#just to click on them and stare for 4 hours

[clownkillsyou]

YOURE LIKE ME. i keep my tabs around far too long and theres too many of them but theyre part of me now. i cant just let them go

yeah deadass theres some tabs that i had open for so long by the time i came back to them they were dead links 😭 like either it was someone who deactivated on that site or the site itself is gone

[springseasonie]

I'm a Mouse, Duh! | LJN + NJM (M)

Roommate Jeno x fem reader x roommate Jaemin, Halloween party trope, pure filth

Summary: Nomin in police costumes and Y/N in a "mouse" costume (it's literally just lingerie). Will they fuck? Keep reading to find out! (the answer is yes) (the title is a mean girls reference if you didn't notice btw)

Warnings: sexual content, dom Jeno, dom Jaemin, oral (fem and male receiving), Eifel tower 😖, spiting, cum eating, ass eating, butt stuff (it's my first time writing this don't judge too hard), double penetration, slight crying kink

Word count: 8,3k

Song recs: needs by tinashe

A/N: the drought is over!!! I have posted. This is my kinktober thing bcs I've been too busy with life so I hope y'all like this even though it's a bit rushed. This can kinda be like a "the walls are thin" special episode if you will. Also tysm for 800 followers (even though I'm barely posting). Feedback is loved and appreciated 🤍🤍

"Can you please hurry up? The party started an hour ago," Jaemin yelled from the living room.

"Don't rush me. You want me to look nice right? Be patient," you yelled back, applying the red lipstick carefully. You checked your hair in the mirror one last time, fixing your lashes as you leaned into your vanity.

"I'm sure you look fine. Hurry, I want to get there before they run out of beer," Jeno yelled.

"Gosh, I'm coming," you said, grabbing your bag. You opened your room door, heels clicking as you walked out the both of them sitting on the couch. You stared at them, face contorting in confusion. "Cops? Really?"

They turned to you, staring at you for a little longer than they should've. Your outfit was definitely something beyond scandalous. Lace lingerie, fishnets, heels, and a headband. Jaemin swallowed hard, eyes scraping every inch of your body. The obscene 'costume' hugged your body like it was made for you. And your lips looked great in red. He always loved the color on you. Jeno didn't hide his emotions like Jaemin did though. He was always shameless. Letting you know how good you look even on days where you weren't very dressed up. Jeno had always been attracted to you. Both of them were, making being roommates with them very hard at times.

"That's your costume," Jaemin questioned, eyes scanning you once again stopping at your cleavage.

"Yes it is."

"And what are you supposed to be," Jeno continued.

"I'm a mouse," you said, pouting at the headband. "Duh."

Jeno chuckled at your answer, raking his hands through his hair as he stared at you. "If I were to guess, I'd probably say playboy model."

"Ha ha very funny," you mumbled. "Anyway, I'm ready. Are you both going to keep sitting there staring or do you wanna go?"

"Yeah, the party, right." Jaemin pulled out his phone, ordering Uber for the three of you. You all walk outside, standing in front of your apartment. Tonight, the biggest frat of your university was going to throw a Halloween party. They're known for having the best parties, so this one shouldn't be short of excitement. You were hoping and praying to get laid tonight after a 4 month dry spell. You needed action, no matter where you got it from.

Hopefully, your dream could come true. It shouldn't be that hard right? After all, it was Halloween.

-

You definitely were not gonna get laid tonight. Half of the frat is already piss drunk, the sports bros are hooking up or going home early, all the hot guys are with their girlfriends. It looked like luck was in fact not on your side. In moments like these you would nuzzle into one of your friends arms and complain but they were all off doing whatever for the night. Now it was just you and the red solo cup full of various alcoholic beverages mixed together. The drink was rancid, but it would have you loose in no time to help you get comfortable.

Funny thing about it was you'd probably never be comfortable. You definitely did not have the most outrageous outfit in the house, but the eyes that lingered on you made you feel like you did. This costume was completely out of your norm. Every other Halloween, Jeno and Jaemin would dress up as something funny, but this time you wanted to take a bit of a break. Now that break is costing you foot pain, forcing you to stand in the corner in 5 inch heels for an hour and a half.

You stopped your drink, trying your best to avoid the gaze of the men who migrated around the house. But there was one gaze you couldn't shake no matter how much you tried. Jaemin watched you from the other side, eyes scanning your body like they did hours prior. He was so attracted to you it made him crazy. This was probably the first time he felt like he needed you. There were times where he walked in on you accidentally, saw you in underwear, but nothing could compare to this.

You stood there, gorgeous as ever, in the sexiest clothes ever, tiny bits of skin peeking through the lace making his mind wild. And now that he had just the right amount of alcohol in his system, he could finally do something about it.

You didn't notice Jaemin walking towards you, so when you heard him speak, you jumped a bit.

"Y/N," he said, making you turn around.

"God, you scared me," you laughed. You watched him lean on the wall, one hand on his cup and the other in his pocket. His eyes hung low, lips curved into a smile as he stared at you.

"Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to." Jaemin sipped his drink, licking his lips as he continued to look at your cleavage. "I didn't tell you earlier but… you look great tonight."

The way his eyes went from your lips to your chest didn't go unnoticed. "You didn't have to tell me, you've been staring since we got here," you say. You thought that would probably throw him off his game but to your surprise, all he did was grin and laugh.

"So you noticed?"

"Of course I noticed. Everyone's been staring at me. Am I that naked," you question.

"Do you feel naked?"

"I do when you look at me like that," you laugh. Jaemin's eyes were always the thing that told you the most. He could've lied and said you look ridiculous but his expressions never lie. He didn't know, but you always felt vulnerable under his stare. Like he could do anything and everything. And you would definitely let him.

"If you wanna fuck me, just say so," you joke. You brought the cup to your lips, drinking the party battery acid. Your eyes were locked on his, the tension between you both becoming thicker and thicker by the second. For a minute, you forgot that you were in a room full of people because all you wanted to do was rip that costume off him and give him what he was begging for.

Jaemin watched you as you pulled the cup away from your lips, lipstick staining the plastic. A drop of the liquid remained on your lip, the sight making Jaemin swallow hard. All he could think about was that pretty lipstick being in places it shouldn't be. Jaemin reached up, tilting your chin to him softly as he took his thumb and wiped the drop.

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, heat spreading between your legs when he maintained eye contact. You didn't mean to, but you leaned into his touch, slightly gasping when he continued staring at you.

"Should I fuck you," he said out right.

Your heart beat sped up immediately, this sudden surge of confidence in him making you go crazy. That's when you noticed how close you both were. Jaemin's face was hovering right above yours, one more step and he would be kissing you. His lips looked so soft and inviting, so why not make it happen. You glanced at his lips then looked back at his eyes slowly getting sucked into his little game.

"Is this part of your whole police bit? Interrogating me like this,' you joke, trying to take some edge off the moment. "Are you going to arrest me if I don't answer?"

Jaemin didn't answer, just grinned. You always had a way of getting out of something and that something just so happened to be the sexual tension that's been brewing between the both of you for the longest. You couldn't deny that he looked good in the costume. And you always had a thing for men in uniform.

But instead of making a move, Jaemin simply backed away from you, eyeing you up and down. "I'm not doing this here," he mumbled, licking his lips.

"Do it," you said. "Do whatever you want." You swallowed hard, watching Jaemin watch you. You wanted him to just grab you and take you right here in the corner of the room. No one would notice anyway. Everyone was either high, drunk or in their own world.

Jaemin chuckled, licking his lips. "I'll see you later okay. Don't get too drunk." And with that he walked away, leaving you hot and needy.

-

Your body moved to the music, surrounded on all sides by people who also danced, talked and laughed. So far it's been a blast. Nothing crazy has happened except for some guy fighting another guy for scaring him too badly, two freshmans getting caught in a bedroom together, a girl projectile vomiting all over the living room. But other than that, it's been a smooth night.

You keep thinking about how you talked earlier with Jaemin. His sly look, the confidence in his eyes, the way he towered over you. God, he was so enticing.

You kept sipping your drink, the liquid falling into your stomach and heating your body at the same time when you felt someone come up behind you. They held your hips, body swaying with yours. "I thought you would never come back," you said, leaning into their body.

"I haven't seen you all night."

You looked behind you, only to see Jeno staring at you with his signature smile. "I thought you were Jaem," you said, turning around fully. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he continued to hold your waist, body dancing with yours to the music.

"Why are you always looking for him and not me," he whined playfully.

