flaring as whatever composure he just summoned falls away to reveal who he really is.

“What are you talking about?!”

“I’m your soulmate! You’re supposed to love me!”

“I’m not supposed to do anything!”

“Yes you are!” He roars, green eyes flashing in the sunlight.

A heat rises in between the two of you emanating from his body as the smell of the coffee stand ebbs away and is replaced by an unnatural smell of ozone. The skin underneath Ben's t-shirt begins to glow with his rage, the skin revealed at the bottom of his neck shifting to a brilliant gold.

You shrink back from him, your hand tightening on the strap of your leather bag, the memories of what happened whenever he lost control fills you with dread. Visions of bodies blackened beyond recognition flash through your mind. Your eyes shift to the people around you worried for their safety. You didn't know what would happen if Ben exploded here. You’d seen the footage on TV of the building that was destroyed after he'd come back and you didn't want that to happen to the students around you.

Ben's gaze doesn't leave yours, and you can see your face reflected in his eyes. You look small and afraid, and you wonder if Ben even cares.

He grits his teeth again, body tensed so tight you think he might snap, and he squeezes his eyes shut, and the longer he does it the more the glow fades.

Not here, not fucking now.

Ben's voice floats into your head, a memory of the lab surfacing on the edge of his mind you see for a moment flicker across your own as if you were living it with him.

It touches something in your heart, and for just a moment you feel the need to touch him, to tell him that it's okay, that he's not there, but you shove it down, gripping the strap of the bag like a life-line.

Why does she think I'd ever hurt her?

Anger pulses through your body, but there's something hidden beneath it, something almost… soft. It makes your heart thud an extra beat, the fear you had melting away for a few precious seconds as you hear the question he asked ring through your ears.

“Is everything okay?” The sound of your TA’s voice, Tate, shatters through whatever emotion it is and brings you back to reality.

You glance around Ben’s broad form to see him standing there. He’s still wearing the same checkered sweater vest over a light blue shirt he was wearing in morning lecture. The sun turns his skin into a burnished mahogany, while winking on the wire framed glasses around his eyes. He looks concerned.

You open your mouth to answer, but Ben does first. "Mind your own fucking business."

Tate frowns, but his gaze drifts to you. He says your name. "Are you okay?"

Back the fuck off. She's mine!

Ben's body turns towards your TA, the soft feeling you felt completely lost in the rush of anger emanating from your soulmate.

"Why don't you just fuck off you four-eyed fuck?" Ben snarls.

"Hey buddy. You need to take a chill pill." Tate rolls his eyes. "And a step back. Because I don't like the way you're talking to her."

"Tate-" You begin. You were going to warn him, tell him to walk away, that the man standing there was more dangerous that Tate could ever imagine.

You'd had a front row seat to each time your soulmate didn't get his way. Had seen exactly what he did to people who dared to say not to him and the people who stood in the way of what he really wanted.

"I can talk to her however I damn well please she’s fucking mine!" Ben takes a step forward flashing the golden date on his wrist like it proves his claim to you. "And I don't need some little pussy like you telling me what to do."

The words do something to you.

Growing up you'd always believed that having a soulmate wasn't just about having someone who was "yours," it was more than that. It was that together you were one, two pieces of one soul finally coming together, surviving years of being apart only to be bound together once more.

But hearing Ben say that to Tate, proves what you already know about your soulmate. That he wasn't soft or gentle and that you were nothing more than another plaything to him, something that he thought he owned. It proved that your soulmate didn't think that having a soul-bond was special, that all it was to him was another way of asserting his dominance over someone he thought he owned.

Just because he's my soulmate does not make me his property.

"I don’t know who you think you are. But this little pussy," Tate gestures to himself, "Is going to bitch slap you if you talk like that to me or her again." Tate's backpack drops off his shoulder and lands on the ground with an audible thud as he takes another step towards Ben.

It was the first time that you'd ever seen someone openly challenge him. At the party all Butcher had done was casually put his hands on your shoulders and told him to stand down, but this was different. This was someone asking Ben for a fight.

"Tate please just go. It's okay." You say.

Tate's glasses glint in the light of the sun as he turns his head towards you. "No, it's not. This asshole shouldn't get to-“

Ben's hand goes around Tate's throat hauling him high into the air. “You’re gonna wish you kept walking.” Ben growls.

“Ben please!” It was the first time that you’d ever said your soulmate's name aloud. “Please put him down.”

How fitting seeing as it’s also the first time I’ve ever had to beg for someone else’s life.

Ben does put him down, but not in the way you wished him to. He throws Tate away with a brutal flick of his wrist.

Tate’s body goes soaring backwards before landing in the coffee cart and crumpling to the ground, the sharp snap of bone and the heavy thud of his head hitting the pavement echoing through air. He clutches at his arm that’s bent at an awkward angle with a loud groan.

“Holy shit!” You shove past Ben, rushing to where Tate lays. His head leans back against the side of the cart, coffee soaking through the pavement around him while others gape at Ben in horror.

Tate groans out something. Pain flashes in his cinnamon colored eyes, his glasses thrown from his face in the scuffle, while his gaze begins to glaze over.

"Tate hey stay with me-" You say gently touching his chin.

Tate had been your TA for a year and you'd come to think of him as your friend. He was funny, sweet, caring, and his soulmate Marta was one of the nicest people you'd ever met in your entire life. She was always bringing you cake and cookies, always came to pick up Tate after work in a beat up Volvo with a rusted bumper they never had enough money to fix, and always gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose whenever he left his lunch at home and she came to bring it for him.

His arm was definitely broken, and the thought that you'd have to tell Marta that Tate was hurt and it was your fault made your heart catch in the back of your throat in a hardened lump.

"What a pussy." Ben says behind you, rolling his eyes. "Just rub some fucking dirt in it. Act like a man for fucks sake-"

Any fear you have for your soulmate melts away with the roar of your anger at Ben callousness. Your head snaps in his direction.

Why does she care so much about him? I'm her soulmate! She should be fawning over me!

Ben is still holding on to the Sunflower bouquet in his hand, but some of his dark hair has slipped forward into his face with the effort of throwing Tate away, his expression somewhere between annoyed and bored. The dark stubble that frames his strong jaw makes your soulmate look rough and a little rugged- again you're struck by how attractive he is, but you force the thought from your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shout.

Several onlookers have pulled out their cellphones, caught between the idea of calling the police and filming this for social media.

Because that's exactly what this needs, for Ben and me to be Tiktok famous.

"What's wrong with me?" Ben yells back in surprise. "What the fuck wrong with you? I brought flowers I'm trying to-"

"Fuck the flowers Ben! You could have killed him!"

"He's fine-" Ben rolls his eyes.

"No, he's not! You know that he's not a supe! That he can't do the things you can! That he's more fragile and-"

"What the fuck does that matter?!" Ben roars, eyes flashing a dangerous green, and the sound of the sunflower stems snapping in his hand as they fall brokenly to the ground in a flash of yellow and brown fills the air.

The world is no longer bathed in a soft golden glow from the sunlight above, now it seems to almost blaze around the two of you, burning so bright that it hurts to keep your eyes open. The sounds of the people chattering around you have gone silent and the gentle trickle of water in the fountain becomes a roar.

You wished that you'd stayed hidden away in your office, wished that you hadn't come to work today. Hiding in your apartment as you did all weekend rather than be ambushed by your soulmate was preferable to whatever was happening now.

Your world was colliding with his into a supernova and all you wanted was to go back to when you didn't know who he was, to when you believed that your soulmate didn't exist.

"You could have killed him!" You repeat before you hesitate, feeling a rush of emotions from Ben, but none of them are regret or remorse. Tate whimpers in pain below you. "And you don’t even care." The words come out in a surprised whisper.

"Why should I?" Ben spits, still not comprehending why you were making a big deal about this, why you were still pushing him away despite bringing you flowers. "He was in my way!"

"Why should you?" Your voice comes out broken and shocked. "Because he's a human being, Ben. Because killing people and hurting people is wrong-"

Ben only rolls his eyes. "Oh please. I gave him a warning-"

"No, you didn't. All you did was yell at him and me."

What the fuck is going on? Why is she acting like this? He was in my way. When someone gets in your way you put them in their place!

"No, you don't!" You shout over the loud whispers of the people around you watching the drama unfold, answering the deranged monologue in your soulmate's head before he can say anything else. "When someone gets in your way, especially someone who you know you could hurt you back off! You don't throw them around like a rag doll. You have the human decency to back down and be the bigger person." You turn away from Ben's gaze to look at Tate who groans again in pain, holding his broken arm to his chest. "Can you get up?"

"I think so." He lets out in a shaky breath as you take his good arm and help him to his feet.

"Here lean on me."

Tate was considerably larger than you, at least six feet, not to mention he was built like a body builder and looked nothing like the literary geek he was. But you don't let that stop you.

"What are you doing?" Ben says taking a step towards you.

You flinch back from him.

"What does it look like? We're going to the hospital. His arm is broken and who knows what happened to his head after hitting the concrete that hard-"

Ben huffs out a breath and a wave of annoyance crashes over you that isn't your own. "I'll drive you."

"No, you've done enough!" You shout helping Tate take a shaky step down the sidewalk in the direction of your car where it's parked in the faculty parking lot.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing!" Ben snaps taking another step in your direction. "He's fine."

"He's not fine!"

"Let his soulmate take him to the hospital. I want to take you to dinner-"

Is he serious right now? Why would I go to dinner with him? He just brained Tate on the coffee cart and broke his arm.

"Stay the fuck away from me." You snarl at Ben. The fear you had for Ben was still there, but now all you could feel was anger and horror. You couldn’t understand how someone could do that, feel no remorse for hurting someone else.

But it again proved the fact that your soulmate was nothing like you and nothing like the man you wanted him to be.

"Why would you want that I'm your soulmate. You're supposed to want me!"

"I don’t give a fuck that you’re my soulmate Ben! Because you're a fucking monster and I don't want any part of you in my life. Not when all you do is hurt the people around you with no regard for your actions!"

It wasn't the first time that you'd thought Ben a monster, not after living through all his memories. There had been a small part of you that hoped you were wrong, that the memories you’d had of him had happened so long ago and Ben had changed. But he hadn't.

He was the same selfish man who you'd seen in your head take and take, but give nothing in return. He didn’t care about anyone, but himself.

So how can I expect him to care about me?

Something flickers in Ben's expression, flashing through the anger in his gaze, something that you can't place. There's a feeling that rises in your chest that's not your own, but tugs at the piece of your soul that belongs to him.

But you turn your back on Ben, dragging Tate with you towards the parking lot.

The loneliness that lived in your head and your heart for so long begins to seep through the cracks once more with each step you take away from Ben.

You wait for the voice of your soulmate in your head to come, to hear the tickle of his words against your ear, but there's nothing. Just the sound of the water smoothing rough stones, the sound of Tate's gasps of pain, the harsh whispers of the people who stood by watching your life fall apart and the last hope you have of love, real love, shrivel up and waste away, while the loneliness welcomed you with open arms.

Two Days Later

You bury your face in your hands and sink deeper into your desk chair, elbows braced against the strong wood on top of the ancient desk in your office. It had belonged to the teacher before you, and the one before that, and the one before that- an antique of a time that you once wished to live in the arms of your soulmate, a time that you fantasized of belonging to whenever you opened a book from that era.

Now it seemed like a waste.

The past two days you'd spent in a daze, walking from class to class, talking without really knowing what it was you were teaching, disconnecting from it all.

When you'd brought Tate to the hospital he'd needed emergency surgery on his arm that was broken in three different places, and you'd spent the next few hours that he'd been in surgery with Marta, holding her hand and reassuring her that Tate would be alright while she cried into your shoulder.

You hated that this had happened, that the insanity that was unraveling your life had bled into Tate and Marta's, and that Tate had gotten hurt because of you.

He hadn't had to step in, hadn't needed to defend you, but he did. It was the kind of person he was and you didn't fault him for it.

And your soulmate hadn't even had a shred of remorse when he saw how hurt Tate was or when he saw how upset you were about it.

It made a chill travel down your spine to think that. To think that someone like your soulmate existed, someone who took no care in what he did to others as long as he got his way and had the abilities that meant no one could stand in his way.

You remembered what your brother and Butcher said about Homelander, but you never imagined that your soulmate would be anything like him.

The doctor told Tate that his head was okay, just a mild concussion, but the doctor had said it could have been worse, much worse. The doctor had also warned that it would be a long recovery for Tate and that his arm would always have a metal rod inside to keep the bones stable, which only made Marta cry harder.

Tate was in better spirits than she was. He said that it made him feel like Wolverine, having all that metal in his body, and then said he couldn't wait to stump the TSA at the airport whenever he flew back to his hometown.

Marta hadn't thought it was funny, but she was happy to see that the accident hadn't made him bitter. Tate had always been a half-glass full kinda guy and spent most of his time in the hospital holding Marta close to him in his bed while she cried. He wasn't half as upset about the situation as she was.

And when you'd tried to tell him how sorry you were, Tate had waved you off with his good arm and said that he would have felt worse if he hadn't said anything and that he didn't blame you for this.

It didn't make any of this better.

Ben hadn't reappeared or shown up to any of your other classes. You hadn't heard his voice in your head or any emotions that didn't belong to you, and you hadn't seen him on campus at all.

And although it was what you wanted, there was a small part of you, one that you pushed down below the surface that wanted him to come back. You'd lived so long without your soulmate that now you knew he existed it was difficult for your mind to go elsewhere.

It felt like you were being ripped in two. You knew that he was a monster and you wanted him to stay away, but the other part of you wanted to find him, to hear what he had to say, to curl up against him and never let him go.

He's the other half of my soul I should-

The thought tappers off and your tighten your hands where they rest over your face.

No he's dangerous. I want him to stay away I-

You grit your teeth trying not to listen to the little voice inside that begged you to give him a chance.

Damn it.

It was frustrating to say the least and starting to rival a one woman show in your head:

"He brought flowers-"

"He also broke Tate's arm."

"He wanted to have dinner-"

"He told you that Tate was fine and that you were overreacting!"

Basically your mind was going in circles with no signs of stopping. Even cracking open your favorite book did nothing to help.

And you couldn't forget it, because Ben's little stunt was all over the internet and campus. You could hear the whispers of your students during your lecture, when you got coffee, and when you walked to your classes. There was no escape.

So you were hiding, shamelessly in your office for the time being.

Dale, the head of the English Department and the bane of your existence, had scheduled a meeting later to "deal with the situation" as he put it. You were dreading it.

It was already hard enough to control your temper when he mansplained about the different literary periods and authors that you were an expert on, and now he was going to get involved in your personal life.

You groan under your breath.

The door of your office opens, the metallic click of the knob turning against the aged wood releasing from the wall echoing through the quiet room.

There's a small part of you that braces for the telltale feeling that your soulmate is nearby.

The warmth that bubbles up from within followed by a wave of thoughts that aren't your own flowing through the bond the two of you share, but it doesn't come.

The person who entered your office hadn't bothered to knock, usually that meant it was Dale and you hope that you didn't lose track of time and he's here for your meeting.

But instead of his nasally drawl, a woman's voice greets your ears. "Are you professor-" Her voice smoothes over your last name, her tone quirking up at the end of her question.

There was something familiar about it, almost as if you'd heard it before, but you don't look up from your hands.

"Yes. But my office hours are over."

"This'll only take a moment." The voice continues, followed by the distinct click of your door locking.

You glance up, taking your glasses from where they lay on your desk to put them back on your face, and the woman slowly comes into focus.

Stormfront looks different in person than she did on TV. She still has the rounded face, dark hair, and simple makeup, but there's something off about her smile. It pulls on the end of her lips curling up as if she has a secret while her dark eyes study you like a bird of prey.

She's wearing a black baseball cap that shields her face and a black hoodie, but you know it's her. You'd seen enough promos for her new movies on TV and products that she endorsed on billboards planted around where you lived.

The new leader of the Seven had been celebrated more than Homelander ever was over the past year following his disappearance. Annie had told you how hard Ashley was pushing for Stormfront to be the symbol of female power everywhere. That Stormfront would be the first hero ever to be involved in military operations overseas with more to follow behind her.

Vought was calling it the year of the woman, while Stormfront's followers called it "The Coming Storm."

And it was.

Stormfront was vocal about her beliefs, held nothing back in interviews while she criticized America and the world around her.

But here, in your office, there was no forced smile, no shimmer to her perfectly curled black hair… instead something glimmered in her dark eyes as they traced over your body with careful precision.

An ungodly feeling bubbled beneath your skin, like curdled milk, something close to disgust and revulsion, but not quite so sour.

There was an unnatural energy in the room, the lights on the walls flicker once, something pulsing in the air from the woman in front of you that sends a chill down your spine.

"So you're her." Her eyes trace you again, lips quirking on one side in a smile. There's something predatory hidden behind her dark eyes, some flicker of emotion you can't place, but makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

"Excuse me?" Your voice trembles slightly.

You didn’t understand what this was, why Stormfront decided to pay you a visit out of the blue when the two of you had never met before.

Her smile widens. "You’re Soldier Boy's soulmate."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The response is immediate, slipping through your mouth before you decide to lie.

The truth was you knew about Stormfront and Ben's "relationship," if you could call it that. As terrible as watching your soulmate kill people was, sometimes watching him with other women was worse.

Especially seeing those memories in the year after you'd met him and he left you while you yelled at him to wait on the sidewalk and you thought he didn't want you. Watching him with women that looked nothing like you, watching him kiss them, whisper sweet nothings in their ear, tell them how beautiful they were, fuck them… The whole time watching the man who was made for you with someone else… it hurt.

You wondered if Ben liked Stormfront because she was a supe and she could take more than someone who was normal could. That he didn't need to hold back.

He probably doesn't care about that anyway.

Stormfront laughs at you. "Don’t bother lying. You're not good at it and I saw the little lovers spat the two of you had the other day."

"What?"

"It's all over the internet," She smirks. "I miss the day when you could do whatever the fuck you wanted without fear that you would go viral… But I think that Soldier Boy is used to bad press-" She shrugs her shoulders and looks around the room. "You're not what I expected. Ben barely spent any time in school it's almost comical that his soulmate is a teacher, let alone a literature professor. I don't think he's read a book all the way through ever."

You didn't like that she was speaking about your soulmate like she owned a piece of him, as if he was as much hers as you were.

The memory of Ben's thought when Butcher put his hands on your shoulders to steady you burns through your head, when you heard Ben growl "She's mine" and it didn't make you shudder because you were afraid, it made you shudder for for a different reason. Because now there was something in your own head snarling "He's mine" while you clench your fingers into fists where they lay in your lap.

"But you're kinda cute…" Her gaze drags lazily back to you from the bookshelves that line the walls of your office. "In a bookworm sort of way. I mean.. I've never seen Ben look twice at someone who looks like you but-"

"Did you need something?" The question comes out harsher than you meant it to, but by now you were more annoyed than afraid of her. You didn't like the way she was talking to you, like you were a stupid little girl and she was the real woman you’d never be. Like a mother scolding her daughter who'd stayed out past curfew.

I don't care how old she is, she doesn't get to speak to me that way.

She sits down across from you in one of the two plush leather armchairs, leaning back. "Well, well, well it does seem as if you do have a little bit more bite. Good." Her head cocks to the side. "Makes this more fun."

"This?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been following Ben? A year. Mind you, I've waited much longer for other things not nearly this fucking important, but-"

"Why?" You interrupt, not ready to sit through another meeting. Frankly the woman in front of you was reminding you of your mouth breathing head of the English Department, Dale, who spent more time trying to look up your skirt than give a shit about what you had to say.

"Because I wanted to find you, of course."

Your body goes cold.

"You see, I've seen the date on Ben's wrist, I knew that he'd run into you eventually when he got back from his little sabbatical overseas. And I thought a reunion would be fun." She flicks a hand absentmindedly like Ben had gone on vacation in Russia and hadn't been tortured and imprisoned. "We used to spend a lot of time together. And I was so happy that he finally found you, because now I can repay him."

What is she talking about?

"For what?" You question.

Stormfront's lip curls up, her eyes glowing a dangerous purple, as the lights in your office flicker. "He killed my soulmate, it seems only fitting that I return the favor."

A/N: I know I know another cliffhanger... but I am actually really excited to write a little bit for Stormfront. Yeah she's cray-cray, but to me she has the biggest connection to Ben so I felt like it made the most sense for her to be included 🥰

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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buckets-and-trees · 4 months ago

Text

Huffily Ever After: A CindereLloyd Story [8/8]

Chapter Eight - Departure Day

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.7k Summary: The morning after... decisions need to be made now that things have changed for you both personally and professionally before you leave Paris.

SERIES Content/Warnings: modern Cinderella adaptation, unknown identities, enemies to lovers, toxic coworkers CHAPTER SPECIFIC: explicit smut: kissing, riding and grinding, nipple play, unprotected vaginal penetration, creampie; praise; use of endearments: princess, Cinderella; coarse language

Author Note: Thank you @vonalyn for helping me over some final decisions with this!

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You woke up to a knock on your door and groaned, not wanting to leave the warmth surrounding you, a cocoon of soft sheets and firm muscle.

The brush of warm lips and a mustache tickled your neck. “Stay here, princess,” Lloyd murmured in your ear. Then he rolled out of beed and slipped on one of the hotel robes from the closet before answering the door.

Warm rays of morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently ushering in the morning. You heard Lloyd’s groggy voice conversing with whoever was at the door, followed by the clinking of dishes as Lloyd rolled in a room service cart.

You smiled, stretching languidly beneath the sheets, relishing their softness against your bare skin. You relished the pleasant ache in your muscles, a delicious reminder of the night's passionate activities. Your body was sore in all the right places, a testament to Lloyd's thorough and relentless attention.

Lloyd's skilled hands had explored every inch of your body, his lips leaving trails of fire across your skin. You remembered the way he had taken you in every position imaginable, his stamina seemingly endless, and the exquisite fullness he subjected you to as he moved inside you again and again.

His powerful presence had extended in every way into bed with you last night. The room had been filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, punctuated by Lloyd's husky commands and praise.

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine,” Lloyd said, taking covers off the various dishes after planting the cart next to the small table in the corner of the room.

The delicious smells of breakfast were inviting, so you slipped out of bed with only minimal regret and padded to the closet to grab the other robe.

There was coffee, tea, orange juice, two plates with eggs benedict, and a tray laden with bacon, pastries, and fresh fruit. Lloyd was already adding bacon and fruit to his plate, and so you followed suit, grabbing the morning delights you wanted as well. You pulled out one of the chairs at the table, but Lloyd tutted at you.

“Oh, no, we’re having breakfast in bed, princess.”

You raised an eyebrow at Lloyd, but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "Breakfast in bed? How decadent."

Lloyd smirked, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "After last night, I think we've earned a little decadence, don't you?"

Heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered more of the moments you'd shared. Lloyd's grin widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gestured towards the bed with a nod.

"After you."

You climbed back onto the plush mattress and settled against the headboard. Lloyd followed, carefully balancing both plates as he joined you, his thigh pressed warmly against yours, then handed you your plate.

For a few moments, you both ate in comfortable silence, savoring the delicious food. The eggs benedict was perfectly cooked, the hollandaise sauce rich and creamy. You stole glances at Lloyd, still somewhat in disbelief at the turn of events that had led to this situation.

Despite everything that had gone on this week and the things that had happened between you two, there was something oddly comfortable about being with him like this - sharing breakfast in bed without a care in the world.

And compared to your life only the afternoon before, you almost didn’t have a care in the world.

Lloyd finished off another slice of bacon, then broke the silence.

“With your wicked stepmother of a boss defeated, your glass slipper of a necklace returned, and the ball of a conference over, how are you feeling, Cinderella?”

You laughed softly at Lloyd's whimsical summary of the past few days. "Well, when you put it that way, it does sound like a fairytale, doesn't it?" you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. "Though I'm not sure how well the Cinderella story holds up when the prince is the one breaking into hotel rooms."

Lloyd's mustache twitched with amusement. "I prefer to think of myself as more of a dashing rogue than a prince."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "That tracks."

You took another sip of your coffee, considering the question more seriously. "Honestly? I'm feeling optimistic. Excited. Maybe a little overwhelmed."

Lloyd nodded, his blue eyes studying you intently. "All understandable reactions to having your entire professional life upended in the span of twenty-four hours."

"And my personal life," you added, giving him a pointed look.

A slow smirk spread across Lloyd's face. "Ah yes, can't forget that rather significant development."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "So modest."

"Modesty has never been one of my virtues, princess," Lloyd retorted, setting his empty plate aside.

You chuckled, finishing the last bite of your breakfast. "I'm aware."

Lloyd took your plate and set it aside with his own before turning back to you, his expression growing more serious. "So, what is next for you? I assume you're going to accept the promotion at Nexus?"

You nodded, a flutter of excitement in your stomach as you thought about your future.

Lloyd's eyes lit up with approval. "Good choice. Maggie's brilliant, but a start up can’t offer you as much as that Nexus offer, and it outpaces the formal offer Claude will be giving you this morning, too.”

You frowned. “Hang on, did you read the Nexus offer while you were here before I got back last night?”

“You took longer than I thought you would.”

“You brought your own book!” you protested, gesturing across the room.

Lloyd shrugged, completely unbothered. “Which I read after seeing the perfectly good literature lying around here.”

You shook your head in disbelief, but couldn't muster any real anger. Lloyd's audacity was part of what made him so intriguing, after all.

"You're unbelievable," you said.

Lloyd's lips quirked into a smirk. "I prefer to think of myself as opportunistic."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "So, Mr. Opportunistic, what's next for you? Back to your father's company?"

His expression turned thoughtful. "Of course. No rest for the wicked, and there are always new projects to explore."

You raised an eyebrow, studying him. "What would you do if you could start over again, do anything in the world?”

For a moment, he was silent, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, not his usual smirk, but something more playful.

"If I could start over, really do anything," he mused, "I'd join the CIA."

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that answer. “What?”

His blue eyes sparkled impishly as he continued, painting a vivid picture. "I'd be the agent they'd call for the impossible missions. Infiltrating shadowy criminal organizations, outwitting foreign intelligence agencies, maybe even preventing a nuclear crisis or two."

“I’m being serious, Lloyd!”

"Think about it," he continued. "The intrigue, the high-stakes missions, the power to shape global events from the shadows. It's like playing chess on a global scale, but with real consequences. The adrenaline rush of covert operations, the satisfaction of outmaneuvering rogue agents.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, but you remained silent and fought the urge to engage and encourage this trailing off from what you really wanted to talk about.

Lloyd sighed, reading your expression for what it was.

“Fine. Real answer? I didn’t do anything else because I didn’t want to,” he explained. “I like this shit. I grew up seeing what it could be, what it could do. I knew it would suck balls to join my father’s company, but it would be as bad or worse trying to climb up through other companies that would see Hansen Global as a rival - either they’d never trust me or they’d try to use me. I chose the game I knew I could eventually win, even though it’s a long game.”

You nodded slowly, processing Lloyd's words. His answer was candid, and you found yourself appreciating his honesty, feeling like this version of Lloyd was more true to the Lloyd of the masquerade.

"It doesn’t look like it’s been an easy path,” you observed, “but you've made it work for you."

You could see now that his insistence on total anonymity at Versailles had been because he knew it would be the only time he could be present and not be seen and judged as Lloyd Hansen, son of the founder of Hansen Global Digital Industries.

Lloyd's expression softened slightly. "It hasn't been without its challenges. But I've always believed in playing to my strengths."

You couldn't help but smile. "And your strengths just happen to include corporate espionage and seducing unsuspecting conference attendees?"

Lloyd's signature smirk returned. "Among other things. Though I wouldn't say you were entirely unsuspecting, princess. You gave as good as you got."

Heat rose to your cheeks at the memory. "Fair point," you conceded.

"Speaking of what's next," he said, shifting closer, his voice low and husky, "I was thinking we could explore some of those other strengths of mine."

Your breath caught in your throat as Lloyd's free hand traced a path up your thigh, pushing aside the fabric of your robe. "Oh?" you managed, trying to keep your voice steady. "And what strengths might those be?"

Lloyd's smirk widened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Why don't I show you?"

In one fluid motion, he pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. He pushed your robe open, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room and Lloyd's hungry gaze.

Your breath hitched as Lloyd's warm hands roamed over your newly exposed skin. His touch was electric, igniting sparks of desire everywhere his fingers grazed. You shivered, partly from the cool air and partly from anticipation.

"Cold, princess?" Lloyd murmured, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled you flush against his chest, enveloping you in his warmth.

You gasped softly as your bare skin met the soft fabric of his robe, your nipples hardening at the friction. Lloyd's hands slid down to cup your ass, kneading the flesh appreciatively.

"You know," he said, his voice a low rumble that you could feel vibrating through his chest, "I've been thinking about this all morning. About how perfectly your body responds to me."

To emphasize his point, he rolled his hips upwards, the hard length of him pressing against your core. You couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips.

"Lloyd," you breathed, your hands moving to his shoulders for balance.

His blue eyes darkened with desire as he watched your reaction. "That's it. Let me hear you."

You writhed against him, desperate for more friction. Lloyd's hand gripped your hip, guiding your movements as you ground against him.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. You yielded willingly, melting into him as the kiss deepened.

Your fingers tangled in Lloyd's hair as the kiss intensified, passion building between you. His hands roamed your body possessively, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You could feel his hard cock beneath you, your own arousal mounting in response.

Lloyd broke the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw and down your neck. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against your skin.

"You," you gasped as he nipped at your pulse point. "I want you, Lloyd."

He chuckled darkly. "You have me. But how do you want me?"

His hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"I want..." you started, then hesitated, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks.

Lloyd pulled back slightly, his intense gaze meeting yours. "Don't be shy now, princess. Tell me exactly what you want."

His commanding tone sent a shiver down your spine. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

"I want you inside me," you said, your voice low and husky with desire. "I want to fuck me raw from behind."

Lloyd's eyes darkened further, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "That can certainly be arranged."

Lloyd flipped you onto your stomach, then pulled your hips up so you were on your hands and knees. You gasped at the sudden change in position, excitement coursing through your veins.

"Like this, princess?" Lloyd's voice was low and rough with desire as his hands caressed your back, sliding down to anchor your hips firmly.

"Yes," you breathed, arching your back and pressing yourself against him invitingly.

You felt the bed shift as Lloyd positioned himself behind you. His hands spread your thighs wider, and you shivered as you felt the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. Lloyd chuckled, clearly enjoying your desperation.

"Remember," Lloyd growled, "you asked for this."

Without further warning, he thrust into you fully, filling you in one smooth motion. You moaned at the delicious stretch, your fingers curling into the sheets.

Lloyd's hands gripped your hips tightly as he began to move, setting a relentless pace. Each powerful thrust drove you forward, the headboard creaking in protest. You gasped and moaned, overwhelmed by the intense sensations.

"That's it," Lloyd growled, his voice husky with desire. "Take it all."

He angled his hips, hitting the money spot deep inside you. Your arms trembled, struggling to support your weight as Lloyd pounded into you mercilessly.

"Fuck, Lloyd!" you cried out, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Lloyd's hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back. "Let me hear you, princess. I want whoever’s in the next room to know who's making you feel this good."

Lloyd's hand snaked around to rub circles on your clit, and you cried out at the added stimulation. "That's it," he praised, “love how your tight cunt squeezes me, craves my cock.”