You laughed, fingers playing in his hair. You felt his hands tense and tighten on your hips, fingers slightly pressing into your sides. This is the closest you've probably ever been to him. Due to the nature of your outfit, it felt like his hands were on your skin, making your body heat up a little too fast. You tried to push the thoughts of his hands ripping off the outfit, forcing you down to your knees, swirling your cup of liquid behind his head. You took your arm from behind him, sipping it slowly.

"Gosh what made you think this costume was a good idea," he groaned, his cute grin making you giggle.

"Why didn't you and Jaem tell me you guys were gonna be cops? I could've been a cop too," you laugh.

"No one likes female cops."

"Not true. You haven't seen me as a female cop yet." The funny thing is that he did it last year. Except you bought a proper cop costume instead of a 'sexy' one. "Besides, I like this one. It was cheap."

"Clearly," he chuckled. His laugh was deep, radiating through your entire chest. That's when you noticed he wasn't even looking in your direction. Jeno was looking directly at your cleavage as your chest was pressed right against his. He slid his hands down your hips and behind, palms loosely cupping your ass. "What were you looking to achieve wearing this Y/N? Because whatever it was, it might be working."

You reached back, moving his hands back to your hips. "I'm trying to get laid, and I'm trying to do it with anyone that's not you."

Jeno raised a brow, giving you a dry laugh. "You're the only woman I know who wouldn't take the easy route."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"I mean," he leaned into your ear, lips brushing against the edge,"what kind of woman wouldn't wanna fuck two guys who clearly wanna fuck her and happens to live with?"

Jenos hands snakes back to your ass, gripping it hard. Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him, who remained as calm and collected as he did earlier. God it made you crazy. You were already wet from the interaction with Jaemin earlier, this one with Jeno just making you soaked.

"You're so rough, don't manhandle me," you whined, chest slightly pushing against his.

"Don't pretend you don't like it rough. 'Harder, faster'," he mocked. You've been a little less discreet than you would've liked in the past, leading to weeks and weeks of bullying by the two. "Your taste in men is horrible. If you have to keep telling them what to do, they're horrible."

"And if I fuck you and Jaem, what would that make me," you ask, tilting your head.

"Smart."

You laugh, taking another big sip from your cup. All Jeno could think about was how close you were to him. How close he is to ripping your lack of real clothes off. He just wanted you to admit that you've been thinking about it too, but he's fine if you didn't. He enjoyed the chase. He watched you place the cup on the coffee table that's next to you, fully immersing yourself in the conversation you were having with him. But Jeno wishes he could immerse himself the same as you. The way you look at him, the way you let your fingers graze his arms. You had no idea.

"Do you like the police costumes," Jeno asked you, content expression on his face.

You nod, moving your arms from around his neck and placing them on his shoulders. "Of course I do. You look hot," you complimented, grazing your fingers down his arms.

"Hot enough for you to fuck?"

You gave him a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. "Keep asking and it'll never happen."

"So you've considered."

You shook your head, avoiding the obvious answer but he knew you better than that. You thought about fucking him and Jaemin almost everyday. The thought of them bending you over, fist in your hair as they took you from behind plagued your once sane mind more times than you would like to admit. The feeling of their rough strong hands on your body, forcing you into any position possible. You couldn't help it. Living in such close quarters with them gave you the privileges of seeing things other women would kill to see. The Halloween costumes made it so much worse, the want for them to dominate you stronger than ever. Maybe you had a thing for power, but whatever it was was turning you into the most horny woman where you stood.

"Don't lie to me," he said quietly. Jeno gave you a smug smile as he leaned into your ear. "Instead of trying to fuck one of these losers, all you have to do is say the word and we'll be out of here."

A shiver ran down your spine feeling his breath on your ear. You needed him badly. You needed Jaemin badly, and you just knew you had to take the opportunity, but not without teasing him so much. Just before you spoke, you felt someone press against your back, whoever it was was not breathing into your neck.

"You guys are having fun without me?"

You gulped, Jaemin's deep whisper traveling right between your legs. Jeno moved his hands to your hips allowing Jaemin to place his own hands on your waist. His fingers played with the thin fabric, nails threatening to tip the thread with every pass. Jaemin pressed his semi hard cock in your ass while Jeno pressed his to your front, sending you into a spiral. You were forcefully sandwiched between your roommates, the air getting thick around you as people began to stare at the three of you.

"Guys people are starting to stare," you say, looking down to avoid eye contact with Jeno.

"And? They're just waiting for us to fuck you right in the middle of this floor. And I bet you're waiting for it too," Jaemin says in your ear, chuckling when you arched your ass on him. For a second it felt like no one was in the room. The music muffled in your ears, the faint feeling of jaemin's lips on your neck and Jeno's lips grazing against your lighting a fire in your chest.

"Stop teasing," you exhale.

"Do you want it as much as we want it," Jeno questioned, biting his lip as he stared at yours.

"Yes."

A wicked smile you couldn't see spread on Jaemin's face hearing your words. "This is gonna be a long night then."

-

The Uber ride consisted of nothing but kissing and touching. You were squeezed between the two men, their hands all over your body not giving a second to breathe. You find yourself kissing both of them at the same time, one or the other pulling you away when they feel they've been left out.

Jaemin's soft touch contrasted how strong his kisses were, his hand resting gently on the back of your neck as he kissed you. He wanted you to feel how much he wanted you, not just know. Jaemin didn't hide how horny he was for you due to the number of drinks he consumed at the party. He palmed himself, his cock straining against the pants of the costume.

Beside you, Jeno kissed neck, holding your waist tight he was pressed against you, sandwiching your body between the both of them. The scene was something straight out of a movie. The three of you are unable to keep your hands to yourselves as your driver tries his best to not watch in the front of the car.

You were in a complete daze, Jeno grabbing your chin gently, turning you to him. You moaned on his lips softly, turning your body to him. Jeno's hands went from your waist to your chest, gripping your breast generously. Jaemin kissed your neck down to your shoulder, his big strong hands making their way between your legs. You gasped softly feeling his thumbs rub your inner thighs dangerously close to your soaking heat.

"Fuck," you whispered, brows furrowing as you felt his thumb graze your clothed clit.

"It would only take me a second to rip this shit fabric off you," he whispered low enough so the driver couldn't hear. "Is that what you want?"

You nodded, gulping as Jeno's hands rubbed up your thighs. "Be patient, pretty. We're almost home," Jeno whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. You wish you could calm down, but the way jeno's hands sooth you as Jaemin keeps rubbing his thumb dangerously close to your clit makes you feel insane.

You kissed Jeno, hand on his neck as he wanted into his mouth. Jaemin began stroking his thumb softly against your clit, his lips on the back of your neck. Jeno bit your lip softly, kissing you once more as you began to quietly moan. Your hips moved on their own, slightly beginning to grind on his thumb.

"You're such a cute whore, putting on a show for everyone," Jaemin whispered.

"Are you gonna punish me officer?"

Your lips curled into a smile hearing Jaemin's soft laughter. You thought he would be put off by the sentence but instead he whispered something else that made your thoughts run.

"The costume came with handcuffs. You wanna put them to use?"

You nodded, heart beating fast in your chest. Jeno took your chin between his fingers, kissing you softly, his tongue making its way into your mouth. Jeno wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing it lightly making you moan softly into his mouth.

"U-uh, w-we arrived at your location," said the driver, who was silent the whole ride.

Jeno planted one more kiss on your lips softly, before turning to speak. "Thanks for the ride." The three of you got out of the car, Jeno stopping before walking to the entrance of your shared apartment.

"Mark is your name right?"

"Uh-huh," the driver said, nodding awkwardly.

"Thanks for the ride Mark, I'll give you a hefty tip."

The driver nodded and drove off, the deep red on his cheeks completely noticeable. Jeno walked back to you and Jaemin, who were already eating each other's faces in front of the door. "You two look like 2 drunk sorority girls," he laughed, pulling you away from the other male.

"Well, I'm trying to fuck like a drunk sorority girl so let's go inside," you said, closing your eyes as Jeno kissed your neck. The male chuckled and pulled you into the building followed by Jaemin. The elevator ride up was just as eventful as the car ride, hands and mouths all over you. The ding of the elevator snapped you out of whatever trance they had you in, but not them. They pulled you down the hall and to the door of your apartment, Jaemin's hand fumbling as he put the code into the door.

In the blink of an eye, the three of you were inside and the door was shut. Both of their hands were all over your body, not even giving you a chance to breathe. Jaemin grabbed your face, kissing you roughly. "Fuck I've been waiting for this all night," he mumbled.

"C-can we get to my bedroom at least," you said.