Your body tensed as pleasure built within you, Lloyd's relentless pace and skilled fingers driving you rapidly towards the edge.

"Lloyd, I'm close," you whined, your fingers grasping at the sheets tightly.

"Not yet," Lloyd growled, his hand leaving your clit to grip your hip once more. "You come when I say you can come."

You whimpered at the loss of stimulation, but the commanding tone of Lloyd's voice sent another surge of arousal through you. His thrusts became even more forceful, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room.

"God, you're intoxicating," Lloyd growled, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned over you. "Can't get enough of you."

His words sent another thrill through you, and you struggled to hold back your impending orgasm. You rolled your hips more insistently, drawing a low groan from him.

"Then don't stop," you breathed, your voice husky with desire.

Lloyd's grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts becoming even more powerful. "Careful what you wish for, princess," he said, his voice rough with desire.

He maintained his punishing pace, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, desperate for release but holding back, waiting for Lloyd's permission.

"Please," you whimpered.

Lloyd's hand snaked around to your front again, his fingers finding your clit. He pinched the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing you to cry out.

"That's it," he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear how much you want it."

Your moans grew louder, more desperate as Lloyd continued his assault on your senses, rubbing tight little circles over your clit.

"Lloyd, please," you gasped, your body trembling with the effort of holding back your release. "I need to come. Please let me come."

You felt Lloyd's chest rumble against your back as he chuckled darkly. "Since you asked so nicely..." His fingers increased their pressure on your clit as he ordered, "Come for me, princess. Now."

He punctuated the command with a pinch to your clit and it sent you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with a breathtaking intensity, your inner walls clenching hard around Lloyd's cock. You cried out his name, your vision going white as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Lloyd groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as your climax triggered his own. "Fuck, yes," he snarled, burying himself deep inside you as he came, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his release before collapsing over you, pushing you down flat beneath him.

For a moment, you both remained frozen, panting heavily as the aftershocks of your intense orgasms rippled through your bodies. Lloyd's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. Slowly, he eased out of you, eliciting a soft whimper at the loss.

Lloyd rolled onto his side, then pulled you into him so your were pressed chest to chest. His arm draped over your waist, holding you close as you both caught your breath.

"Well," Lloyd murmured, his voice husky and satisfied, "I'd say that was another successful demonstration of my strengths, wouldn't you?"

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound slightly breathless. "Mmm, I don't know. I might need a few more demonstrations before I can make a proper assessment."

He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief and something deeper. "Next time we're sleeping in my bed," he declared, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "A Queen is too small."

You raised an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "Next time?"

Lloyd arched an eyebrow in return, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. "I'm not putting a ring on your finger tomorrow," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, "but neither of us are one-night-stand or casual-fling-with-people-we-know types."

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, a pleased, demure smirk playing on your lips. "No," you agreed softly, "we're not."

Lloyd's gaze softened as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss that made your toes curl. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with an intensity that made your heart stutter. His thumb traced your cheekbone gently.

"I meant what I said last night," Lloyd murmured, his voice low and serious. "I want to see where this goes. You're intriguing. Intelligent. Challenging. I don't want to let you slip away."

Your heart raced at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling in your chest. "I want that too," you admitted softly. "But this won't be easy, Lloyd. Our lives, our careers... there's a lot to consider."

Lloyd's lips quirked into a small smirk. "I’ve never been interested in easy. Boring." His expression grew more serious as he continued, "I know it won't be simple. But I think we’re worth a shot."

You couldn't help but smile, warmth blooming in your chest at his words. "Careful, you might be moving from Prince Charming sarcastic to an actual Prince Charming.”

He grimaced. “Can’t have that.”

You laughed. “No, definitely not.”

His hand settled on your waist, thumbs tracing small circles on your skin, lightly kneading your flesh. "You’re fucking gorgeous," he murmured after another moment, his eyes drinking you in.

"Gorgeous enough to make you want to stay in bed all day?" you teased, trailing your fingers along his jawline.

Lloyd's eyes darkened with desire. "Temptress," he growled, pulling you closer. "I'd love nothing more than to keep you here, naked and wanting, all day long."

His lips found yours in a fierce kiss that had your heart immediately racing again. You melted into him, savoring the taste of him, the feeling of his firm body pressed against yours. His tongue danced with yours, igniting sparks of desire that threatened to consume you both.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, you couldn't help but smile. "So why don't we?" you asked, your voice husky with want.

Lloyd groaned, resting his forehead against yours. "Because, Cinderella, as much as I'd love to spend the day exploring every inch of your delectable body, we both have responsibilities to attend to."

You pouted playfully, trailing your fingers down his chest. "Responsibilities are overrated."

Lloyd chuckled, catching your wandering hand and bringing it to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles before fixing you with a stern look. "You have a new job offer to formally accept, and I have a number of Hansen Global board members to attend to before they leave the city."

You sighed, knowing he was right. "I guess we have rejoin the real world at some point."

Lloyd's expression softened, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his blue eyes. "This isn't an ending, princess. It's a beginning."

Your heart was falling too quickly for this man, and maybe you wanted to let yourself fall for once.

“Now, up with you before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Maggie stirred her latte, the foam swirling into intricate patterns. Her eyes, sharp and inquisitive as ever, fixed on you with keen interest. "So," she began, a hint of anticipation in her voice, "which region did you accept for Nexus?"

You took a sip of your own coffee, savoring the rich flavor before answering. "Southeast Asia," you replied, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

"Good for you," she said with a genuine smile. "That's a challenging market, but I know you'll excel there. You clearly got off to a good start with Zhongxin."

"Thank you, Maggie," you said, warmth spreading through you at her praise. "I'm really excited about the opportunity. I can’t help but feel like I might not have been quite so ready to tackle this without getting to reconnect with you and have your guidance and support throughout this conference."

You paused, stirring your coffee thoughtfully. "I have to admit, I'm a little nervous about the challenges. But I'm also eager to dive into a role like this in such a dynamic market. There's so much potential for growth and innovation in Southeast Asia."

Maggie nodded approvingly. "That's the right attitude. Embrace the challenges – they're what will help you grow."

You took another sip of your coffee, then leaned forward, curiosity piquing. "So, I have to ask… What about you and Claude?"

Maggie's eyes lit up. "He’s such an old friend but… seeing him here, both of us single now, it’s been a breath of fresh air I didn’t know I was ready for.”

“Does that mean…?” You leaned in closer, grinning.

She laughed. “Oh, I’m not tying myself down. He’s aware I’m only looking for a ‘long-term, long-distance, low-commitment, casual’ boyfriend.”

Maggie's expression softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her eyes. "You know, Paul was my first love," she said, her voice taking on a wistful quality as she spoke of her late husband. "We met in college, and it was like something out of a romantic comedy. He was the charming, slightly awkward engineering student, and I was the plucky and ambitious business major. We just clicked."

She paused, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with her finger. "He was the only man I'd ever been with, romantically or otherwise. We grew into adults together, built our careers and our lives side by side.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. Maggie had always been a force of nature, and this more personal side of her was rarely seen.

"When Paul passed," she continued, her voice softening, "it was like the world had tilted on its axis. Everything I knew, everything I had planned for our future, it all vanished. For the longest time, I couldn't imagine a world without him in it."

Maggie's eyes grew distant, lost in memory. "But time has a way of healing wounds, even the deepest ones. I kept on living life a day at a time. And when that kept happening, and I kept on having more days and more new pages to add to my book of life, I started to realize that maybe, just maybe, there was room in my heart not only for something new, but perhaps someone new, too."

She took a sip of her latte, a small smile playing on her lips. "Claude is a different kind of love. He understands loss in a way that not many people do. He's patient, kind, and he makes me laugh in a way I haven't in so long. There's no pressure, no expectations. We're just two people getting to the true second halves of our lives. And I’m not ready to jump into anything yet-”

“‘Long-term, long-distance, low-commitment, casual?’” you repeated the Barbie term.

“Exactly. But I do think he could be the last love of my life. When we’re both ready.”

You couldn't help but smile at Maggie's words, touched by her vulnerability and openness. "I'm really happy for you, Maggie. You deserve to find joy again."

Maggie's eyes crinkled with warmth. "Thank you, dear. Now, enough about my love life. What about you and Lloyd Hansen?"

"I-”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, caught off guard by her direct question. “How did you know?"

Maggie chuckled. "The way you two were looking at each other the other night at the gala? Plus, I saw him leaving your room this morning."

You laughed, then shook your head. "It's complicated," you admitted, fidgeting with your coffee cup.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Is it though?”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "He's not what I expected. At all."

"I've heard rumors about Lloyd,” Maggie started.

You steeled yourself, sure you’d heard the very same - even discussed them with Gus the first morning of the conference.

Maggie leaned in, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Not the rumors you're expecting," she continued. "Claude has known Lloyd for years, so I questioned him, and he shared some interesting insights."

Your curiosity piqued, you leaned forward, eager to hear more.

"According to Claude, Lloyd has worked twice as hard as anyone around him to prove that he's more than his father's last name. He's ruthless in his work ethic, often the first one in the office and the last to leave. He doesn't try to suck up or make friends with his colleagues, but he knows how to get things done."

Maggie paused, clearly taking the moment to draw out a little more suspense in her relay of information, her eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. "Apparently, Lloyd can always charm a client when it matters. He has a knack for making good deals and building solid relationships.”

You nodded, processing Maggie's words. They didn’t contradict some of the other things you’d heard, but they were a different view, one that seemed more reflective of the man you’d gotten to know this week - the masked version as well as the rougher unmasked man. He was no perfect prince, but certainly more than people thought he was.

"That sounds... accurate," you admitted. "He's complex. Challenging. And there's more to him than meets the eye."

Maggie smiled knowingly. "You care for him."

"I think I do," you confessed. "It's new and unexpected, but there's something there."

Maggie reached across the table, patting your hand gently. "Love often is. Just be careful. Don't rush into anything, but don't let fear hold you back either. Life's too short for that."

You couldn't help but smile at her advice. "Thanks, Maggie. For everything."

Maggie reached across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Anytime, dear.” Then she stood. “Now, I’m off to catch a train with Claude. He says I have to spend a weekend with him in Normandy, and who am I to argue with him?”

You grinned, watching Maggie gather her things. "Have the best time in Normandy. You deserve it."

As Maggie turned to leave, she paused, her expression growing serious. "One more thing," she said, her voice low. "Whatever happens with Lloyd, don't lose sight of yourself. You're a brilliant woman with a bright future ahead of you. Don't let anyone, no matter how charming, derail your ambitions."

You nodded, touched by her concern. "I won't, Maggie. I promise."

“And now that we’ve reconnected, don’t forget that I’m only ever a call, email, or text away.”

Your heart swelled and you nodded again. “Give Claude my best.”

With a final smile and a wave, Maggie was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your cooling coffee.

You sat there for a while, mulling over everything that had happened in the past week. The conference, the drama with your former boss, the unexpected connection with Lloyd... it all felt unreal.

And yet, it was your life.

As you made your way through the hotel lobby, lost in thought about the whirlwind week you'd had, you nearly collided with a tall, distinguished-looking man in an impeccably tailored suit.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, stepping back quickly.

The man steadied you with a firm hand on your arm, his steel-gray eyes appraising you with keen interest. "No harm done," he said, his voice deep and resonant. “I was hoping I’d run into you again, though perhaps not quite so literally.”

"Mr. Hansen!" you exclaimed, recognizing Lloyd's father. Your heart raced as you recalled your interactions at the gala.

Robert Hansen's lips curved into a small smile. "Please, I told you to call me Robert. I heard about Zhongxin - unfortunately your loss is our gain, but I think there's opportunity for you with Hansen Global, too. There's an offer I believe Claude delivered to you?"

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure. "Yes, he did. It was a very generous offer."

“But for some reason, not generous enough? Claude said you declined.”

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "It was a wonderful opportunity, Mr. Hansen - Robert. But I've decided to accept a new position with Nexus Technologies. It aligns more closely with my career goals at this time."

Robert's eyebrows raised slightly. "Nexus is certainly making waves in the industry." He paused, studying you intently. "I have to admit, I'm a bit disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing what you could bring to Hansen Global. But I do respect your loyalty - it’s a trait I value highly."

You blinked.

Then, deciding to seize the opportunity, you asked, “Do you?”

Robert frowned. “Pardon?”

"Do you really value loyalty?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. "I'm asking because your words don’t correlate with your treatment of your son the other night.”

A flicker of surprise and intrigue crossed Robert’s face. "You're quite bold, aren't you?" he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and wariness.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "At the gala, I couldn't help but notice the way you spoke about Lloyd. It seemed dismissive. Almost cruel. If loyalty is truly a trait you value, shouldn't that extend to your own son?"

Robert's jaw tightened, but you pressed on, your voice calm and steady. "Lloyd has worked tirelessly for Hansen Global. He's known for his dedication, his work ethic, and his ability to close deals. Yet, from what I observed, you seemed quick to dismiss his value and question his competence."

You paused, meeting Robert's steely gaze. "I understand that family dynamics can be complex, especially in a business setting. But he chose to forge his career at Hansen, knowing it would be an uphill battle, because he wanted to be part of one of the best companies in the public relations industry despite the criticism he knew he would get from people thinking he’s only there because of his last name.”

Robert's expression remained impassive for a long moment as he considered your words. Then, to your surprise, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You're not wrong," he said, his voice low. "My relationship with Lloyd is complex. But I like your candor. It's refreshing to meet someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind, especially to the CEO of a global corporation."

He paused, his eyes searching yours. "You remind me a bit of Lloyd's mother. She never hesitated to call me out when she thought I was being unfair or shortsighted."

You blinked, caught off guard by the personal turn in the conversation. "Thank you, I think?"

Robert chuckled, a warm sound that seemed at odds with his imposing presence. "It's a compliment, I assure you. Celia was a force to be reckoned with, a match well-suited for me.”

He fixed you with an intense gaze. "You seem to have formed quite an opinion of my son.”

You felt a flutter of nervousness in your stomach, unsure of where this conversation was heading. "I've gotten to know Lloyd over the course of this conference. He's intelligent, driven, and far more complex than people give him credit for."

Robert's eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating look crossing his face. "And what exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you weren't entirely certain yourself. Your connection with Lloyd was still new, undefined, and complicated by your professional lives.

"We've become... friends," you said carefully.

Robert raised an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced by your answer. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"There you are, princess. I've been looking for you."

Lloyd strode towards you, his presence immediately commanding attention. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that accentuated his broad shoulders. His blue eyes were sharp and alert, taking in the situation.

His timing was too perfect, and so you couldn't help but wonder how much of the conversation with his father he had overheard.

"Lloyd," Robert acknowledged, his tone neutral. "I was just having an interesting chat with your... friend here."

Lloyd's eyes flickered between you and his father. "You mean my girlfriend," he said, his voice carefully controlled. He moved to stand beside you, his arm slipping around your waist.

You felt a solid warmth spread through you at the gesture, not needing it, but grateful for his presence all the same.

"Yes," Robert replied, his steely gaze now fixed on his son. "She was just explaining to me why she chose Nexus over Hansen Global. Quite passionately, I might add."

Lloyd's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Was she now? I'm sure that was an enlightening conversation."

Robert's gaze shifted between the two of you, his expression unreadable. "Indeed it was. She has strong opinions about loyalty and family dynamics."

You felt Lloyd's hand tense slightly on your waist, but his voice remained steady. "She's not wrong," he said, echoing his father's earlier words. "And I appreciate her willingness to speak her mind."

Robert nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Lloyd's face. "As do I. It's a valuable trait in both business and personal relationships."

An awkward silence fell between the three of you, the tension palpable. You glanced between father and son, noting the similarities in their strong jawlines and piercing gazes.

Finally, Robert broke the silence. "Lloyd," he began, his tone softening slightly, "you certainly don't need her to advocate for you, but she did anyway. She's fierce and holds her ground. I like her even more than before." His eyes flickered to you, a hint of approval in his gaze. "You have my blessing."

Lloyd's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his hand tightening reflexively on your waist. "Your blessing?" he repeated, a note of disbelief in his voice. “I don’t need your blessing.”

Robert nodded, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And yet you have it!”

Lloyd's jaw tightened, his posture stiffening slightly. "Well, that's unexpected," he said, his tone carefully neutral. You could sense a mix of emotions simmering beneath the surface.

Robert smirked. "Life is full of surprises, son. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to catch." He turned to you, inclining his head slightly. "It was a pleasure speaking with you once more. I imagine our paths will cross again soon."

With that, Robert strode away, leaving you and Lloyd standing in stunned silence. You watched as Lloyd's father disappeared into the bustling lobby, his commanding presence parting the crowd effortlessly.

Lloyd remained quiet, his arm still around your waist. The bustling lobby faded somewhat as you stood there, acutely aware of the tension radiating from him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes distant as he stared after his father's retreating form. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, and you wondered if the last five minutes had altered things in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Had you overstepped? Was Lloyd upset that you'd spoken to his father about him? You'd only known Lloyd for a short time, after all.

The doubt crept in, insidious and persistent, rooting so quickly in the pit of your stomach.

And yet you know you wouldn’t have said anything different to Robert.

Short time or not, the connection the two of you had forged the first night at Versailles had set a unique foundation, made more interesting and intricate as you’d circled each other as rivals, shared your moments together the night of the gala, flirted and butted heads yesterday morning, before culminating in the intimacy of both the sex and the conversations last night and this morning.

Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, you broke the silence. "Lloyd?" you ventured hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay?"

He remained quiet for a moment longer, his gaze still fixed on the spot where his father had disappeared.

Just as you were about to apologize, to try and salvage what you feared you might have broken, Lloyd turned to face you.

And then he kissed you forcefully, lips crashing into yours, passionate and urgent. His arms circled around you. You melted into him, your hands clutching at his chest as you returned the kiss with equal fervor.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, Lloyd rested his forehead against yours for a few seconds right there in the middle of the hotel lobby. His blue eyes were intense, and they locked into your soul.

"You," he said, his voice low and husky, "are incredible."

You blinked, surprised by his reaction. "I... what?"

"You took my father to task, unprovoked. For me. Without even knowing I was there."

“Wait, how much did you hear?”

“Nearly every word,” Lloyd chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “I was sitting just over there waiting for you and Maggie to be done. I was interested in seeing what my father would say to you, but then you’re the one who put on a show.”

“It wasn’t a show,” you argued.

"No, bad word choice. It very clearly wasn't any kind of performance. You were genuine, passionate, and fearless." Lloyd's eyes shone with admiration. "Do you have any idea how rare that is? To have someone defend me like that, especially to my father? Try almost never."

You felt heat creep up your neck. "I only said what I thought."

Lloyd shook his head, a hint of wonder in his expression. "You're something else, princess."

"Well, I'm not most people," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips.

"No," Lloyd agreed, his voice soft. "You certainly aren't."

You bit your lip. “I should go.”

“To the airport?”

You nodded.

“You could stay,” he said, “fly back with me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You wanted to.

It was nearly the same invitation he’d made to you that first night when you’d left just before midnight at Versailles.

“One more night,” he pressed.

“Only one more night?”

“Here, yeah. Then so many more when we get back to New York. You know, the ever after part of happily ever after to wrap up the whole Cinderella thing.”

You laughed. “You’ve got a deal, Prince Charming.”

He rolled his eyes, but pulled you in to seal it with a kiss.

Y'ALL! THIS IS IT! WE MADE IT TO THE END! Can you believe it?

Your comments on every chapter honestly sustained me and made this infinitely more fun to write! I knew it was an unconventional choice to cast Lloyd as our Prince Charming here, but - as I've said in a few responses - that's part of what made it so irresistible and fun for me and my muse.

A year ago I wouldn't have thought I'd be writing so much Lloyd... definitely not a 50k fic! Because... that's where we landed with this! 🤣 50.5k in total.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #aspen wrote something #x female reader #huffily ever after

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yyokkki · 1 year ago

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Riddle Rosehearts

A former city boy who ran away from home after refusing to become a doctor like his mother was.

Actually works as a lawyer at a small firm in the nearest town. He commutes by car and it's only a 30 minute drive with minimal traffic (thank god cuz his road rage is abysmal) but he works remotely on most days.

Is often found at the town saloon (the community centre after you fix it!) holding tea parties with Trey, Cater, Ace and Deuce or at the local library.

Loved Gifts: Strawberry Tart, Fairy Rose, Ruby, Universal Loves

"...Oh! Ahem, thank you farmer. Expect a return gift in the mail soon."

Hated Gifts: Eel, Clay, Royal Sword Cola, Universal Hates

"Ugh! This is unacceptable!"

Trey Clover

The local baker! His family runs a bakery in the city and he moved to NRV on his own to open another branch of Clover's Confectionaries.

He says the fertile soil and rich foragables make it the perfect place to gather ingredients on his own.

Rumour has it he runs a backdoor business for specialty toothpastes.

Is often found at the town saloon serving his pastries for Riddle's parties or at his bakery tending to his mini garden at the back.

Loved Gifts: Limestone, Pearl, Candied Violets, Universal Loves

"Thanks farmer! How did you know I needed this? ...I don't owe you anything, right?"

For Limestone and Pearl: "This is perfect! Now, to extract the calcium carbonate..." (Yes, for toothpaste)

Hated Gifts: Broken Glasses, Mustard, Universal Hates

"Oh... Uh... Thanks?"

Cater Diamond

A social media influencer and former travel blogger.

Used to travel a lot but decided to settle at NRV. He claims it's because the scenery and people are 'cute'.

Occasionally will go to the city with Kalim and Lilia to perform and hold concerts.

Is in a band with Kalim and Lilia, plays the guitar.

Is often found at the town saloon with Riddle, Trey, Ace and Deuce or in the town square chatting up the other residents.

Loved Gifts: Spicy Ramen, Diamond, Universal Loves

"Aww, you shouldn't have! #lucky #cutefarmer"

Hated Gifts: Anything Sweet, Clay, Universal Hates

"Aww, thanks but no thanks. #lame"

Ace Trappola

The local carpenter! Stays at Night Raven Valley with his older brother who he learned all his tricks from (bad and good).

Loves causing trouble and playing harmless pranks on the other residents (Deuce is his biggest victim), good at magic tricks too.

Plays basketball on sunny Saturdays with Jamil and Floyd.

The first character you meet, who was assigned with fixing up Ramshackle Farm. Shit talks your farm right to your face and holds no remorse.

Is often found at the town saloon at Riddle's tea parties or at the back on the arcade machines.

Loved Gifts: Cherry Pie, Cherry, Royal Sword Cola, Universal Loves

"Dwoes the wittle farmer have a crush on me~ Ack, I'm kidding!"

Hated Gifts: Clay, Oyster, Universal Hates

"Gross! Do you hate me or something??"

Deuce Spade

The local mechanic/handyman! He's self taught and lives with his mom, Dylla Spade who handles the deliveries in town.

Used to be a delinquent but has since turned a new leaf.

His passion project is modding the hell out of his motorcycle and hitting the roads.

Goes on runs with Jack every sunny Wednesday.

Volunteers at the Adventurer's Guild and takes requests from the board for security as his goal is to become a full time officer in the future.

Is often found at the town saloon at Riddle's tea parties or at the back getting obliterated by Ace in Junimo Cart.

Loved Gifts: All Eggs (Except Void Egg), Omelette, Battery Pack, Universal Loves

"Farmer! I knew you were a real one!"

For Battery Pack: "Thanks dude! I needed this for the finishing touches..."

Hated Gifts: Void Egg, Juice (He drinks it, it just reminds him of Ace), Bell Pepper, Universal Hates

"Hah? Oh, I thought you were pickin' a fight..."

---

TWST x SDV Masterlist

Tag List (Interact with the linked post to be tagged in future updates mwah)

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nickistuffs · 5 months ago

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Almost Perfect, Almost Enough Part 1

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A heartfelt gift goes terribly wrong, haunted by the weight of unspoken pain.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Angst. self-worth, body image struggles, miscommunication, and emotional disconnect

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

…

Harry always wanted to shower you with gifts. He noticed the little things—the items you left sitting in your online cart, the Pinterest boards filled with outfit inspirations, the way your fingers lingered on certain fabrics or accessories when you accompanied him shopping. He paid attention, memorizing each detail like a quiet devotion.

Anyone would love to be spoiled, and Harry wanted nothing more than to give you everything you desired. But you weren’t like most people. Since you were young, you had learned to weigh the difference between a want and a need, hesitating before indulging in something that wasn’t essential. It wasn’t about depriving yourself; it was just how you were. You lived simply, your wardrobe minimal, your jewelry sparse—something Harry had mistaken for preference rather than restraint.

He didn’t understand at first. He thought maybe you just hadn’t found the right things yet, that you were waiting for something special. So he tried. Little surprises, gifts wrapped carefully in ribbon, things he was sure you’d love. But every time he handed you something new, there was a flicker in your eyes—gratitude, yes, but also hesitation. As if accepting too much made you uneasy. As if love, when materialized, felt heavier than it should.

And that was the part that killed him the most. Because Harry didn’t just want to give you things. He wanted to give you proof—proof that he saw you, that he understood you, that he cherished every small, fleeting moment that made you you.

But maybe love, to you, was never about possession. Maybe it was about presence. And Harry didn’t know how to love you in a way that didn’t feel like giving.

...

That’s when Harry saw it—a beautiful dress, minimal yet sleek, the kind of piece that blended effortlessly into an everyday wardrobe. It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it had an understated elegance that reminded him of you.

His fingers traced the fabric, soft and weightless, and for a moment, he could already picture you in it—the way it would drape over your frame, the way you’d instinctively run your hands down the material, testing its feel. He found a size he thought would fit you, holding it up as if trying to convince himself that this, out of everything he had ever wanted to give you, was something you might actually accept.

Because this wasn’t just a gift. It was a quiet understanding, a way of saying, I see you. I know you. And maybe, just maybe, this time, you wouldn’t hesitate to take it.

When he went to the register, he didn’t even glance at the price. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the thought of you wearing it, the way it would complement you so effortlessly. For once, he hoped you wouldn’t overthink it—that you’d simply take it, wear it, and feel even a fraction of the warmth he felt when he thought of you.

...

Harry made a surprise visit to your flat, his excitement practically radiating off him as he greeted you with a quick, eager kiss at the door. His hands found your waist, guiding you backward with effortless ease until the backs of your knees met the couch.

You barely had a moment to process before you noticed the way he was holding something behind his back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed, tilting your head as you narrowed your eyes at him. “What are you up to now?” you asked, giggling at his antics.

Harry grinned, biting his lip like he was barely holding back his excitement. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent.

Covering your eyes with a playful sigh, you felt the weight of something settle onto your lap—a paper bag, soft and crinkling under your fingers.

"Okay, now open your eyes," Harry murmured, anticipation lacing his voice.

Blinking, you glanced down at the bag, your heart already tightening at the realization. "Harry… you didn’t have to," you said softly, looking up at him with a mixture of fondness and hesitation.

But Harry only shook his head, his smile unwavering. "I wanted to."

With hesitation, you reached into the bag, fingers brushing against the smooth fabric as you carefully pulled out the dress. Your eyes practically sparkled as you took in the design—the simplicity, the elegance, the way it was so perfectly you.

"Wow… this is beautiful, Harry. Thank you," you breathed, holding it up against your chest. But then, as the weight of the gesture sank in, doubt crept in alongside your excitement. "I don’t know if I can accept this..."

Harry, however, only grinned, leaning forward as if to dismiss your uncertainty before it could settle too deep. "No expense spared," he said with that effortless confidence of his. "You deserve everything."

His words were meant to reassure, but they left you feeling slightly off balance. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful—you were. It was just that, ever since you were a child, you had been taught to refuse gifts, to be mindful of generosity, to say no even when you secretly wanted to say yes.

And now, sitting there with a dress that felt both too much and just right, you found yourself caught between old habits and the undeniable warmth of being seen.

"Go on, try it on for me. Please?" Harry murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His voice was gentle, but there was a quiet plea beneath it, a hope that you wouldn’t let hesitation win this time.

You hesitated for a second longer, the familiar instinct to decline tugging at you—but then you looked at him. His eyes held nothing but warmth, nothing but the purest intention. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you. He just wanted to see you in something he knew you’d love.

With a small, breathy laugh, you nodded. "Alright… but only because you asked so nicely."

Harry beamed, stepping back as you stood, dress in hand, already imagining the way his face would light up when you returned.

...

You stepped into your room, closing the door softly behind you. Facing the mirror, you held the dress against your chest, admiring the way the fabric fell effortlessly over your frame. For a moment, excitement bubbled in your chest—you wanted to love this, to let yourself have this moment.

But as you slipped into the dress and reached for the zipper on the side, your heart sank. It wouldn’t go up. No matter how you twisted, tugged, or adjusted, the fabric wouldn’t budge past a certain point.

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach.

Harry had been so excited. You had been excited. And now, instead of feeling beautiful, all you could think about was how you had let yourself believe—just for a moment—that this could be easy, that accepting something so thoughtful wouldn’t come with a sting of self-doubt.

You hated how quickly your mind turned on itself, whispering cruel thoughts. That maybe this was why you never let yourself want things too much. That maybe it was a mistake to let yourself get swept up in the moment.

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the frustration burning in your eyes. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin this.

But now, standing there in a dress that didn’t fit, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to walk back into that room and face Harry without disappointing him.

...

You took a deep breath, fingers gripping the fabric near the stubborn zipper. There was no point in hiding it—not from Harry. You weren’t shy about things like this anymore. You were used to it, to the quiet disappointment of a dress not fitting quite right, to the feeling of something so close to perfect slipping just out of reach.

So you walked out, head held steady, the dress still draped over you as best as it could be. Harry, who had been sitting on the couch, perked up immediately at the sight of you. His eyes flickered with excitement—until they landed on your hands gripping the side, the zipper still undone.

You gave him a small, almost resigned smile. "Looks like I’ve still got to shrink to get into this," you said lightly, trying to turn it into a joke, to keep the air from turning heavy.

Harry didn’t laugh. Instead, he stood up, crossing the room in just a few strides, his brows knitting together in something that wasn’t disappointment—but something else entirely.

"Hey," he said softly, fingers brushing over yours where they held the fabric. "That’s not on you, alright? That’s on the damn dress."

The warmth in his voice made your throat tighten. You weren’t sure what you had expected—maybe some fleeting awkwardness, maybe even guilt on his part for choosing the wrong size. But instead, there was only understanding, only that unwavering way he looked at you like none of this changed a thing.

"We can exchange it," he continued, giving you a small, reassuring grin. "Or we can get it tailored. Or—" He tilted his head, eyes glinting mischievously. "I can just let you keep it open and call it avant-garde."

That pulled a laugh from you, quiet but real. The tension in your shoulders eased, and for the first time since putting the dress on, you allowed yourself to believe that this moment wasn’t ruined—just another part of the story.

"It’s fine, Harry. No need to exchange it," you said, forcing a small smile. "You can return it and get your money back—it’s okay with me."

You tried to keep your tone light, but the words felt heavier than you intended. You glanced down at the fabric in your hands before adding, "Especially from a high-end store… I know they don’t really make sizes for plus-size women like me."