The both of them chuckled at your sudden flustered expression, following you to your room. Once again they didn't even give you time to breathe before they were all over your body. Jaemin pulled you to him, lips on yours as his hands gripped your waist. His hands moved to your tiny shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping the fabric. You kicked your heels off, height shifting but still keeping your lips on his. That's when you feel Jeno come up behind you, pressing himself on your body as he groped your breast from behind, kissing your neck softly.

Jaemin tugs your shorts down letting the fabric fall to the floor. You step out of the shorts, moaning softly when you feel Jeno's hand slip between your legs, cupping your clothed heat.

"Bet you've been thinking about this all night," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded, brows furrowing as Jaemin begins to kiss your neck. "Just fuck me already," you whined softly.

"You're desperate aren't you," Jaemin mumbled, chuckling as he undid the buttons of your body suit. The male pulled the fabric up your body, his fingertips grazing your bare skin lighting a fire in your belly. Jeno wasted no time getting his hand back between your legs, finding that you were wearing nothing but a thong with your tights.

"Jesus, you really were just trying to get fucked tonight weren't you." You closed your eyes, letting your head fall on Jaemin's shoulder taking in the feeling of Jeno rubbing your clothed clit. He smirked to himself watching you push onto his hand as he kept going. "What do you want right now, hm?"

"Anything," you said breathlessly. "Please.."

"Isn't that cute," Jaemin mumbled, chuckling softly. "But are you gonna be a good girl for the rest of the night?"

You groaned softly, rolling your eyes. "Please just fuck me," you whined.

"You didn't answer his question," Jeno chimed, fingers playing with your fishnets.

You wanted to say something else, but you realized they had the upper hand at the moment. You needed to have sex badly, and was so desperate to get something out of someone. And as much as it pained you to not pick a fight with them m, you obliged not just for your own sanity, but also because the thought of them telling you what to do was fucking hot.

"I'll be a good girl," you said reluctantly.

"Good," Jaemin smirked. "Get on your knees."

Both of their eyes never left you as you dropped to the ground slowly. Their bodies towered over you in the most degrading way and you loved it. You move your hands towards Jaemin's belt, undoing it all while staring up at him. His eyes were glued on you, along with Jeno's, who was undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. You tugged his pants down, allowing his hard on to spring free from the confines of the fabric.

"Shit," you whispered to yourself, staring at the size of him.

You look to your left to see Jeno was just a big, a gulp moving down your throat.

"What? You're scared," Jaemin mocked.

"Don't tell me you're a quitter Y/N," Jeno taunts, "we barely got started."

"Shut up," you grumbled. Your face grew hot, breath a little shallow as you wrapped your hand around the base of Jeno's cock, stroking it slowly as you turned to Jaemin's. Jaemin's heavily lidded eyes lingered on you, watching you as you licked the tip of his cock, staring at him with those big eyes he loved so much.

You wrapped your mouth around his head, sucking and bobbing your head slowly. The way he looked at you lit a fire in you, the fire traveling to your stomach and even lower, making you press your legs together. You lifted your mouth off him, wrapping your hand around his shaft as you turned to Jeno.

You licked up the base of his cock all the way to his tip, making the man scrunch his brows. He bit his lip, watching you close your eyes as you started to suck him off with a bit more vigor, hand moving on Jaemin at the same pace. Everything about this looked like it jumped straight out of a porno. You're still in half of your costume, Jaemin and Jeno dressed like cops with their pants to their ankles, both their cocks in your mouth.

"Good girl, keep going just like that," Jeno mumbled, hand stroking the back of your head.

The praise went right to your head and your cunt making you squeeze your legs tight. The way Jeno looked at you made you feel like he was about to eat you alive, and that's all you wanted. You pulled off of him, breathing heavily trying to catch your breath. Your hand stroked him fast as you turned to Jaemin, giving his neglected cock your attention.

You stuck your tongue out, tapping the tip on the wet muscle in the most teasing way possible. Jaemin watched you in awe as you kissed his tip softly, opening your mouth wide to take him. Jaemin licked his lips, enjoying watching you.

"Take all of it."

And you did, sinking lower and lower until all you could do was splutter around him, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. Jaemin took the back of your head, pushing you until your nose touched his skin. Eyes screwed shut, trying to be the best girl you possibly could below both of these men making you go crazy.

"Good girl," Jaemin cooed. "Take it like the slut you are."

Jaemin took his hand off your head, allowing you to rise from him. You coughed, heaving as you tried to get oxygen in your lungs but even that couldn't stop you from spitting on his cock and taking him in your mouth again. You bobbed your head, hand pumping Jeno at the same pace you had no idea how you looked but it couldn't have been anything short from a mess.

However, to the men standing above you, you looked like a wet dream. On your knees, hands on both of them, tears straining your face, drool falling from your pretty lips.

"Fuck, just look at her," Jeno grunted, thrusting into your hand slowly as you stroked him. You stopped bobbing your head, pulling his cock out your mouth and turned back to Jeno. They were both so close and you could tell. You could feel it in the way they were talking, breathing, thrusting in your mouth or hands. Jeno raked his hand through his hair, throwing his head back at the feeling of you deepthroating him, a loud groan leaving his lips.

"I'm so fucking close," Jeno moaned, the sound of his voice making you weak.

"C'mon baby, make us cum." Jaemin breathing heavily along with the male across from him, watching you with focused eyes as you removed Jeno from your mouth, not just stroking them in your hands quickly.

Looking up at them, your doe eyes shifted rapidly between them, wanting them to cum badly. "Please," you spoke with a breathy moan, voice raspy. "Cum on my fucking face."

Your voice sent them both over the edge, the pressure building up in both of them resulting in your cum landing all over your face. You stuck your tongue out, catching both of their seed swallowing and sticking it out again to show them.

"Good girl," Jaemin praised. "such a good girl. Stand up for me pretty."

You did as you were told, letting go of their cocks as you rose to your feet, knees sore from being on them too long. Jaemin pulled you to him, lips crashing on yours. Behind you, you felt Jeno's hand snake underneath you, popping the buttons of the body suit. You moaned softly, feeling his hands pull the fabric up your stomach. He traced his fingers on your ass, giving you neck slow wet kisses.

You pulled away from Jaemin, reaching back for Jeno as you felt his fingers graze your inner thighs once more.

"I let me taste you," he said, ensuing an enthusiastic nod from you. Jeno took you, sitting you on the edge of your bed followed by him sinking to his knees right in front of you. You thought about this happening more times than you'd like to admit. But now here he is, spreading your legs wide for him, eyes unable to look away from your soaked thong and slick thighs. You were a mess and don't even know.

"Fuck," Jaemin breathed. "You like being on your knees that much?" Jaemin sat next to you, stroking his semi soft cock as he watched Jeno tease you.

Jeno kissed your inner thighs, tongue grinding along your skin licking your arousal. His eyes never left yours. They pierced into yours as if they could read every thought you had at the moment. A shiver ran through your spine as you circled his tongue on your clothes clit, hand reaching up and pulling the thong against the sensitive bud.

"Perfect little pussy just for me," he mumbled to himself, pushing the fabric aside.

"God we should've done this a long time ago," Jaemin mumbled.

Jeno gave you clit one lick, making your body shudder, a sigh falling from your lips. He did it again, this time harder and longer. Jeno wrapped his arms around the underside of your legs, placing soft kisses on your cunt. Jaemin turned your head to him, locking lips with you as Jeno began to eat you out with vigorous tongue moving all over.

Jaemin kissed you deeper, tongue exploring your mouth as his hand kept pumping his cock. Jaemin pulled away, smirking to himself as he looked at your cum covered face. "So fucking pretty," he mumbled, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Your moans grew, panting heavily as Jeno sucked your clit, flicking his tongue on the bud. Looking down at him, you couldn't help but get even more turned on. His mouth was covered in your slick, tongue moving inside you like crazy. Your hips began to move on its own, grinding on his face. You always loved his nose, especially right now. His nose continued to stimulate the swollen bud as he licked at your entrance.

"Fuck Jeno, oh my God," you whimpered, pleasure amplified by Jaemin's lips on your neck.

"Is this pretty pussy gonna cum for me," he mumbled, flicking his tongue on your clit fast. Jeno removed his arm from around your leg, hand immediately making its way in-between your legs. In the blink of an eye, his fingers were inside you, fingering you hard and fast.

"Jeno, fuck just like that," you whimpered, body starting to shake from the intense pleasure. He never took his eyes off you, lips wrapping around your clit once again, sucking it hard.

"F-fuck, you're gonna make me cum." You ran your hand through his hair, gripping it tight as you pulled his face closer to your body. Just as you felt yourself about to cum, Jaemin took your chin, kissing you messily. You moaned loudly into the other male's mouth, sucking his tongue as you whined, feeling yourself cum around Jeno's fingers.