You meant it as a simple fact, something you had come to accept over time—knowing that high-end brands catered to rigid beauty standards, ones that had been set in stone long before you ever had a say in them. They didn’t design for women like you, didn’t want their clothes to be seen on bodies they deemed too much.

But as soon as the words left your mouth, you saw the shift in Harry’s expression—the way his jaw tensed slightly, the way his brows furrowed, as if he was already preparing to argue with you.

"Hey, don’t say that," Harry cut in, his voice gentle but firm. "There are always other clothes we can look at. Ones that actually deserve you."

He said it so easily, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like the problem wasn’t you—it was the clothes, the brands, the standards you had spent so long making peace with.

But the way he looked at you, unwavering and certain, made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right. But, no

"No need, Harry. Thanks, but no thanks," you said blankly, turning on your heel as you walked back to your room to change.

You didn’t mean for it to sound so cold, but you just wanted this moment to be over. The dress, the conversation, the way his kindness only made the tightness in your chest worse—it was all too much.

But before you could disappear behind the door, his voice stopped you.

"I just wanted to give you something nice, Y/N… is that so bad?"

There was no anger in his tone, no frustration—just something softer, something almost hurt. And that was the worst part of all.

"I never asked you to give me these gifts, Harry," you said, your voice quieter this time, but no less firm. "I didn’t want this dress."

You gestured vaguely around your apartment, a small, lived-in space that was nothing like the world Harry came from. "God, just look at this place. We live very different lifestyles."

It wasn’t just about the dress. It was everything—the way he spent without thinking, the way he wanted to give and give while you had spent your whole life learning how to go without. He moved through the world so effortlessly, while you had always been careful, always conscious.

And standing there now, in an expensive dress that didn’t even fit, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever truly understand.

"We both understand what it means to work hard for our money," you continued, your voice steady but tired. "But not everyone wants the extravagant life celebrities are always portraying."

You meant it as a simple truth—one you had lived by for as long as you could remember. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you saw something flicker across Harry’s face, something unspoken but unmistakable.

That hurt.

Because that’s what he thought you saw when you looked at him—an A-lister, someone wrapped up in a life of luxury, of excess, of things that didn’t matter to you.

And maybe that was the worst part. No matter how much he tried to show you otherwise, you still believed there was a distance between you that couldn’t be bridged.

You both stood there in silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between you like a barrier neither of you knew how to cross.

Harry’s fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should. His jaw clenched for a second before he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

You, on the other hand, just held onto the fabric of the dress, staring at the floor, feeling the tension wrap around you like a second skin. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. And yet, here you were, watching the light in his eyes dim just a little.

Neither of you knew what to do next. Neither of you knew how to fix this.

Without another word, you turned and stepped into your bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

Leaning against it for a moment, you let out a slow breath, your fingers tightening around the dress. The excitement you’d felt earlier had long since faded, replaced with something heavier—something you couldn’t quite name.

You changed quickly, slipping back into your usual clothes, ones that felt safer, less complicated. But even as you shed the dress, the weight of the moment still clung to you.

Outside, you could still feel Harry’s presence, still picture the way he had looked at you, caught between understanding and hurt. You hated that look. Hated that you had put it there.

And now, you weren’t sure how to walk back out and face him.

Your breathing was heavy, uneven—shaken by the fear creeping up your spine. Not fear of him, but of what you had just done. Of the way your words had landed, sharp and unintended, leaving behind wounds you couldn’t take back.

Seeing Harry hurt by something you had said—it scared you to death.

With trembling hands, you peeled the dress off, careful, almost reverent, as if letting a single tear fall onto the delicate fabric would shatter whatever was left of this moment.

But it was already ruined. The excitement, the warmth, the way he had looked at you like you deserved nice things—it was all gone now, slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it.

The only thing you could think about was how much you had hurt him.

It replayed over and over in your mind—the way his expression had shifted, how his eyes dimmed just slightly, the subtle tension in his posture as if he was bracing himself for more. You had never wanted to push him away, never wanted to make him feel like his kindness was unwelcome.

But you had.

And now, standing there in the quiet of your room, staring at the paper bag the dress had come in, you wondered if you had just ruined more than just this moment.

Harry was surprised—he had never seen or heard you say anything mean before. Not to him, not to anyone.

But tonight, your words had cut, not because they were cruel, but because they carried something deeper—something sharp with exhaustion, with walls built from years of disappointment. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

He didn’t know if he should leave or stay.

Part of him wanted to give you space, to let you sit with your thoughts and breathe. But another part—the stronger part—couldn’t bear the idea of walking away, of letting this moment settle between you like something permanent.

So he stood there, unmoving, caught between his instinct to hold on and his fear that maybe, this time, you wanted him to let go.

You took deep, shaky breaths, but it didn’t help. The memories came rushing back, uninvited and relentless—voices from the past whispering, taunting, telling you to be slimmer, to take up less space, to mold yourself into whatever version of acceptable they had decided for you.

Your chest tightened, anger and hurt tangling together until you couldn’t tell which was stronger. It made your head spin, made your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

You thought you had buried this. Thought you had learned to live past it. But here you were, standing in your bedroom, a beautiful dress in your hands, and all you could feel was that same suffocating weight of never being enough—or maybe, being too much.

Gripping the paper bag tightly as if it could steady you. The weight of the moment pressed down on your chest, but you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Harry was still out there, waiting.

You weren’t sure what you were going to say, or if anything could fix the tension lingering between you, but you had to face him. Swallowing hard, you squared your shoulders, steeling yourself before reaching for the door.

Harry’s attention snapped to the door the moment it creaked open. His eyes landed on you—on your rigid posture, the way your fingers clutched that damn dress like it was something heavier than fabric.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just stood there, face to face, the silence stretching between you, thick with everything left unsaid. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—soft, searching—held something that made your throat tighten.

You weren’t sure who was supposed to speak first. Or if words would even be enough.

You held out the paper bag to him, your fingers trembling slightly as you forced yourself to speak.

"I—I’m sorry," you stammered, the words feeling small, pathetic, not nearly enough.

Harry took the bag, but his eyes never left your face—watching, waiting. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your eyes stayed downcast, focused on anything but him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Your chest felt too tight, breaths coming slow and heavy, like each one was a battle.

A beat of silence. Then—

"I’m sorry too," Harry murmured, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "I should go."

The finality in his words settled like a stone in your stomach.

Harry didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t spare one last glance.

He just turned, walked to the door, and left.

You heard the way his footsteps picked up, turning into a jog as he made his way to his car—like he couldn’t get out fast enough. Like he just needed to be anywhere but here.

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, but it might as well have been a slam for how final it felt.

And just like that, he was gone.

The moment the door closed, the weight of it all crashed down on you.

A loud, broken sob tore from your throat, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache, but it was useless. The dam had burst, and there was no holding it back now.

Tears streamed down your face, silent at first, but then the sobs came harder, louder—shaking your whole body. You didn’t even try to stop them.

Because he was gone. And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if he’d come back.

...

I had to, I'm sorry.

Here’s Part 2 Almost Perfect, Almost Enough

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honey-star-glaze · 16 days ago

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Abs Saja dating hcs?

A response already! This is spectacular. Cheers, Anon 💗. I was a bit busy today so I posted this later than I would've liked.

Little warning though - this includes a bit of angst (a mention of passing away) and a squint of suggestiveness - but you'd have to squint really bloody hard at a specific line.

Requests are also still open! Ask away while you can.

Dating Abby Saja/Saja Abby will include a great many things, so buckle in. This is after the whole Gwi-Ma saga because he would be far too focused on amassing souls and doing his bidding.

★ This is going to include my general perceptions of Abby, how he'd interact with you in the presence of others and how he'd treat you when you're alone; this will also be before meeting and after meeting you.

GENERAL

Seeing as his body is curated for mass sex appeal and to fit a 'persona' within the Saja boys group, Abby has taken to his task as 'the ideal body idol' with a single-minded efficiency.

★ I think that any thoughts or worries of objectification in the idol industry aren't even considered by him (since he doesn't have a soul or actual identity that would distinguish him from others in Hell Joseon, and he wouldn't suddenly gain one after entering the human world again). So not many insecurities will manifest your relationship from his end.

"Do I have problems with the idol industry? No, not really. It's just me and my abs up on stage when I perform... Huh? Oh, yeah. The boys are there too, I guess."

★ Literally no thoughts, head empty - except he does have thoughts, but doesn't dwell on them as much as Jinu. This is partly because he doesn't see it as his role to be the 'thinker' and isn't tortured by past memories. So, Abby would buy you something just because he thought it looked cool, forgetting that you have an allergy or mentioned not liking it until he sees your face fall and you backing away from him.

"Baby, look at this! Babe, wait, why are you swelling-"

Or, alternatively...

"Why are you running?! Why are you running?" He says, as he chases you down the street.

The boys in general are a mass of instincts and as the most physically intimidating, Abby would be one of the first to act upon stereotypes and perceptions others have of him with his desires as a driving factor.

★ He'd probably be the first to step up in a situation that calls for intimidation, no matter how minimal.

Is that door-to-door salesperson bothering you? He's staring at them like he wants to eat their soul from behind you, even if in actuality he's simply curious about their intentions. And is that person blocking the aisle with their cart whilst deliberating over two cans of the same brand? He's striding over to them before you can reverse and make your quick escape down a different aisle.

"You don't wanna go down this isle? Why? But there's food here that you like." He'll say, clueless as he tilts his head before pushing aside the offending cart with one broad hand. The poor person will probably be shoved into the shelves with the cart.

ABBY SAJA: BEFORE MEETING HIM

The body Abby has is taken care of due to a mix of Demon magic mumbo-jumbo and performances, so his looks are preserved with an illusion to keep you from ever guessing his natural appearance. Before meeting him, you'll seldom see him outside acting on his own. Acting human and pleasant ironically drains a LOT of his energy, moreso than fully enabling his demon form and actively hunting for souls.

★ He honestly fails at acting human at times. You'd most likely have to be in the position of a bodyguard or work as security detail for Jinu to let you remotely close to Abby or the others, but even before meeting him you'd probably pass by him at night and see him eating an excessive amount of food or nothing at all because he simply forgot to.

He also sucks at hiding information on interviews, and so interviewers target him the most.

Like, Tom Holland levels of bad at hiding spoilers.

"I don't eat as much as a person with my body should? I'm honoured, truly." He's grinning with a hand on his heart and sultry eyes until an inquiry about his eating habits stops him dead in his tracks.

"What. What do you mean you're concerned about my health? I'll have you know that I'm-"

The man is dragged away by the collar before he outs himself as a Demon on public television whilst you're sat at home with your head in your hands. Or, if you're the interviewer, laughing behind them.

ABBY SAJA: AFTER MEETING HIM

Finding out he was a Demon would honestly be child's play with how many unintentional mistakes he makes simply because he didn't think at the time. Eating would be a big one, since he'd probably be inconsistent with it (i.e. learning to act human again) and after practices he'd have no energy to do anything for a while.

★ I think that he'd actually just forget to reveal to you that he's a Demon once you're in the later stages of a relationship. Before being in a relationship, he'd be cordial and charming enough to plant little seeds of doubt despite seeing evidence with your own eyes that no human can jump that high, nor run that fast and a singular one cannot spin that amount of times in a second - no matter how talented.

"But Abby, how did you-"

"The physique, babe."

"But how did-"

"The glutes, sweetcheeks."

"But-"

"It's all me."

You'd actually have to corner him with sufficient thought put into trying to oust him as a Demon. Not to mention the forethought to separate him from the group. How you started dating is heavily tied to this - Abby himself most likely suggested dating out of desperation, after realising that he couldn't enthrall or kill you.

★ If you're a Hunter who's entertained by him, you'll probably let him live another couple of months and go along with it for the sake of seeing him more desperate.

"Wait! If you date me, there are tons of perks..."

"...that aren't your death? Name one."

"I thought we could... Give me a moment... It'll come to me, but for now let's just bask in the silence..."

Just as you raise your weapon, he exclaims aloud with his palms out and panicked, "I was joking! Joking. Ha. About- ab- oh! How about... these abs? Free access to them, all the time?"

Best believe that even with his life on the line he's bargaining with his body and a smirk on his face.

★If you're an ordinary human who's deluded charmed enough to see past the death threats and the potential age gap (give or take 200 years) then he'd be ecstatic that he has his own personal soul to accompany him around. He'd probably show you off like a trinket or a new toy he's gained to the others.

"Have you got one of these? No, I don't think so." Romance just looks at him with thinly veiled disgust and trades a sidelong glance with Baby.

"Look at what I've got! Look at my gift-" Mystery walks right past him as if he's an apparition.

Abby would be absolutely insufferable (and he knows it) and Baby would 100% trip him up in practices whenever you attend. He'd consider it worth it just to watch Abby try to reign in his temper and not send him flying.

★ Most of the relationship will be trying to keep these two dunderheads apart because they're always antagonising the other (Baby moreso than Abby).

★If you're involved with the boys as a Demon yourself, or as a manager of the boys that tends to stay out of the spotlight, you'd notice his little mistakes over time and question him on it. It could come across as helpful advice mixed with blunt observations, but you would definitely catch him off guard.

"Your marks. Did you get them before or after you joined?"

"Well, I actually, I-" Abby cuts himself off, leaning in with the intent of erasing your memories.

"I don't care." You duck down and grab a garishly bright pink leather jacket. "Here - wear this. The patterns disrupt the look you're going for as the cutesy supporting lover in the music video. It throws the whole scripting off. Now, go. From the top, again."

He's left gaping, staring after you like a sculpted statue.

Either way, he's asking you out first.

ABBY'S OVERALL DEFINING TRAITS: STRENGTH, CHARISMA, INTIMIDATION.

★ Can he cook? No.

★ Can he clean? Also, no.

★ Will he get you a ring? He'd forget.

I'm going to hold your hand when I say this, but you'd probably have to do the actual romancing yourself, and often have to go back to places for him to grow familiar enough to remember by muscle memory. Even when you pass away and eventually leave him, he'd still go there whenever he's feeling down or wants to celebrate. You'll be a memory that he revisits frequently, if he's allowed to keep them.

★ Anything that requires a quick and efficient kill or swift chopping in the kitchen can be handled by him, provided you don't stumble in on him eating the meat raw. Do not leave this man alone in the kitchen or you'll find him trying to eat cleaning equipment and raw food with the same gusto.

"Abby. Your lips are red. Tell me you haven't..." Will unfortunately be a common phrase in the household.

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY (?)

★ Doesn't register on his radar. He's a being driven by desire and, as pride in his looks is a big one (leftover from the influence of Gwi-Ma and Jinu's scheming), he cannot fathom why you'd want anyone other than him in a relationship.

His past history is murky and his morals dubious, but he honestly will not see anyone as worthy competition for your affection. Perhaps the other Saja Boys, but he'll most likely let his Demon side out to ward them off to know you're off limits.

"Where'd you go?"

"Out."

"Cool. Wanna watch a movie later?"

★ Abby is very physically affectionate to the point of overwhelming you, but can fall short in the face of emotional intelligence. Give him credit where credit is due though, he is trying. He's just failing, miserably.

"You're sad? I know what can fix it for you," he'll grin and shift his hips, leaning in with his eyes hooded and shining lips a breath away from yours. Seconds later, he's staring at a tablet screen, baffled at the process that led to the position he finds himself in.

"What, you just wanted a hug? Can do. But... there are so many other options..." He'll trail off in slight disappointment and mutter the other options to himself with you content in his arms.

HIS PLAYLIST

He's an actual gym rat even without having to go to the gym, so his playlist will probably be these same two songs played back to back on repeat until you're on the verge of strangling him (and he'd probably let you do it, too).

I had a whole gym segment prepared, but I feel that's enough for now.

★ Overall, I don't think Abby's persona changes much when you date him, and you'll have to be the one to adapt to his mannerisms as he adapts to human culture.