You sat there panting as Jaemin cupped your face, trying to catch your breath and whatever piece of mind was still there as Jeno moved his fingers from inside you.

"You did so good Y/N," Jeno praised, standing up between your legs. "Open your mouth for me."

You did, dropping your jaw on command. No man has ever been able to dominate you in the way that these two have, but you love it. You were fuzzy, completely fucked out. You just wanted to be a good girl for them. Jeno looked down at you, taking in the absolute mess that you were and reveled in it. The amount of times he's jerked off to this couldn't compare to being here at the moment. You were a tease and knew it. He couldn't wait to wreck you.

Jaemin watched Jeno grab your jaw and spit in your mouth, sticking his fingers coated in your cum down your throat right after. Almost like you've done this a thousand times more, you sucked his fingers, staring up at him with begging eyes.

"Fuck if I knew you were like this I would've fucked you a long time ago," Jaemin mumbled. You pulled off his fingers, nothing but a string of saliva connecting your bodies till it broke.

"I need both of you inside me," you said, face hot at the thought.

"At the same time," Jaemin questioned. Both of the men glanced at each other, silently communicating.

You nodded, gulping as you stared at them with desperate eyes. "Please.."

Jeno sighed, laughing softly to your begging. He began to unbutton his shirt, the sight of his fingers moving setting your body on fire. "God, I love it when you beg."

You turned your head, Jaemin already out of his shirt. He removed his shoes, kicking his pants and boxers off his ankles. His hands then tugged on your bodysuit taking the sheer fabric off of you as lifted your arms. Then went your bra, Jaemin sliding it off your shoulders kissing the back of your neck softly. He took his shirt, wiping the cum that covered your face off, making you sigh in relief.

"Face down ass up," Jaemin said, tone more assertive than before.

You did as you were told, arching your ass in the air watching them watch you. Their eyes burned holes in your skin, smiles taunting you as you let them feel up your body.

"Where's your lube," Jeno questioned, raising a brow.

"Third drawer."

But before Jeno even pulled it out, Jaemin had already decided he was ready. You sighed softly, feeling his soft lips on the plush of your ass, his hands kneading your body like a stress ball. Jaemin never realized how unintentionally rough he was, how strong he was and it annoyed you except for this time. Your already sensitive cunt grew even more aroused as he squeezed harder. Jaemin smacked your ass hard, making your body jump.

"Has anyone ever eaten your ass before," he asked, his voice sounding darling from behind you.

Your face goes hot, gulping as you shake your head "no."

"There's a first time for everything."

The sensation that went through your body when his tongue touched your asshole was unexpected. Maybe you were simply too horny to function, but it actually felt good. Jaemin licked your backend again, this time starting from your pussy. Unintentionally, you pushed against his face more earning a hard smack on your ass once again.

"Fuck," you whispered, brows scrunched together. His tongue swirled around the tight muscle, eliciting yet another whine from your lips. Jeno stroked his cock, watching the both of you, precum already dripping. Jaemin was as hard as a brick, precum leaking down his tip as buried his face in your body. "J-Jaemin, this feels so good."

"Yeah?" He chuckled darkly, staring at you like you were his prey. He felt your body tremble in his hands when you felt his spit slide down your ass without warning. Jaemin rubbed the pad of his thumb on your puckered hole as he reached over to grab the lube. With one hand he opened it, squeezing its contents on your body. "You sure you want this," he asked, lids heavy with desire.

"Y-yes."

Jaemin took his finger, rubbing the lube a bit more before you gasped softly, feeling his finger move past the tight muscle. The deeper and deeper he pushed his finger, the harder your hands gripped the cover of your bed. The feeling was new, completely foreign and it would definitely take time before you got used to it. Your eyes were screw shut, the discomfort of him thrusting his finger in and out of you making your back hunch and whine tiredly.

"I know it feels strange but you'll start feeling good, I promise," he said softly.

And he was right, because after some time, that fire in your belly started to come back making you pant softly against your pillow. Your body becomes more relaxed, your brain adjusting the prior discomfort to pleasure. But you wanted more, needed more.

"A-add another finger," you mumbled, making Jeno bite his lip as he watched you.

Jaemin smirked, doing as you said. You gave him the reaction he expected. He loved your pretty sounds so much they gave him goosebumps. You were right around his fingers, the pressure making his cock leak. He popped the cap of the lube open, adding more.

"You're doing so well baby. Does it feel good," he said, voice sultry and sweet.

"Mhm." You could barely form real sentences, your brain too fogged in pleasure. You found yourself arching into his fingers more and more as he fingered you slowly. Jaemin's other hand massages your ass, adding more to the pleasure swimming all over your body. The room was silent with sounds of heavy breathing and the sound of Jaemin's fingers slipping in and out of you. That was until he slipped another finger in you without warning, making you whine loudly.

"F-fuck, it's too much," you whined.

"If you can't take three fingers, you can't take my cock," he said smoothly. "Don't tell me you're quitting Y/N."

"N-no," you managed to get out.

"Good," he mumbled. "Do you think you can take Jeno and my fingers at the same time?"

You nodded, gulping hard at the image you created in your head. "Yeah," you answered breathlessly. You lifted your body weakly, letting out a tiny whine as Jaemin pulled out his fingers. Jeno climbed underneath you, his head plopping down on your pink pillow. His hands ran up and down your sides, trying to soothe your sensitive body.

"God you're so pretty," he mumbled, staring at you from below. You hadn't seen yourself since you got out of the car, but you could only assume he was lying. Your lipstick was probably smudged everywhere, mascara running along your cheeks. You were anything but pretty, but his words still made you blush. "I would put a condom on, but I have no idea where you keep those."

"I don't have any," you said blankly, just now realizing your lack of protection. "But… I don't mind. As long as it's okay with you guys."

Jeno didn't say a word, only giving you a look like he's been dreaming of this moment. He thought about it all the time, fucking you nice and raw. The thought of having your tight cunt around him was about to make him spiral. Jeno took his cock, rubbing the tip along your slit slowly.

He grinned, watching your brows knit at the feeling. "You want me to fill you up real bad don't you," he taunted, rubbing your clit softly.

"Yes, I want you to stretch me. Please," you whined, begging for him with a hot face. You let out a breathy moan, feeling his tip slowly enter you. Jeno let your hips do the rest of the work, groaning when you fully sat on his cock. "Jeno, you're so big," you moaned, mindlessly beginning to grind on him. Your hands curled on his chest, the stretch he was giving you overstimulating your senses but you couldn't help yourself.

Suddenly, you felt two strong hands grab your hips and still them. "You're so eager you can't even wait," Jaemin said with a small laugh. He kneeled behind you, forcefully pushing your body down against Jeno, making you arch your back. That's when Jeno wrapped his arms around you keeping you still as Jaemin added more lube. You shivered feeling the cold substance on your skin, hissing as his fingers filled your asshole once again.

Your body is on fire, Jeno filling your pussy while Jaemin plays with your ass. The vulnerability of the position, the way both of their eyes burned into you as you laid there weak and unable to have a single coherent thought only turned you on even more. Jeamin pumped his fingers in you while Jeno thrusted in you slowly, the discomfort beginning to melt away as time passed. His dick was painfully hard, wanting to do nothing but ravage your body.

"You think you're ready," he said, chuckling when seeing your fucked out expression.

"Y-yes, fuck me please."

Jaemin moved closer to you, pulling his fingers out at you smoothly. Picking up the lube, he added a generous amount. You bite your lip hard looking, Jeno unwrapping his arms from around you allows you to look over your shoulder. Jaemin pressed the head of his cock against your hole, his eyes droopy in lust. Jaemin pushed the head of his cock into you, the stretch making you screw your eyes shut, nails digging into Jeno's chest.

"I love first timers," Jaemin groaned. His brows furrowed deep, gripping your hips. Very slowly, he fills you, the tightness making the three of you moan. You were in a daze, body gone completely limp and weak. You never felt so full in your life and you loved every second of it. The only thing you could do was take deep breaths, as Jaemin bottomed out inside of you. Tears pricked the edges of your eyes as you let your face fall into the crook of Jeno's neck.

"You're doing so good baby," Jeno whispered in your ear, his hands traveling to your ass, squeezing your body hard.

The action made you clench, giving both men a chill up their spines. "Fuck," you whimpered softly. "So full..t-too much.."

"Shh baby you can do it," he moaned softly, hips starting to rock into yours slowly. "Take it Y/N. Be a good girl and take it."

With every rock of his hips, it caused your body to move also, adding a slight bounce on Jeno's cock. You couldn't even compute the feeling flowing through your body. All you could do was lay there weak as they filled every part of you, drooling and moaning uncontrollably. Jeno turned your head to him, kissing you lazily as he began to thrust in and out of you slowly along with Jaemin.