#kpop demon hunters #headcanon #hcs #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #kpdh #kpdh abby #abby saja #kpop demon hunters x reader #fluff

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frownyalfred · 4 months ago

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howdy. What are your thoughts on how Bruce combats stress related ageing? Like is man carting the full regimen in the batbelt or does he have it down to one thing

I think meditation is a huge part of it. He stays out of the sun, too. He doesn't drink (in most iterations, Batfleck is clearly an exception). Exercise is HUGE for stress and stress-related aging. The fact that he's so active is a huge benefit; the fact that he doesn't allow himself time for recovery/rest days is less so.

By regimen I assume you mean skincare. In all honesty, he probably 1) stays out of the sun 2) uses cosmetic products when applicable 3) botox, filler, etc is used in minimal but effective amounts.

But honestly? There's signs of stress-related aging you can't always combat. I think a good one for Bruce is when he gets a little too invested in case/etc and drops weight quickly. It can lead to a gaunt look around the face and cheekbones. Someone burning as much energy as Bruce at rest could drop weight really quickly and look quite haggard in just a few days if he wasn't careful.

#asks #anon #batman #bruce wayne #dc

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thesirencove · 2 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ NEAL CAFFREY X FEM!READER & SPENCER REID X EX!READER -- THE FLIP SIDE OF ILLICIT AFFAIRS

hi y'all ! my apologies for the wait on this one . this semester came in and really pulled the rug out from under me . my classes were much harder than expected (damn you gen chem 2 & microecon) and i got hit with a wave of writer's block on top of it :') BUT i'm getting my degree so yay to that !! apologies if any of the characters seem out of character (especially spencer lol) , i kinda let my creative liberty go wild with this one .

to anon , i am so sorry for the long wait on this one . i hope that the longer word count and care i put into this fic to make it perfect will make up for it 💓

my requests at this moment are closed as i get to other requests and finish up finals . i'll make an announcement when they're open again , which will hopefully be soon as i'm starting to see the light at the end of the cave again :) i hope you've all been doing well , and enjoy !

neal caffrey x fem!reader (romantic) ; spencer reid x ex!reader

summary: when someone from the past enters her life again , neal is the rock she needs as she relives the time when everything came crashing down years ago . based on this request !

warnings: angst, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of a rocky relationship, mentions of cheating, probably ooc spencer reid!!!!!, asshole spencer, mentions of serial killers & murder (and in general what the bau does), death (off-page), hotch is like a dad to y/n, maybe ooc hotch??, as minimal as possible use of y/n in the fic, probably also ooc aaron hotcher, lowkey no closure?? reader is honestly vibing but reid is not lol, spencer is a dick

word count: 10.8k

winters in new york were always brutal. snow was piled across the streets. snowflakes floated down, sticking to her cheeks and eyelashes. her lips were blue and cracked from how cold and drying the weather was. the roads were so icy it was a miracle if she hadn’t fallen on her ass at least once on her way to the office.

there was a lingering sense of coldness that stayed with her, even once safely inside the FBI building. the heat radiating from the HVAC system wasn’t fast or warm enough to make anyone feel like they’d completely escaped the freezing weather outdoors. slipping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the 19th floor, bouncing on the balls of her feet, hoping the movement would help get some feeling back into her toes. the elevator came to a stop, followed by a ding as the doors creaked open. she walked out, turning towards the glass doors that separated the white collar office from the elevators. she smiled through them at her friend, diana, who was sitting on the further end of the room. pushing the doors open, she walked towards her desk as she took the long, insulated puffer jacket off her shoulders, keeping her fleece trench coat on for the time being.

looking up towards peter’s office, she noticed neal standing there, talking to peter. there was a case file in peter’s hand, and though neal had his back turned towards her, his shoulders slightly tense. he was good at hiding his tells, but after knowing him for the past three years and dating him for two, she picked up on little things like that. her eyebrows furrowed, wondering what was happening in that office.

it wasn’t long before neal exited the office, his shoulders rigid. peter sighed, calling diana over. neal stalked towards y/n, a smile adorning his face despite the clear frustration he held within him.

“hey, love, everything okay?” she asked, her left hand moving to grab onto his arm and rub it soothingly.

“yeah, come get coffee with me at the cart?” he looked at the elevators, eyeing them in a way that made her wonder on what he was waiting to hop out of those doors.

usually, she’d complain about not wanting to go outside again after having just gotten out of the cold. her toes were finally regaining feeling, too. but something in her stirred to go with neal, to figure out what was running through his head. she knew it had to do something with the case file peter had in his hand.

so instead of whining about the cold, she simply pulled her long puffed jacket off the back of her chair and reaching to intertwine her hand with neal’s.

it didn’t take long before they made it to the coffee cart, and she was still freezing, but the warmth radiating from neal’s body helped. they got their coffees and began to slowly walk back to the office. she noticed neal wasn’t in as much of a rush to get back as he was to initially leave the building.

“is everything okay, neal?” she asked, turning her head to look at him.

they both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. she was faced towards him, and neal still stood ready to walk back towards the office. he sighed, looking at the ground for a second before picking his head back up and facing her.

“the most recent case peter got involves a murder,” he started.

“okay? neal, you know i’m used to that. i used to work at-”

“the BAU office in quantico, i know. that’s the thing.”

it clicked the second he said “that’s the thing.” she eyed him in confusion, still not fully sure if he was alluding to what she assumed.

“are you trying to tell me that my old team is going to be here to work on the case with us?” she asked, not wanting to tip-toe around the subject any further. neal nodded, eyeing her with a look that said, “i’m sorry,” and, “i tried to convince peter otherwise.”

it had been three years since she left the BAU, leaving behind her life in quantico to start a job in a new field here in new york. going from solving cases about serial killers to hunting down white collar criminals was a switch, but it was one she needed. she’d adjusted to her new job quite easily, quickly becoming part of the white collar family. she lost one family, but gained another, and she wouldn’t change things. maybe once she would have, at the very start. now, there’s no chance in hell she’d give up neal.

“it’s okay,” she said, finally, after what felt like eons of silence, “i was bound to see them again someday anyways, no?”

she smiled up at neal, rising to her tip-toes to press a kiss to his lips. her nose hit his in the process, which was freezing cold, making her shiver.

“c’mon,” she started, “let’s get going back to the office. we need to get briefed on the new case.”

she slipped her hand in his, coffee warm in her other hand, and once again began walking back towards the office. she began telling him about a funny conversation she’d overheard in a coffee shop the other day. neal listened intently, commenting every so often. but in his head, he was thinking about her reaction to her old team coming to work on the case with them. he was surprised at how cool she was about this, but he also knew she’d been healed for a while. she was secure, safe in her relationship with neal. happy with him. they both were.

she had been a wreck when she first moved to new york. cases with the bau were mentally taxing, but she always had an escape in her team. they were her closest friends and family at the time. and once, long ago, spencer was who she perceived as the love of her life. she’d fallen for the hair, the smile, the eyes that sparkled every time he spewed random facts that no one would know, except for him. she’d fallen for everything about him. at one point, before everything fell apart, she even thought he’d be her husband.

· · three years ago · ·

her keys jangled in her hand as she fumbled with the lock, trying to get the door to the apartment open. she had stayed overnight at the bau office, working on reports to get to hotch. she wanted to have them all done, so wouldn’t have to do them later on top of the next pile of reports sent her way. the hallway was dim, the overhead lights slowly dying. some were flickering. others were already out.

she finally got the door open, sighing with relief when she felt the handle twist. the cool air from inside hit her face, and she could smell one of her mahogany candles burning. she smiled, closing the door behind her and hanging her jacket on the hooks near the door.

“spencer!” she called out, not seeing him in the kitchen or living room.

she faintly heard the words, “i have to go, she’s home,” coming from her and spencer’s shared bedroom. she wondered who he could possibly be on the phone with this late. he came out from the room, a small smile on his face. she held her arms out, and he enveloped her in a hug. she wasn’t sure if it was her mind running rampant with the one sentence she’d heard him say, or if something was truly different, but the hug didn’t feel as tight or warm as usual.

“who was that on the phone with you?” she asked, pulling away from the hug and looking up at him. something shifted slightly in his face. panic, guilt. it wasn’t a shift she wanted to see.

“oh, that was just morgan. got back from a date and wanted to tell me about it,” he answered, voice flat.

she smiled at him, slipping out of his arms and towards their bedroom. she was tired, and he was lying. she had said goodbye to morgan on her way out of the office. it couldn’t have been him on the phone, it was virtually impossible that he’d gone on a date and called spencer to tell him about it within the thirty minutes it took her to get home. she could tear him a new one right now. tell him to stop lying, to tell her who it really was. instead, she kept herself calm, slowly getting ready for bed. brushing her hair, braiding it, then brushing her teeth. she started her skincare routine now.

“i assume he had a good date? they usually go well,” she laughed at the last sentence. it took every ounce of strength she had to cover the bitterness in her voice.

“yeah,” spencer responded, “i think he really likes her. he was even talking about taking her on another date.”

she didn’t respond, merely nodding as she put her pajamas on, a matching set. they were adorned with various teddy bears, some with pink bows and others in blue t-shirts. walking out of the bathroom and back into their bedroom, she pulled the covers off her side of the bed and hid herself into the warmth of the blankets. spencer walked behind her, moving to his side and doing the same.

“night, spence,” she whispered, turning the lamp light off and curling into herself.

“goodnight,” he muttered back. there was no, “my love,” or “sweetheart.” there was simply “goodnight” and that was it.

she feigned sleep as her thoughts ran wild in her head. she hated the fact spencer was lying to her. she hated that she was too tired to do anything about it, wanting to push it away as nothing. wanting to protect herself with the lies she convinced herself were real – he wasn’t doing anything, he was talking to her mother, or a friend, he was planning a surprise and didn’t want to spoil it. over and over in her head, she came up with every possibility she could pretend was real.

she thought back to what the past few months have been like. the bau has been swamped with cases, a new one coming in back to back with the others. it had been nonstop flying and solving serial killings. the lack of affection between her and spencer recently hadn’t posed any red flags until now. she just assumed they were both tired, overworked.

three hours after she first climbed into bed, she knew spencer was asleep. slowly pushing herself up, she got out of bed, tip toeing to spencer’s side of the bed. she felt like shit doing this, never wanting to become this kind of girlfriend. the one who has a hunch her boyfriend is cheating and goes through his phone. still, she needed to know. she couldn’t let herself stay if he was going to leave. she picked his phone up, looking through the call logs. her eyebrows furrowed as she saw there was nothing recent. she put his phone back down, checking to make sure he was still asleep. he had barely moved, his breathing shallow as he slept.

instead of getting back in bed, she pulled the drawers open, shuffling through them quietly. looking for a burner phone, for any sign of his infidelity. she decided to slip her hand beneath the cabinet, knowing there was no harm in at least looking. it was then that she felt a small, hard block carefully placed on a wooden ledge that jutted towards the center of the cabinet. she pulled it out, turning the phone on. a slew of messages appeared on the screen.

i miss you

i had fun talking to you last night

i want to meet up soon

what about your girlfriend?

she doesn’t matter to me. you do.

i love you.

each and every word on the screen blended together, tears forming in her eyes. she could barely read the messages as her vision blurred. she checked the call logs, and her heart plummeted when she saw just how often spencer had been talking with this girl. maeve, according to the contact name and the few times spencer mentioned her name in conversation. she scrolled and scrolled and scrolled, trying to figure out just how long this had been going on for. the first call had been six months ago.

she nearly threw up. bile burned the back of her throat as she held a hand over her mouth, trying not to make any noise. she stood up, her knees wobbling slightly, and tip toed to her side of the bed again. she took the burner phone with her, picking up her own phone and snapping as many pictures as she could of the messages, the calls, everything. the thoughts that ran through her head as she did it were so loud that she could feel her head start to hurt. she put the burner phone back in its place, taking her phone with her to the bathroom. she locked the door behind her.

the moment the lock clicked, her legs gave out. she slid to the floor, her back pressing against the vanity sink. opposite her was the bathroom closet, the doors made of mahogany. she traced the patterning on the wood with her eyes. everything she’d just read was too much, she couldn’t properly process it. she felt weird for not being able to shed any more tears than she did when she first found the messages.

spencer was cheating on her. how could he cheat on her? what happened to the sweet boy she once knew? the one who would bring her a pain au chocolat in the mornings, knowing she often skipped out on breakfast. the one who would leave flowers on her desk. the one who would stick cute messages adorned with a smiley face and heart on the mirror in the mornings for her to see. she wasn’t sure what happened along the way to change things this drastically, to distance him from her to the point he resorted to… this. to illicit affairs.

what the hell is she supposed to do now? pack a bag of things, and leave? penelope would take her in. emily or jj would, too. hell, any of the members of her team would take her in right now. they weren’t just coworkers, they were her family. she recalled the time she first joined the team. from the jump, hotch treated her like a daughter. it was a tough job, and it’s not like he babied her. and yet, the fondness he had for her was unlike any other. the dad who raised her might’ve been hundreds of miles away, but she still had a dad in quantico.

she couldn’t bear to work with spencer anymore, she knew that for sure. but she also knew spencer was a pinnacle asset to the team. she was, too, sure, but he was the one with the eidetic memory. there was no fair comparison, in her mind. she would have to be the one to leave.

she put her hands on the floor, the soft bristles of the plush, white rug on the floor digging into her hands, shivering as she felt part of her palm slip onto the tile. she took a second, closing her eyes, breathing, before pushing herself up to standing. pushing her ear to the door, listening for any movement outside, she tried to figure out if spencer had woken up. she was met with soft snores, and knew he was still asleep.

she opened the bathroom closet door as quietly as she could, pulling out her go-bag and a second bag to put some of her stuff in. anything she couldn’t fit she would just pick up later. or maybe she’d just ask one of the team members to get it for her later.

her heart was pounding, nearly tearing through her chest, as she tiptoed around their shared bedroom, carefully taking her favorite clothing pieces and the essentials, then making her way back to the bathroom and quietly packing everything in there. it was truly a miracle that spencer hadn’t stirred the whole time, sleeping like it’d been ages since he last slept a full night.

yeah, no shit, he’s been fucking around with another woman for months, she thought to herself.

once everything was packed, she carefully slipped out of the bathroom, picking up her phone and keys. she was out of the bedroom and entered the main room. it was an open floor plan, with the kitchen opening up into their little living room. her shoes were by the door, and her coat was still resting on the hook she placed it on. she took a glance at the sight in front of her. it was dark, and she could barely see anything, but the moonlight shone into the room enough for her to take it all in. the couch they sat on night after night, watching their favorite show. the countertop in the kitchen they’d have breakfast in. the little trinkets she’d set up in every corner she could.

all of it, all of the love she poured into everything, for what?

and with that last glance, feeling her heart break as a lump formed in her throat, she gripped her bags tighter, and walked to the door. she put her shoes on quickly, pressing one hand against the wall as she bent to the side and used the other to get the shoe over her heel. her go bag was slung over her right shoulder, second bag in the left hand as she twisted the door handle. it creaked, causing her to wince at the sound. still, she left as quickly as possible, running down the hallway of their apartment building as quickly as possible, glancing over her shoulder as she did so.

her teddy bear pajamas clung to her body as she ran, thinking about how stupid she probably looked. each flight of stairs she took went faster and faster, whipping past her eyeline and making her slightly dizzy. though, the dizziness was likely also a side-effect of all the feelings spinning in her head.

once she reached the ground floor, concrete hard on her feet through the shoes as she jumped the last three steps, she pulled her keys out of the side of her go bag, immediately unlocking her car as she ran to it. the lights flashed red and yellow, and for a split second she worried she’d break the door with how hard she pulled it open. the bags were thrown on her passenger seat as she slid into the seat. closing the door, she clicked the lock button, car beeping, and brought the engine to life.

in mere minutes, her relationship with spencer had fallen apart. she packed her bags and ran from him. ran from everything. she couldn’t bear to be in that room, to sleep next to him for one more night. she simply needed out.

pulling onto the road, she didn’t know what to do. should she just leave? never look back, find somewhere else to go and make a life for herself there? does she go to garcia’s and spend the night there? what would happen tomorrow, when she went to work and spencer asked her where half her things went? when he asked why she left in the middle of the night?

she found herself sitting in her car, outside of hotch’s apartment. she wasn’t sure why, or how she really got here. she just drove and drove, and suddenly came to a stop here. the rough plan at the moment was to knock on his door, tell him she’s resigning, and figure out a department to transfer to. somewhere far away, preferably. she turned her keys in the ignition, turning the car off and making her way to hotch’s door. she wasn’t sure what she’d say, or if it was stupid for her to be here, but this is where she ended up. outside her work-dad’s door. he’d know what to do, right?

for fuck’s sake, you’re an FBI agent and you can’t even figure out what to do about your boyfriend cheating on you, she thought to herself, raising her hand to knock on his door. after a few seconds, she heard the flick of a light switch and saw light flood in beneath the door. the quiet thudding of feet against floorboards could be heard, and in seconds the door was open. hotch stood before her in plaid blue pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt.

she opened her mouth to say something, but instead she lost any ability to speak. her face crumpled, and she began sobbing, falling into hotch. his face contorted into worry as he caught her, holding her up.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered between sobs.

hotch shushed her, rubbing his hand against her shoulder. he pulled her into the apartment, locking the door behind them, and set her on the couch. she wiped the tears beneath her eyes, sniffling hard as she felt snot start to come out of her nose. a box of tissues was placed on the table in front of her, and she immediately took hold of them. hotch waited until she had calmed down enough to speak before saying anything.