Your breathing quickened, hands moving from his chest to his shoulders. "Oh my God," you whimpered tearfully. Your body was completely overstimulated, overwhelmed with lust.

"Poor baby, she's crying," Jeno said, chuckling darkly.

"Wanted both of us at the same time, but can barely handle it." Jeamin spread your cheeks further watching both his and Jeno's dick move in and out of you. "So fucking pretty and tight for me. You've been waiting for this haven't you."

Absent-mindedly, you nod, the only thing in your brain is pleasing them.

"Good girl," Jaemin said in a slight whisper. "Every time you cum from now on, I want it to be from my cock in your ass. Understand?"

"Y-yes," you said in a small groan.

"Good girl." A hard smack landed on your ass check, the pain quickly turning into pleasure. Jeno was beginning to get impatient, the feeling of Jaemin practically rubbing right against him, the tight and snug fit of the both of you quickly about to make him cum.

"Faster," you whine. "B-both of you, please." Both men obliged your pleading, watching you throw your head back, eyes rolling back while you moaned in controllably. Your hips pushed against the both of them, desperate for them to be seeing inside you.

"Such a fucking cock slut," Jeno said through gritted teeth, his hands trailing down your arched back. "You like having two dicks in you don't you?"

"Y-yes," you said, gasping, feeling a pair of fingers on your neglected clit. Looking at your bodies, you see Jeno's fingers rubbing it fast. You were nowhere near cumming, but now you felt it. You felt the pit in your stomach grow. "I'm gonna cum," you moaned, tears threatening to escape again.

"Cum on my cock." Jeno's voice sent a shockwave through you, your orgasm coming to you almost violently, body shaking, nails digging into his shoulders as you held onto him. Your pussy clenched tight around him, making you clench just as tight around Jaemin, who was pressing his fingers into your sides. For the first time in a long time, you came so hard you saw starts and it felt real fucking good.

"Fuck, you take me so well," Jeno groaned. He lost all self control after feeling you cum around him, thrust started to get fast. Jaemin matched his speed, making your already weak body slump over on the man below you. Your face was buried in his neck once again, whimpers and whines escaping.

Jaemin pounded into you as Jeno went deeper, every single movement making you see stars, your brain going fuzzy with pleasure.

Jaemin watched you sit up as best as you could, looking back watching both of them stuffing you like a doll. He took one glance at your wet face, hands gripping hips hard when the sight made his mind reel. That's when he felt himself coming closer and closer to his orgasm. Everything stimulated him quickly, the way you felt to the way you looked on top of Jeno, he was going to cum quickly.

"Fuck I'm so close," he groaned. "You want me to cum in your ass?"

"Yes, yes cum in me," you moaned weakly.

With a few more thrust, you felt Jaemin cum, his loud breathy moans filling your ears. Jaemin kept thrusting, riding out the high until he couldn't take it anymore. Slowly he pulled out of you, breathing heavily as he stared at your gaping asshole, cum slowly leaking out.

In an instant, you wanted him back inside you, missing the feeling of being full, but Jeno didn't let you miss it for too long. The man took your hips in his rough hands, holding your body up as he fucked up into you.

"J-jeno, fuck, right there," you sobbed, throwing your head back. You mustered up enough energy to bounce along with his thrust, your orgasm finally approaching for the third time that night. You squeezed around him tight, making the man moan loudly."Cum in me," you whined, holding onto his shoulders. "Fill me up."

His hands slid from your hips to your ass, squeezing so hard it was going to leave a bruise. "You like this? You like being fucked like a whore?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Desperate to reach your climax you start bouncing on him as he pounds into you. Soon enough you begin to feel your stomach tighten, on the brink of cumming. "Fuck, I-im cumming."

You came hard, body shivering on top of the male underneath you. Soon Jeno came with a loud moan, the warm liquid making your brows furrow. The three of you were exhausted, bodies completely spent– especially yours. Jeno was still inside you when you plopped down on his body, heart beating and trying to catch your breath even though you had minimal movement.

"Hey you alright," Jaemin said, poking at your back.

You didn't respond, your brain still fried from the high you just got. You laid on Jeno silently, tuning everything out.

"I think we broke her," Jeno jokes. His hands caress your waist, taking in the breaths fanning his neck. Jeno thrusted into you, earning a breathy moan.

"Too sensitive," you managed to say.

Jeno chuckled softly, kissing your cheek tenderly. "You did a good job Y/N. God you're so pretty when you cum."

"She looks like she's about to pass out," Jaemin commented, gazing at your expression.

He was right you were exhausted, horny, and one hundred percent not ready for the pain you were going to have in the morning. You gave Jeno a small whine when he pulled out of you, laying you next to him on the bed. You felt him run his hand on your side, looking at him with begging eyes as he rubbed your waist.

"You can't look at me like that and not say what you want," he mumbled, licking his lips.

"Kiss me," you said quietly, slightly pouting.

Jeno gave you a small smile, kissing you softly like you asked. "Let's get you cleaned up okay?"

Jeno stood up followed by Jaemin. Jaemin tugged your limp body to the corner of the bed, putting his arms under you to lift you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close to your body.

"So fucking cute," he mumbled. "Wanna watch a movie later?"

You shook your head, eyes getting heavy as he carried you to the bathroom. "I just wanna take a bath and sleep."

"Okay we can work with that," Jeno agreed.

You laughed to yourself in your drowsy state, biting your lip softly. "This has officially been the best Halloween ever."

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 10

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Praise Kink - Hyunjin

Word Count: 11.7K

Summary: As a lead detective in the police department, you've been assigned to solve a serial killer case, but you've hit a point where you can no longer work on the case by yourself. Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department and your sworn rival, is assigned as your partner.

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

You have officially run out of red string. 

The cork board in the conference room doesn’t have any more open spaces for new leads or clues. You can’t even see the brown of the board anymore. 

Instead of whittling information down, you’ve only come up with more suspects for the case. 

It’s better than the case going cold, sure, but it feels like you’re getting further and further from actually solving the damn thing. 

It also doesn’t help that you not only have Chief Bang breathing down your neck, but the entire city as well. You understand, really, everyone wants a killer to be caught. 

But these sort of things take time. 

And they usually don’t have a million and thirty leads. Typically, you were lucky to have one. 

Everyone in the city has a tip. And you have to check each and every single one. 

Three sharp knocks draw your exhausted attention away from the board. 

“Come in!” You call out. 

The door clicks open and dress shoes click on the floor. 

“I think you’re going to need another cork board soon, Detective.”

Your mood curdles like milk. 

“What do you want, Hwang?”

Hwang Hyunjin, the department’s top detective and your least favorite person in the world.  

Every case he touches is solved. Every last one of them. But maybe— just maybe— it’s because he gets to pick and choose which ones he’s assigned to. 

The golden child of the police department. The biggest, cockiest pain in the ass you’ve ever met. 

He clicks his tongue and walks up to the conference table you’re leaning against. 

“I have a whole new stack of tips for you.” 

The sound of a thick stack of papers hits the table, you cringe. 

You haven’t even finished going through the last stack. 

“And I am once again humbly offering my assistance on this case.”

You look over at him for the first time tonight. His long black hair is pulled back with a few strands dangling in front of his face. 

He wears a pressed dress shirt, black tie, black vest, and slacks. 

Truly, it looks like he popped off a magazine cover and you hate it. 

“And I am humbly declining. I can handle this on my own, thank you.” 

Your own heels click along the floor as you come around the conference table to sit down in front of the first stack of papers. 

Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets and meanders closer to the cork board. 

He looks up and down all the different leads, the ever expanding list of suspects, murder weapons, locations. He’s silent for a long moment. 

The only sound in the room is the clock ticking on the wall. 

What time is it anyway? You’ve been here since 4 AM when a call came in about another victim. The bags under your eyes surely look like bruises at this point. 

Since you started on this case two months ago there hasn’t been a single night where you’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep. 

Words are blending together on the paper. Is the sun up?

Warily, you turn and eye Hyunjin, who’s still staring at the cork board. His head cocks to the side as he studies all the different clues littering the surface. 

He takes a deep breath and turns to look at you. You point an accusatory finger at him. 

“No! No, no. You’re not coming in here and solving my case that I’ve been working on for months!”

His mouth shuts, a smirk appears. 

Oh, you want to smack it off his face. 

“I was only going to say—“

“No! Nothing! I do not need your help! Get out of here!” You shoo him away. 

“L/N—“ he tries again. 

“Shut it!”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth while making his way to the door. 

You glare daggers into the back of his head, praying that a ceiling tile will miraculously fall and crush him. 

He grabs the door handle and walks into the hallway. Right before the door closes, he peeks his head in through the crack. 

“The killer is ambidextrous,” he says in a sing-songy voice. 

A frustrated, muted scream tears from your throat and you hurl the nearest object— which happens to be a metal cup full of pens and pencils— at the door. 

It shuts before the cup makes contact. 

Hyunjin’s laugh comes through the closed door and it only makes your blood boil more. 

You slam your head down onto the wood desk. 

“Of course he’s ambidextrous.”

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

“Detective L/N,” Chief Bang’s head pokes into the conference room. “Can I see you in my office please?”

You haven’t gone home yet. You’re in the same clothes as yesterday except now they’re more wrinkled. 

Nodding, you put down your pen and tell your chief you’ll be there in a minute. 

He hums and leaves the room. 

You rub the heels of your palms into your eyes to try and get the exhaustion out of them. 

About 100 ounces of coffee is flowing through your body but it’s doing nothing to wake you up, all it’s doing is increasing your heart rate. 

To anyone else who wanders through your police department, they might think you’ve escaped the morgue.

The walk to Chief Bang’s office was short. 

As soon as you step inside, your heart sinks. 

The chief sits behind his desk, but that’s not why your stomach turns. 

Hyunjin takes up one of the chairs, another freshly pressed suit on his body. 

The man is flawless and it makes you want to become a suspect for one of your cases. 

“Take a seat, detective.” Chief Bang motions to the other empty chair. 

Hyunjin looks up at you, arms crossed over his chest. A smug smirk pulls on his lips as he takes in your disheveled appearance. 

You tongue your cheek for a moment and flip your hair over your shoulder before sitting down. Your fingers iron out deep wrinkles in your pencil skirt. 

You try to maintain some level of pride. It’s comical, really.

“Now, I’ll cut right to the chase here, Y/N, it’s not that I don’t trust your abilities as a detective, I do.”

You deflate. 

“But this case is becoming too much for one person.”

Your jaw clenches. 

So badly you want to refute that claim, to tell Chief Bang that you have it handled, it’s no big deal. But that’s a lie and you both know it. 

And the smug asshole next to you definitely knows it. 

“Detective Hwang has kindly offered his assistance on the case, so I’m assigning him as your partner on this.”

You think for a moment. “Can I get a different partner? I think Detective Kim just closed his last case, meaning he’s available to help.” 

“Detective Kim started a new case this morning.”

“Detective Lee?”

“Busy.”

“Officer Yang?”

“He’s not even a detective.”

“What about Detective Seo?”

Chief Bang stays silent, deadpan eyes watch you. He cocks his head to the side. 

You sink back in the chair. 

“I specialize in homicide cases, L/N.” Hyunjin pipes up from next to you. “I’m the best one for the case and you know it.”

“Zip it, Hwang.”

Hyunjin scoffs. 

Chief Bang rolls his eyes, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Y/N, I’m going to need you to swallow your pride for the sake of the city. There’s a murderer on the loose, remember? You’re my top detectives, it would be stupid not to partner you together.”

You can’t meet his eyes, you look off to the side, crossing your arms over your chest. Anxiously, your leg begins to bounce.

“Put your personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

Silence falls over the room. Both of the men wait for you. 

It really doesn’t feel like you have a choice, here. Obviously, you don’t. 

“Fine.”

“Great!” Hyunjin taps his hands on the arms of the chair and then pops up. “I’m going to need access to all the files you’ve been looking at these past two months as well as the extra key to the conference room.”

He grabs his trench coat off the back of the chair. 

“I’ll also need you to catch me up to speed on the latest tips from civilians; you did have time to read those last night, right? Additionally, I think we should rearrange our hours so that we’re on duty together until this is solved.”

He makes his way towards the door. 

“Come on, L/N! We’ll discuss over coffee.”

You stare at Chief Bang. He offers you a slightly amused, slightly sympathetic smile. 

“Best of luck, detectives.”

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

The hot mug rests between both of your shaky hands. Hyunjin sat across from you in a large diner booth. 

Files littered the entirety of the top of the table. It’s all things you’ve seen before and practically have memorized by now. 

You explained everything you knew to him from the beginning, sparing no detail. 

College girls were all found murdered in their dorms. No security footage of anyone going in or out of the building that doesn’t belong there. 

Each victim is about two weeks apart. 

A half eaten fruit cup sits next to your coffee. ‘Fruit cup’ is a loose term since more than half of it was honeydew melon. 

Why can’t they just throw a few strawberries in there? Slice up a banana or toss a few blueberries in? They already have the fruit in the back for the pancakes, it would be so easy to—

“I don’t think this victim is from the same killer.”

Your head snaps up and you glare at Hyunjin. “Who?”

He slides the file across the table to you. “Andrea Bowman. She doesn’t fit the same profile as the other victims. All the others were blonde, Andrea has brown hair.”

You sip at your coffee, glazed eyes scanning the file. You’re simply too tired to keep up the anger.  

“I had thought the same thing at first. But according to the coroner, her time of death would put her as the first victim of the killer, first victims of serial killers tend to not fit the profile of the rest since it’s the first taste.”

Her autopsy stares up at you. 

“Plus, everything else is consistent with the rest, bruised wrists and ankles and a slit throat. They’re all college aged girls who went to the local community college.”

You slide the crime scene photos around, taking in all the details. 

“Maybe she wasn’t his victim.” One of her school photos peeks out from the bottom of the stack, you pick it up and look at it solemnly. “But something tells me she was his first.”

Hyunjin watches you closely, any rebuttal he had died on the tip of his tongue. 

Plates clatter in the kitchen.  

Your nose scrunches and you pack away Andrea’s file. 

“You said they all go to the same school?”

“Yeah, the community college.”

“Did they all study the same thing?”

You shake your head, taking another sip of coffee. “Nope, all different fields of study, all different extracurriculars. They didn’t even live in the same dorm building.”

Hyunjin leans back against the booth and picks up his iced coffee, taking a long sip while staring out the window. 

Your fingers run through your hair. “I requested their transcripts and class schedules from every year but I’m waiting on all those requests to process. With how slow the registrar’s office is taking you would swear they didn’t want this case solved.”

“Red tape always gets in the way.” Hyunjin reaches down in his pocket and takes his phone out, tapping a few buttons and then holding it up to his ear. 

You cock an eyebrow at him, he only holds up a finger at you. You scoff. 

“Dianne? Hi, it’s Hyunjin!… I’m doing so well, and you? … That’s great to hear! … Yes, yes those homemade cookies were to die for.”

Your mouth falls open a bit. Who in the hell was he talking to? Homemade cookies?

Throwing your hands up in front of your face, you give him a flabbergasted look. 

He narrows his eyes at you and gives you a look that says ‘be quiet’.

“Listen, I was actually calling to cash in a favor, I have a list of students I need transcripts and schedules of for a case. … I can email it over to you, it’s for the— … yes, yes that one.”

You slow blink at him. Does he have a contact at the registrar’s office? Of course he does, why wouldn’t he have one?

The golden child strikes again. 

“You’re a darling, Dianne, thank you. I’ll send it to you asap. … of course, say hello to Rob for me. Bye!”

He hangs up and puts his phone back on the table. 

Hyunjin takes one look at your face and shrugs. “What? I helped her with a personal matter when I was a P.I.”

If you roll your eyes anymore, they’ll go into the back of your head. 

“So do you have a list—“

You interrupt him. “Yeah.”

“Can you—“

“Mhmm.”

You finish your coffee and reach into your purse, digging out a ten dollar bill and tossing it onto the table. 

“Where are you going?” He asks you. 

“Home,” you respond simply while shuffling out of the booth. “I haven’t slept since Monday.”

Hyunjin looks down at the various files on the table. “What about the list?”

You move the files around and pull out one of the papers and place it in front of him. 

“It’s right here. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hwang.”

“Tomorrow? But what about—“

“If Dianne gets the list back to you, just forward it to me. I’ll look at it when I wake up.” Your voice is full of venom. 

“I really think we should look at it together.” His eyes narrow. “We’re partners on this, remember?”

“As if you would even need my help,” you spit out. “By the time I come in tomorrow, you’ll probably have the entire case solved, the perp arrested, and all the paperwork done before I even pour my coffee.”

The more you talk, the more your anger levels rise. You lean over him in the booth, one of your hands on the back of the seat to keep you balanced. 

Hyunjin’s eyes widen and he leans back as you go forward. 

“The golden boy will strike again, solving a case that I’ve been working on for months and getting all the credit. Because that’s just how good you are. Mr. Perfect. Everything about you is just amazing.”