“what happened?” he asked, his usually stoic demeanor shattered at the state of her.

“he cheated on me. he’s been cheating on me, for months now.” she wasn’t sure what to say, but she told him everything. what she heard him saying on the phone, the lie he told about morgan that made her suspicious, the burner phone she found underneath the bedside table. she even went as far as pulling her own phone, handing it to hotch open to all the pictures of the messages she found. she watched as hotch’s expression became angrier and angrier.

“in all my years in the bau, and knowing spencer, this is one thing i did not see coming,” he said, his voice harsh when he uttered spencer’s name. she laughed bitterly in response.

“you think you’re shocked, imagine being his girlfriend.”

they were quiet for a few seconds, both gathering their thoughts.

“what do you want to do?” hotch asked her.

“i don’t know. all i know is i can’t work with him anymore.”

“okay. it won’t be difficult to get another department to take him, but–”

“no, hotch. i have to be the one to leave. i can’t stay in the bau, stay in this city, knowing i could run into him at any moment. i can’t stay here, knowing that each time i sit at my desk, i’ll remember him sitting across from me. i can’t walk past the coffee shop i go to every morning knowing that my memories of him are there. i just can’t,” she told him, her voice pleading.

hotch nodded. he understood her. he’d want her to stay. hell, in an ideal situation none of this would be happening. but it is happening, and he knows that if it were him in her place, he’d want out, too. he stayed silent, thinking where he could transfer her to. he knew she’d want to go far away, but selfishly he wanted it to be somewhere close enough that he could still come visit the girl that became like his daughter.

he knew exactly where to send her. it’d be entirely different from the work the bau did, but it’d still be good. hell, he could even say it’d be fun, in a way. and there was a good challenge for her there, a criminal consultant that would keep her head running at all times. it was the kind of job that was perfect for her. plus, he knew peter burke pretty well, and he knew that she’d be safe with him there. peter knew that she was like hotch’s daughter, and peter himself was the kind of guy to treat his fellow agents like family. yeah, the white collar unit would be perfect.

“there’s a job available. it’s in new york,” he held his finger up when she opened her mouth to protest the location, “i know you want somewhere further away, but i think you’ll fall in love with it. trust me. the white collar department is looking for a new agent. they have a criminal consultant, which could be an interesting addition for you,” hotch continued speaking, and she listened, but let her mind drift ever so slightly.

she liked the prospect of going to new york. the white collar department was drastically different from the bau, and she actually quite liked that. it wouldn’t be as horrific as looking at dead bodies daily, and maybe even slightly less dangerous than getting kidnapped by a serial killer who had a liking for women who looked like her.

“i’ll take it,” she said in the middle of one of hotch’s sentences. he smiled lightly, nodding at her.

they spent the rest of the night talking, figuring out the transfer. he, of course, had papers on hand for her to sign and sent a message to special agent peter burke about the transfer. at 7:03am on the dot, they got a response from peter.

great! can’t wait to meet her. the earlier she can start, the better, but the latest would be monday the fifteenth.

that was 10 days away. she decided she’d leave earlier. hotch promised he’d have her stuff sent to her new apartment there, once she got one. he sent another message to peter, asking for apartment rental information and letting him know that she’d be there earlier.

hotch and peter texted back and forth for a while, and she got impatient, trying to glance at the screen. she was able to see a few messages, where hotch mentioned the reason for her transfer. in another message, peter said that he and his wife would be happy to take her in for a few days as she hunts for apartments. she was wary about it, not wanting to intrude or become an inconvenience. still, it was better than paying for a hotel room until she found an apartment. i’ll find a place to live within the first week there, that way i’m not being too much of a burden for too long, she told herself.

this was it. in one night, her entire life had fallen apart. she left her boyfriend. she quit her job, and found a new one. she was leaving her closest family, and going somewhere completely different. hotch took her into a hug, savoring the last few moments they’d have together. sure, he’d visit, maybe, but this was goodbye for the time being. he made her promise to text and call, and to keep him updated on everything in new york. she swore to it.

leaving hotch’s apartment, she was a new woman. she turned on her phone, sending spencer a quick message before blocking him. i know about maeve. we’re over. don’t try contacting me ever again. hotch will get my stuff for me in the next few days. fuck you.

just a few hours ago, she was terrified about what would happen next. now, she sat in her car, ready to drive to new york. she was excited. the heartbreak wouldn’t leave her, not for a while. she’d cry and wish things were different and wonder to herself what went wrong. she’d think about what was wrong with her that made spencer want to cheat on her. she’d wish she’d have stayed for one more day, just so she could’ve smacked spencer square in the face. but now there was a needle and thread in the form of the white collar unit in new york, and it was ready to stitch together the broken pieces of her heart.

· · present time · ·

“love? hello? where did you go?” neal said, waving his hand in front of her face. they were stood outside the white collar building now.

“sorry, sorry. i was thinking,” she said, frowning slightly.

she felt stupid for having been quiet for so long. neal only smiled, giving her a quick kiss.

“hey, it’s okay. you don’t have to say sorry,” he said.

he squeezed her hand, a silent message that he’d be here the whole time. that she didn’t have to worry about anything, that he’d understand. he was good to her in that way. he was good to her in many ways, but something that especially stood out was how patient he was with her. since the start of their relationship, he’d been incredibly patient with her. not only considering the job she once had, as a bau agent, but how things ended there. he never wanted to treat her the same way. he never would treat her the same way. she didn’t know, but he silently promised to himself that he’d change her outlook on love entirely. that he’d help her be unafraid to not just be in love but to fall into it, and keep falling. he kept that promise, fulfilling it every single day.

the two of them walked inside the building, making their way up the elevator, back to the office. on the ride up, they talked about their dinner plans tonight. they were planning on having a little gathering, the two of them with mozzie, peter, and elizabeth. she laughed about their previous mini dinner party, which ended with mozzie getting so drunk he started reciting a random shakespeare play. hand in hand, they pushed the door open to the office, her in the middle of laughing about the memory. neal smiled at her so brightly that his cheeks hurt. anyone looking at them could tell that he was infatuated with her. he wasn’t just in love with her. he was completely consumed by her existence.

that killed spencer. he was standing at the top of the stairs, near peter’s office, arms crossed as he stared at his former love. her laugh was one that no one could forget, causing him to turn immediately when he heard it flutter into the conference slash makeshift interrogation room. he immediately clocked neal’s hand intertwined with hers, and the pain in his chest was palpable at the sight. it pissed him off, quite frankly. morgan appeared behind him, tapping him and then motioning to get back in the room. when spencer didn’t move, morgan spoke.

“you were the one who fucked up, man. you cheated on her, not the other way around. now get back in the room and do your damn job,” he said, his voice short, full of distaste.

the events of three years ago were a sensitive spot for the bau. spencer was the one who made her leave so abruptly, without so much as a goodbye – other than a few texts and calls after she’d settled into new york – and it made everyone angry. she was family to the bau, and losing her was difficult. it was even more frustrating knowing that spencer was the cause of it. all because he was a dumbfuck who couldn’t keep it in his pants. he may have a high iq, but he was a fucking dumbass in the eyes of love. there was a huge bandaid over the situations, and tensions had almost fully resolved over the years, but being here – seeing her again – had made things hard for everyone again. it was all a reminder of just how badly spencer had screwed up.

spencer finally moved, walking back into the room. peter kept shooting daggers at him, and diana looked like she was ready to murder him right then and there. and then cover it up. she looked like the type of woman who would get away with murdering him, even if she had an audience. he took a deep breath, bending over the table to look over the case files. they were talking about the murder, it was the third of a string of them that had been happening in art galleries around the city. each time, an artist that had their art on display had been killed, their body left on the floor next to a wall where their art once hung. in place of the piece of art they’d created was a message, different each time.

as they looked over the cases, there was a shift in the room, and spencer immediately knew why. he turned, looking at the woman he once loved. she held a coffee cup in her hand, the spout stained with lipstick. neal caffrey stood behind her, his arm ghosting around her back, hand resting on her waist. his eyes narrowed ever so slightly at spencer before quickly returning to an unbothered expression.

neal quickly flashed a smile, so charming it made spencer feel sick.

“neal caffrey, it’s lovely to meet you all,” he said, looking around the room.

“hi, guys,” she said, still attached to neal’s side.

she didn’t want to tear away from him. it felt safer, being near him. her heart still beat rapidly, but the warmth that neal’s body radiated helped calm her. it quelled her nerves enough that she was able to say her small “hi” without her voice quivering. his hand was still attached to her waist, gripping it tight, but not to the point that he was hurting her. just enough to make it clear that she was his and he was hers, and that no one – especially spencer – should dare make a false move towards her.

penelope was the first to break, a smile adorning her face as she ran from her computer to envelop her old friend in a hug. neal expertly took the coffee she held out of her hand, so that it wouldn’t drop or spill as she returned the hug.

“i missed you so much!” they both squealed at the same time, causing them to break out into laughs. they smiled, gripping each others’ arms and jumping around in a circle. it’d been years since she and garcia had seen one another in person, and it was a moment that was long overdue, no matter if it was technically considered unprofessional.

hotch was next to give her a hug, followed by emily and jj and morgan. spencer was the only one who stood still, as though his shoes were superglued to the ground. his eyes flicked back and forth from neal to the girl he’d hurt so long ago.

after the slew of hugs she received, she looked towards spencer, only giving him a small smile, before returning to neal’s side. she took her coffee from him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before getting onto the case. spencer thought of the smile she gave him, and like every other thing about her, it haunted him. there was no emotion in the smile towards him. it was a simple gesture, acknowledging his existence but nothing more.

she brushed him off so quickly, immediately getting to work, that it gave him whiplash. he looked at neal, who was looking at him with a glint in his eyes that was clearly distaste. just a second later, neal was called over by y/n, asking him about one of the art exhibits where blood of a victim had been found. the way neal effortlessly spoke about the era and art annoyed spencer. he was the one who knew everything. what could a criminal out on a consulting deal really know? especially compared to a guy with an iq of 187.

neal’s arm brushed against hers, making her look at him, smiling. this smile was different – full, bright, happy. it was unlike the one she gave spencer, and that killed him. he had done the damage, and here he was, years later, reaping the consequences of his actions.

his feet finally moved, unsticking from the position he was previously in. he stood near morgan, listening to hotch provide further details that peter’s team didn’t have. hotch gave a rough profile they’d created on the flight to new york, noting it wasn’t official – but could give a good baseline for what they needed to look into.

“morgan, spencer, i need you two to go down to the morgue. go over the details of the murders with the coroner, and report back to me. jj, coordinate with law enforcement and the media. no details about this case are to be released as of now. garcia, i need you to stay here and dig up information about the victims we don’t currently have. i want to know about any paths that could have crossed, especially in their careers. emily and rossi, we’ll head down to the most recent crime scene,” hotch said, voice firm.

each bau member scattered, now that their assignments. spencer lingered ever so slightly, watching y/n nodding along as peter coordinated his team. morgan elbowed him, harder than he used to years ago. it was a subtle shift after everything that happened, but a shift nonetheless. still, he never complained, knowing it could have been worse for him. he’s lucky to still have some form of a relationship intact with his team members.

· · 3 hours later · ·

in the three hours since assignments had been given, spencer and morgan found out that the killer had left behind extra clues in the form of rolled up pieces of paper left on the victims’ bodies. not only that, the team had identified a solid suspect and another body had been dropped.

the victim fit all the others, and this time the message left behind was just one word: “betrayal,” painted in blood. and yet again, there was blood left in an exhibit with art from an older era.

they all stood around the table in the conference room – except for penelope, who was working on a loose lead hotch thought up in peter’s office – looking towards a clear whiteboard, detailing each piece of the case they’d put together in an attempt to solve it.

“the pattern is accelerating,” y/n said, moving towards the board, “look. we have four bodies now. the first was found ten weeks ago. the second four weeks ago. the third just a week ago, and now the fourth. something made him want to go faster, but what?”

they knew the unsub had likely been triggered by something, leading to the sudden shift in the timeline. they spit balled ideas, reasons for the acceleration. neal provided insight on each of the exhibits where blood was spontaneously left. the first time it happened, the police thought it was an accident. now, with four victims, they knew it was part of his MO.

“did penelope find any connection between the victims?” neal asked, looking intently at the board.

solving a murder was new for him. he was used to asking mozzie to check who fenced a piece. he was used to finding out who stole and sold a priceless piece of art that part of him wished he had. he was used to pushing down his habit of planning how he would steal a piece of art or a statue that was worth millions. still, the puzzle pieces in his brain were shifting, and he was happy to have the challenge. he noticed a pattern within them, he just needed to be sure.

“they’re all art majors, though each specialized in a completely different style and era of art. one thing that stood out was that they all went to the same university at one point, all taking the most of the same slew of classes that were required for art majors,” emily summarized, remembering what garcia told her she found.

“can you tell me what era each victim specialized in?” neal said, moving towards the table to rearrange some extra pictures that hadn’t fit on the board. the crime scenes, with the pictures of each message left behind, and the exhibit where blood had been left behind. he just had a hunch…

“uh, yeah, hold on,” emily said, finding the file that held each victim’s university transcript. once she had it, she spoke again.

“carl jenkins – victim one – focused on the baroque era. violet emerson – victim two – had a background in romanticism. dawn hollis – victim three – was an expert on the renaissance, and vincent dryden – our most recent victim – focused on neoclassism.”

“ok, wait – yes. hold on… yeah, i think i’ve got something. look at the art of each of the victims. it’s completely different from what they studied when they were in school. jenkins’ did abstract, emerson had clear fauvist inspiration, hollis did pop art, and dryden’s art was influenced by the romantic era. and look,” neal explained, almost frantic.

he pulled out photos of the messages left behind at each crime scene.

“each note the killer left behind has something to do with betrayal. the most recent, of course, being the literal word itself,” he said.

“you’re right,” y/n muttered, moving closer to him and inspecting the pattern he layed out between the photos.