He gulps and shifts around. A red tint creeps up on his face. 

And for the first time since you met him, Hwang Hyunjin is speechless. His mouth opens to say something several times but no sound comes out. 

“Now. If you’ll excuse me.” You stand back up and turn on a heel, leaving the diner and a very flustered detective behind. 

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

Knock after knock after knock after knock bangs on your apartment door. 

You’re not sure of how long whoever’s been knocking has been at it, but it takes you a solid thirty seconds to wake up fully. You had peacefully drifted into a very deep sleep the moment your head hit the pillow. 

The entire bedroom is pitch black, the sun no longer in the sky. The clock on your nightstand displays that it’s around 1 AM. 

“What the fuck?” You slur out. It’s so hard to open your eyes right now. 

The knocking persists.

With all the grace of a drunken newborn deer, you slither out of bed and make your way to your front door. 

You flip on a light on your way there. 

Staring through the peephole, a frown pulls at your face as soon as you see who’s banging on your door at this ungodly hour. 

You rip the door open, startling Hyunjin. His hand still hangs in the air when you open it. 

“Finally!” He shoves past you and into your apartment. 

“No, please, come on in.” You growl and shut the door, securing all the locks in place again. 

Behind you, you hear him slam a stack of papers onto your kitchen island. 

“I forwarded you the transcripts hours ago but you didn’t answer.”

“I told you I would look at them when I woke up.”

He takes in your disheveled appearance with judging eyes. Your hair was all frizzy and out of place, a loose t-shirt hung off one shoulder and was so big you couldn’t see the shorts underneath. 

His Adam’s Apple bobs with a swallow. 

It was obvious he wasn’t used to seeing you in such a relaxed state. He was still wearing his dress pants from earlier, but he only had a dress shirt on with his trench coat over the top. 

“You’re awake now, aren’t you?” He looks back down at the stack of files and opens them up, spreading papers everywhere. 

You come up to the table and look down at everything. 

Semesters of different class schedules stare back at you. Some have highlighted portions, others are still blank. He seems to have given up in the middle of doing it himself, opting to bring it here. 

You tongue your cheek, looking over what you can see so far.

It’s going to be a long night.

“I’ll make coffee.”

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

Hours have passed, the sleepiness and weariness of being woken up has been replaced by the delightful thrum of caffeine in your veins.

After about a half an hour of going through the transcripts, you quietly asked Hyunjin if he was alright with you playing music softly. 

He stared at you with wide eyes, “Ah, yeah, of course, that’s fine.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m just… not used to you asking for permission before doing something.”

Grumbling, you rolled your eyes and picked your phone up to scroll through playlists. You settled on a calmer one full of music from artists like Lord Huron and Tom Rosenthal. 

Since then the two of you have been silently going through each schedule. 

Biting the end of the highlighter absentmindedly, you study the class schedule. 

“I’m only seeing one similarity.” You say out loud. Hyunjin looks up. “This one class, it’s a gen ed Physics class. But each of these girls took it, all at different times though.”

“Which class?”

“PHYS 100. Same Professor– Dr. Furon.”

“Do you think we should bring the professor in for questioning?” he asks.

“Couldn’t hurt. Right now he’s the only common denominator. Is it anywhere on your transcript?”

Hyunjin flips through the pages. “Yep, right here, her freshman spring semester back in 2020.”

You pull out a sticky note and write down that info. 

“Can you go through each one and tell me when they took the course?”

Hyunjin gathers all the stapled packets of papers up. “Yeah.”

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

You and Hyunjin stood shoulder to shoulder looking through the one way glass. 

A near ninety year old man sat on the other side. 

“So,” Hyunjin says to break the silence. 

“So.”

“It can’t be him.”

“Obviously.”

Another long moment of silence. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to question him or should I?”

You sigh, watching as the professor fidgets with a loose string on his sweater sleeve. The officers had completely forgone the handcuffs, allowing him to sit at the table freely. 

They also rolled in a comfier chair and gave him a cup of coffee. 

“My case. I’ll do it.”

“ Our case.”

“Shut it, Hwang.”

You make your way into the interrogation room with a notepad tucked under your arm. 

The professor looks up as soon as you open the door. He shakily stands up from his seat with proper manners. 

You smile gently. “Dr. Furon, thank you so much for taking the time to come down.”

Both of you shake hands before sitting down. His grip is not firm whatsoever. 

Arthritis. 

“Oh, it’s no matter. Happy to be of help.”

You place the notepad down and scoot your chair in. “I’ll get right to it since I can see you’ll be our best help here. When analyzing the list of victims, we saw that each of them had taken your class before. It’s a small lead, I know, but it’s too much to sweep under the rug.”

He nods, listening carefully. He blanches and leans back. “I didn’t realize I had each of them. There are so many students in each section, there’s not enough time to learn names.”

He shakes his head. 

“I had recognized a few in the paper, but I try not to do too much digging, it hurts too much to look into. I don’t know how you detectives do it.”

You reach across the table and grab his hands warmly. “I feel the same way about physics, I don’t know how you do it. All those equations.”

Dr. Furon cracks a smile. “Someone has to. But I do have help with all my courses. Each student has a specific discussion section once a week with a smaller class size, but they’re all taught by graduate students.”

You jot that down on your notebook and lean your chair back. You knock once on the window.

“On it.” Hyunjin’s muffled voice comes through the glass. 

“Just one more question, Dr. Furon, I won’t take up any more of your time, this has been very valuable. Are there any students or people that you come in contact with that maybe trigger some alarm bells or a gut instinct?”

He shifts around, he really thinks about it. 

“I really can’t think of anything, detective, I’m sorry. The girls’ names that I recognize were normal students too, granted they weren’t the best, but I do know they were doing their very best. Breaks my heart.”

You scribble that down and stand up. 

“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Furon. We greatly appreciate your help.”

He nods and stands up as well. “Of course, if I can do anything else, please give me a call.”

“If you think of anything else, here’s my card.” You reach across the table and hand him a small business card. 

You showed the professor out of the room, asking if he needed anything. He patted your arm sweetly before leaving. 

When you turn around, Hyunjin is standing there, waving a file around. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

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

Your apartment has become the unofficial meeting place for both you and Hyunjin once your shifts are over. The department wasn’t great for concentration. 

They say not to take work home with you, but your home is so much cozier. 

It’s only about 8 PM. Takeout containers take up a small portion of the kitchen island. 

Another pot of coffee is brewing. 

“So, between the victims, there are five different graduate students that taught their discussion sections. And one of them graduated last year.” Hyunjin flips through his notes. 

You run your hands through your hair. 

“So, four graduate students.”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. 

“Do we have any information on the four students?”

“No, but we have enough cause to bring them down to the station for questioning.”

You sigh and pick up your phone. “Let’s do that, then.”

A message is sent off to Chief Bang, he replies immediately saying he’ll contact them immediately and have them brought in and that he’ll call you when you can come in. 

“I just don’t think it was any of the graduate students.” Hyunjin adds, sliding papers around to grab a victim’s file. 

“I agree.”

He doesn’t seem to hear you. “Two of the graduate students are women— women don’t commit murders like this, the other two are masters in their field with promising careers.”

“I know, I agree with you, Hwang.”

“And I just don’t think that— wait, you agree?”

You stare at him with a blank expression. “Yes, I agree with you.”

He shifts around on the seat. His mouth opens and closes a few times before actually speaking. “You agree?”

Rolling your eyes, you place the papers down on the table. “Hwang, you know I would rather die than agree with you, but in this case, yes, I agree, I think you’re right.”

“Oh.”

Looking back down at the papers, you absentmindedly read a sentence in one of the witness statements. “I know you get the job done, I’m not going to put personal feelings before a case.”

Hyunjin fidgets more. “So, you think I’m a good detective?”

Is he serious?

You roll your eyes, still not looking up. “Yes, Hwang. Chief Bang has proclaimed you as one of the greatest detectives— everyone at the station knows that.”

“I just didn’t think you thought that way.”

“I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He clears his throat and shifts forward on his chair. “But do you , Y/L L/N, think I’m a good detective?”

Putting the paper down on the counter, you look up at him with a cocked eyebrow and a frown. “Really? Do your work.”

“Not until you say it.” He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Rolling your eyes, you look down once more. What was on this page again?

“Choke.”

Hyunjin takes a breath to say something, but your phone lights up with a call at the same time. Expecting it to be Chief Bang, you answer quickly. 

“Detective L/N.” 

“Detective!” An old voice comes from the other line. You pull your phone back to look at the unknown number and then bring it back to your ear. 

Hyunjin’s attention peaks at your confusion.