“what if it’s about them deviating from the art they studied?” emily pointed out, before continuing, “maybe the killer stayed within the style he studied, but never got as far as the victims did, with exhibits in galleries. now he’s getting revenge for the success he never got. can garcia cross-reference the victims with anyone who crossed paths with all of them? other students, teachers, people who tried to get their art into the same galleries.”

“yeah, hold on,” y/n said, running into peter’s office to get the theory to her.

within seconds, penelope found a name, a professor that every victim had for a renaissance art history class. there were countless records of applications he’d made to galleries throughout the city, each and every one of them refusing him. there was a notes section on each, explaining the refusal. some left nothing, others claimed his style was simply not what they were looking for. it was too outdated, and they’d rather have pieces from the true renaissance than from an artist of this decade.

“his name is connor hayes, let me get you his address,” garcia blurted, writing the information she found down as quickly as possible before also sending the gps location to hotch.

the flurry of activity in the office surged the moment his name and address were found. garcia also ended up sending the location of his office at the university he worked at to the team, as a secondary location to check. some agents were on the phone with police and swat, others running to the elevators and even stairs to get down as quickly as possible. sirens and blue and red lights filled the streets as they sped to find the man who had already killed so many budding artists.

the team found him at his home, with the names and pictures of various other students he was planning on killing. he had an entire board on his wall, connected by red string and pins. the words “TRAITOR” and “BETRAYAL” were splayed over the pictures in red ink. the victims who had been killed had their faces crossed out, while one picture had a circle over the student’s face. likely who he planned would be his next victim. they even found a box hidden in his closet, filled with his trophies from the victims – vials of their blood.

neal stood outside, watching as forensics went in and out of hayes’ house, the numerous police officers and FBI agents gathering evidence for conviction. he watched as connor hayes was packed into the back of a police car, taken away to live the rest of his life rotting in jail. neal wondered how someone could do something like that. he could barely pick up a gun, hating them as much as he did, and yet here he was, in such close proximity to someone who had killed four people.

“don’t think too hard about it,” y/n said, startling him out of his thoughts.

“what?” neal asked, now looking at her. he was amazed at himself over the fact that, despite standing in the middle of a crime scene where a serial killer had just been apprehended, he was in awe of how beautiful his girlfriend was. it was like the entire world simply drifted away, and it was just the two of them now. that was the effect she had on him.

“the why. you can do countless interviews with these monsters, understand the psychology behind it, hell you could even get the reasoning behind it from the killers themselves. still, you’ll never fully understand how they could do something like that,” she told him as she squinted at the scene before them.

“am i truly that transparent that you knew exactly what i was thinking?” neal replied, smiling at her.

“nah, i just read minds,” she said, grinning up at him.

she lifted herself up to her tip toes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. she grabbed his hand, squeezing it once. she told him that she’d check with hotch if the two of them were needed for anything more, letting go and walking inside the house to find out where hotch had gone. she had been standing in the serial killer’s living room when she spotted hotch a few rooms away, being able to see him in the kitchen thanks to the open floor plan the guy had.

“so, you chose a criminal over me?” a voice said from behind her.

she turned to the origin of the voice, and lo and behold, spencer reid stood right in front of her. the question he asked only partly registered in her head.

“what?” she asked, trying to keep calm. she could feel herself beginning to see red just at the fact he had the audacity to speak to her with anything other than apology for what he’d done.

“neal caffrey, your new boyfriend. he’s a criminal, no? i mean, he’s a criminal consultant, and walks around with a fancy ankle monitor. and if i remember correctly, which of course i do, he was convicted of bond forgery and spent four years in prison. so what in god’s name are you doing with the likes of him?” he sneered at her, clearly trying to insinuate she had downgraded.

the look on his face pissed her off. she’d been done with spencer the moment she left after finding out he’d been cheating on her for months. the way his brows furrowed as if he were holier than thou temporarily made her want to put his head through the wall. she only became more angry when she realized his dig at neal.

she’d fallen in love with neal within a year of them knowing each other. he may have been a criminal, but he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. through his charming and sly exterior, he’s been an absolute dream. he was kind, and thoughtful. even on the coldest days, if she’d forgotten her coat, he’d give her his. even if he was already freezing, any indication she was cold would mean his coat was being shrugged off and pulled over her shoulders. if she mentioned wanting to see a movie, the next morning there’d be two tickets sitting on their dining table, with a little note from neal telling her to get ready for their date night. sometimes they’d get home from the office at different times, and she couldn’t count how often she would come home to flowers from neal, or he would bring home a bouquet for her. every worry of hers was quelled the second he’d come into the room, and he was so incredibly patient with her when she’d first come to new york.

she came to him broken and battered from the bau, and he’d sat meticulously gluing back together each and every piece. even the ones that most people would deem too tiny to keep, and would throw away – he kept. he pieced her back together and takes care to keep her that way. he loves her more fully than she’s ever been loved before, and she loved him just as much. spencer standing in front of her, all smug, trying to say that neal is a bad guy just because he went to prison once is honestly infuriating.

“what exactly are you trying to say, spencer? because if you’re trying to make it seem like neal is a bad guy because he used to dabble in forgery, you’re way out of your league. who’s the one who decided to cheat on me for six months with a girl over the phone? here’s a hint, in case you can’t remember, it wasn’t neal. and let’s be real, he helped out more on this case than you did. he may be a criminal, spencer, but he’s more honest than you’ll ever be,” she seethed.

“is there a problem here?” neal said, wrapping his arm expertly around her.

neither she nor spencer were sure when he’d entered the room, but she was glad he was here. she could’ve stood here, alone, and knocked down anything spencer would have said to her for as long as she needed to. and yet, having neal here calmed the frustration in her heart.

“not anymore,” she responded, leaning into his touch. her eyes narrowed at him, mouth contorting into a frown.

spencer searched for words, but he couldn’t find any. he’d been told by every member of the bau that the only thing he should say to her is a heartfelt apology. he’d been haunted by his actions, by her for years. and yet, seeing her with neal, seeing how happy she was, it annoyed him. there was a part of him, though he wouldn’t admit it, that wished she’d come back to him as easily as she’d left. the moment he set his eyes on neal, on her wrapped in his arms when they walked into the office, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. he knew there was no chance in hell she’d come back to him. he knew that, in the end, he’d be sitting in his apartment, looking at her facebook for the third time in the day and find pictures of them on their wedding day. he screwed up the second he started speaking to maeve, and yet he was angry at her for moving on. it killed him.

“did you talk to hotch yet?” neal said, turning his attention to y/n. she shook her head no, and he nodded, pulling her along to go talk to him.

“what a man, you’re not going to defend yourself or your girlfriend?” spencer spat out, his mouth working faster than his brain. the guilty part of his brain wanted to take it back.

“i know she can handle herself. she already did. i’m not sure why you’re looking for a fight, but if you want one that badly, i can promise you’ll be the one on a stretcher,” neal said, giving spencer a cold stare before leaving the room.

by the time her confrontation with spencer had ended, hotch had moved to another room. they were wrapping things up, and the forensics specialists were the only ones needed to finish everything. hotch told them that they would all get going soon. he only asked neal to look over some evidence they’d found that was art related, which neal was quick to help with.

back at the office, neal and y/n helped peter fill out some paperwork for the case they’d just work on. he told them to go home, to rest, but they wanted to help. plus, they knew it meant there’d be less work to do tomorrow. the bau had gathered their things, and they were ready to leave. the only thing left was to say their goodbyes.

“please stay in touch, and promise me we’ll get together soon,” penelope said through choked tears, holding onto her best friend.

“i promise,” y/n said, hugging penelope tight enough that it almost looked like she was afraid this was the last time she’d see her.

in some way, it was true. she was worried that their jobs and lives would interfere so often that they’d never get to see each other again. and yet, she also knew that they’d see each other again. there was no doubt in her mind that they’d see each other again within a few months, and giggle over coffee about the most recent juicy drama they’d heard. and there were always phone calls and texts, which would keep them connected while they waited to see each other again.

emily and jj made her promise to keep in touch, too. the four of them, emily, jj, penelope, and y/n/, made a solemn vow to have a getaway trip together sometime soon. a nice, warm getaway to the caribbean sounded wonderful to all of them. especially considering just how cold this winter had been.

rossi and morgan made her swear to keep in touch. rossi made the promise of making his extra special pasta, just for her, if she ever visited. it was an offer she couldn’t pass up, and she made a note in her head to go just for some pasta.

“promise me you won’t stop writing, kiddo,” hotch said to her, his hand on her shoulder.

she nodded, tears causing her throat to close up. she whispered a very quiet, “i promise” before enveloping him in a hug. everything she had now, the life she made for herself, the healthy relationship she was in – she had hotch to thank. it was because of him that she managed to start fresh after what happened with spencer. it was because of him barely hesitating when she said she needed to leave the bau, because she just couldn’t bare to work there anymore, that she’d landed at the white collar unit with peter. it was because of him that she crossed paths with neal, and was now in the happiest place she could be. all of what had happened, she had hotch to thank for. the man who became the closest person she had to a father when she was living in quantico, was the man she had to thank for everything working out the way it should have.

her slew of tears were inevitable. she’d been trying too hard to keep it contained, to only shed a few, and yet she still broke. they were more than just her friends. they were her family. it had been difficult to leave them years ago, and it was difficult to watch them go now. she knew that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d see each other – there would be other cases to help out on or they’d all get together when they had vacation. even then, it was hard watching someone leave. the human brain is incapable of deciphering the different kinds of grief. it’s all one and the same to the brain, so even though she knew they’d be back, her brain already begun to grieve them, and the tears were pouring.

spencer stood off to the side, waiting for them to all finish. he wondered what things would be like, if he wasn’t an idiot. or if he wasn’t a complete asshole to her earlier. he wished that she’d forgive him, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. not after what he’d said to her. not after what he’d done all those years ago. he’d been reaping the consequences, not only with her leaving but with maeve dying not long after y/n left. he had everything, and then he blinked, and it was all gone.

so instead, he turns around and leaves, knowing that he is undeserving of anything from her.

· · ✮ · ·

neal was sitting on the couch of the space june rented out for him, a space that slowly became home for him and y/n. his legs were outstretched onto the coffee table, a book in his hand. from his periphery, on the right side, he could see her walk out of the bathroom. she was clad in her favorite pajamas – one of his shirts and pink pajama shorts. the shorts he bought as part of his one year anniversary present for her. her feet padded softly across the floor as she made her way towards him, and he turned his head, grinning up at her when she reached closer. she stood next to him, placing her hands on the arm of the couch and leaning towards neal, smiling back.

“ready for bed?” he asked, and he earned a nod in response.

his eyes practically sparkled as he looked at her. to him, in this very moment, as she stood wearing his shirt and frilly pink pajama shorts, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. and in every moment after this one, she would still be the most beautiful girl in the world to him. that was something he knew would never change.

she tip-toed around the couch and coffee table, slipping between the two and plopping down on the couch. she lifted her feet up, resting them on the left side of the couch as she lied her head on neal’s lap. her hands settled near his knees. his hand instinctively went to her head, brushing her hair back. in slow, sweet movements his fingers played with her hair.

it was such a little thing, yet something about neal made her feel so safe. comfortable. happy. the way he looked at her as though she’d hung the stars and moon in the sky just for him. the way his eyes dilated, so full of emotion each time he looked at her. the way he effortlessly made her feel the good kind of butterflies in her stomach. the way he smiled at her as if she’d just brought the sun in after a dark night. neal made her whole.

he slightly closed the book he’d been reading as his fingers twirled in her hair. it was still open, but just barely, his thumb holding open the page he’d left off on. the pages had flopped in, some curling beneath each other. the cover faced the floor while the back of the book was up towards the ceiling

“whatcha readin’?” she mumbled, worn out from the day.

“i’m doing a re-read of the count of monte cristo. i’ve reached the part where dantès is in jail and abbé started teaching him everything,” he responded.

“ooohhh i love that one. read to me?” she asked, turning her head to look up at him slightly. she smiled, batting her eyelashes as if he was difficult to convince. neal laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to her head.

“always, my love,” he whispered, opening the book up more and wrapping his left arm around her so he could hold the book up with both hands. she had to stop herself from frowning at the loss of his fingers in her hair, quickly perking up as he started to read.

she smiled, staring at the book. she tried to follow along with what he read, but her eyes started to feel heavier and heavier. she closed them, opting to simply listen instead. her heart was full as he read to her. after about a chapter, her thoughts wandered slightly. she thought about how lucky she was to have neal. she thought about how she wanted to spend every night this way, ready to go to bed and yet staying awake simply to spend more time together. she thought about how much she loved neal. she thought of the first time she met him, and when they started dating.

it wasn’t easy for neal to convince her to go on a date with him. the first day she walked through the doors of the white collar office, she’d been earlier than expected. peter hadn’t briefed neal on the situation yet to tell him to dial down the charm. he’d strolled right up to her, offering his hand and his signature smile. despite the look on her face, clearly exhausted and not very welcoming of bullshit, he tried to be witty. she ended up laughing at his opening line, which to him was a win, especially after peter finally told him. he was happy that he could make her laugh in the middle of what was arguably the lowest point of her late 20s. from the very start, he insisted that he’d take her out one day, flashing his charming smile and flirting with her.

he waited a year. he built her trust, and she built on his. he shared secrets with her that he hadn’t told anyone else – not even mozzie. he’d gotten closer to her, becoming the first person she’d go to in the mornings when she arrived at the office. at the start, she’d only gone to peter or her desk – her only two comforts in a new place. eventually, that changed to saying hello to neal first and bugging him about a case file or papers splattered all over his desk.

it took a while before she agreed to a date. even when she wanted to say yes, she waited until she knew she was ready. she didn’t want to risk messing it up. neal asked her out four times. the first time was not long after they met. she told him she couldn’t, not yet, and he told her he’d wait. he knew she’d need time, and so he let it pass until he thought she might be ready. he tried two more times after that, both at points he thought were right. she nearly said yes both of those times, but still shook her head no. both times he took it well, understanding and proceeding to buy her coffee. it was his way of letting her know outside of words that he would continue waiting until she was ready.

the day she did say yes, he’d been ecstatic. truthfully, he nearly didn’t ask that day. he was expecting another no, and would’ve taken it graciously. yet, when she walked in the door that day, something in the air shifted and pushed him to ask. she still remembers the way his eyebrows shot up when she finally said “yes” to him. he would’ve waited years for her if he had to. he still would, now.

if someone had told her a few years ago, on the road to new york city, that this is where she would end up, she would’ve laughed in their face. that kind of reality was completely out of question for her. three years ago, she felt her world come crashing down, and she thought there was no chance of digging herself out of the rubble. little did she know, that three years later, the little “yes” that led to one, two, three more dates would bring her here.

as she listened to neal read, having missed a lot of what he’d already said at this point, she opened her eyes. he’d already passed another two chapters, and was about to start the third.

“hey, neal?” she interrupted before he got the chance to start reading that chapter.

he rested the book on his legs, his right hand holding it as his left moved to caress her shoulder.

“yes, love?” he asked, looking down at her.

“i love you,” she said, and she meant it with everything she had.

“i love you. always,” he told her, his voice quieting to a near whisper at the end.

three, simple little words. so little had been said aloud, and yet so much had been said between the two of them. the room quieted, the two of them lying there, on the couch, intertwined. the book since discarded to the floor beside the couch. they would eventually move to the bed, shutting off the lights and sliding beneath the bedsheets. they wouldn’t turn away from each other, instead once again seeking one another out. hands grabbing to pull them closer. by the morning, the sheets would be halfway off the bed, but they would still be holding one another. they’d go to the office and finish a case by 3 in the afternoon. they’d go to dinner, neal would pull out the ring box he’d been hiding in various places for the last 10 months. yes, eventually that would all happen.

but for now, they would lie here, on the couch, and thank the lucky stars above for helping them find one another.

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