“It’s Dr. Furon, I apologize for calling so suddenly.”

“Oh, hi Doctor, it’s no trouble at all.” You look around for your notepad. 

“Put it on speaker,” Hyunjin hisses while leaning forward. You shoo him off. He reaches forward to grab the phone from you, you smack his hand. 

“I remembered something I didn’t get a chance to say earlier, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it,” Dr. Furon continues. 

“That’s quite alright, it’s the reason I gave you my number. Now, what is it?” You grab a pen and a random piece of paper. 

Hyunjin reaches again, you smack his hand once more. “Speaker!” He grumbles again. 

Dr. Furon talks, unaware of the petty brawl happening on the other line. “All of the students that are struggling in my class, I point them to the tutoring center in the library. As far as I remember, the names that were in the paper, the ones I recognize at least, they were going to the tutoring center.”

Your eyes widen and you write it down quickly. 

Hyunjin’s patience wears out, he stands up from the counter and comes around to your side, his face dipping down to press his ear to the other side of the phone. 

“Is there only one tutor available for your class?” you ask, jotting down notes. 

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry. You know, now that I think of it, on their final exams, I give extra credit if they write down that they went to tutoring and name their tutor.”

“Do you have those exams?” Hyunjin asks into the phone. You reach over and flick his forehead. He swats your hand away. 

“Oh, Detective Hwang, how are you?” Dr. Furon says politely. 

“I’m doing very well, thank you.”

You go to smack him again, he once more swats your hand away.

The professor comes back to the conversation. “I have them but they’re in my office. Would you two mind coming to campus to get them tomorrow?”

“Of course,” both you and Hyunjin say at the same time. 

You sneer and push his face away. 

“Great!” Dr. Furon gives you all the details for tomorrow and the two of you hang up. 

Placing your phone on the counter, you stand up to get away from Hyunjin. 

“You could've put it on speaker.” 

“You could’ve been patient!” Grabbing the nearest object— a tissue box— you hurl it at him. 

Hyunjin only laughs and catches it. 

“Putting more coffee on?”

“Obviously.”

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

“It’s the same one,” you say incredulously, flipping through the exams that Dr. Furon had given the two of you. 

While you got the papers from the professor’s office, Hyunjin had gone to the tutoring center for a list of tutors. Apparently he had a connection there as well. 

The two of you now sat in the conference room with your original cork board to the side. New leads and pictures right smack in the middle. 

You had spent the day questioning the graduate students, but as you suspected, it was a dead end. No one knew anything. 

The exams spread over the table were the best lead. 

“It is,” he mutters in agreement and disbelief. 

“Eric Rowan.” 

“Do you think…?” Hyunjin trails off. 

“I do,” you state clearly. “I really do.”

Shaking your head, you flip through the exams over and over to make sure you’re right, to make sure you’re not looking past something. 

You’re not jumping to conclusions, are you?

Hyunjin suddenly stands up from the table and makes his way to the door. “I’ll have the chief get someone to bring him down to the station.”

He didn’t even give a second thought to your decision. 

The door clicks after him. The silence inside the room is deafening. 

It would be perfect if you could play music like you do at home. 

“Eric Rowan,” you whisper solemnly. 

One tutor from the library at the university. 

It would make sense. 

Hyunjin had managed to get Eric’s entire tutoring log, every student he’s ever tutored had been included. 

You were able to highlight each and every one of the girls’ names that were victims of these heinous crimes. There were about two weeks of time between their last tutoring session and when they were found dead. 

One name stuck out, one name brought you an endless sigh of relief: Andrea Bowman.  

It made your skin crawl, but you instantly noticed she was the first female he tutored during his time. 

Slowly, the pieces started clicking. Your throat got a bit tight, it was difficult to swallow the emotions. 

You look around and grab her file underneath a huge stack. Her school picture is the top photo paper clipped on the inside. 

Andrea’s smiling face will haunt you for a long time. 

Hyunjin came back into the room, you didn’t look up. 

“Chief just sent someone out to get him, we’re getting interrogation room two ready for him, I think that— L/N?”

Your head snaps up and you sniffle. 

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse. 

He shifts his weight in the doorway. “Everything finally hitting?”

You bite your lip and look back at Andrea’s picture. “Yeah.” 

Standing up from the table, you close the file and tuck it underneath a few more. 

“The guy hasn’t even confessed yet, I’m getting ahead of myself here. It just makes too much sense. These girls stopped going to see him two weeks before he killed— supposedly killed them.

“It just reads so clearly. He probably made a move, they felt uncomfortable so they stopped seeing him for tutoring, he couldn’t face rejection, so he killed them. It’s fucking sick.”

You roll your shoulders and look up at the ceiling. “Am I being too hasty? It just feels right, like … like these girls are cheering for me and telling me I’m right.”

The door shuts behind Hyunjin. He weighs his words carefully and walks up to his jacket, grabbing it off the back of the chair he sat in before. 

Those perfectly polished dress shoes click on the floor. It echoes off of each wall. 

“There’s one thing I’ve always lacked as a detective.” He folds the trench coat over his arm and walks up to you. “It makes me so mad that I don’t have this, it would help with so many of my cases.”

You watch him warily. There’s a sad smile on his face as he takes in your frazzled mood. 

You’ve never worn your heart this freely on your sleeve before. 

With a sigh, he reaches up and taps on your forehead. “Women’s intuition.”

For the first time, you have no response for him. 

As far as Hwang Hyunjin goes, this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to a compliment from him, or even an acknowledgment of your skill. 

Your lips stay sealed. 

“I’ve never not trusted your judgment. Ever. If your gut is saying this is the guy, then this is him. When have you ever been wrong?”

Your mind is reeling. 

Did he just compliment you again?

Heat rises to your cheeks. Your stomach flips. 

“I’ve always been so jealous of that. You just… know.” He shrugs and looks around, a small tinge of pink on his cheeks. “When the pieces finally fit into place you’re fucking brilliant at solving everything so fast. What’s that about?”

A sad laugh tumbles from his lips.

“This case would’ve taken any other team months to solve, but you and I did it in two weeks. Maybe we should work together more often, Y/N.”

There’s no way he said that. 

He’s jealous of you?

And did he just call you by your first name?

He stares down at you for a couple of seconds. Maybe you were imagining it, but you could swear that his eyes flickered to your lips more than once. 

“Come on then, we have an interrogation to do.”

Hyunjin turns on a heel and makes his way to the door. 

“Thank you,” you call after him. Hyunjin’s hand pauses on the door handle. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t acknowledge what you did— the favor you just returned. 

He doesn’t speak on the new level that your relationship just crossed nor the mutual respect that you two just shared. 

Nothing. 

You don’t even get to see his face when you call him by his name for the first time. 

But, by the way his shoulders square and his head twitches, you know it affected him. 

Wordlessly, he nods and opens the door, leaving it open for you as he walks into the hallway and towards the interrogation rooms. 

Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department, considers you to be on the same level as him. Who would’ve thought? 

Maybe he’s right, maybe you should work together more often. 

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

Hours and hours and hours have gone by. 

Hyunjin as well as other officers have been grilling Eric for what seems like days. But it’s only been about 18 hours. 

The bags under your eyes feel like bruises. 

Three empty coffee cups and one full one sit next to you as you stare through the one way glass. 

Hyunjin’s pacing around the room with his hands in his pockets. 

His tie is loose around his neck, the sleeves of his button up are rolled up, his hair is tied up out of his eyes. 

He’s been trying to go the good cop route for the last 3 hours. Slowly, that act has been dropping; Eric is getting on his last nerve. 

You both let Eric sit in the interrogation room by himself for 4 hours leading up to this to get to his head. It didn’t seem to work. You can only legally keep him here for forty-eight hours.

If anything, he’s only gotten more agitated. 

Hyunjin walks up behind Eric, he reaches one arm down to the table. 

“You’ve never seen any of these girls before?” Hyunjin slides a few photos towards them on the table. 

“No.” Eric answers quickly. “I’ve already told you that.”

“I just think it’s interesting you’ve never seen any of them, Mr. Rowan. You tutored them. All of them.”

“Do you realize how many students I tutor on a daily basis?”

Hyunjin barks a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn't realize you were that popular.” He comes around the table and opens a file. 

Hyunjin pulls out one specific page, and reads off the top. “Actually, here we go, I know exactly how many students you tutor. Let’s see here: ‘Eric Rowan works two days a week in the tutoring center, Tuesdays and Thursdays.’ Last week you tutored 3 students total, and they were all returning students— how interesting!”

He slams the paper down onto the metal table. Eric jumps. 

“Only three returning faces to your tutoring session, Mr. Popular. And here’s the funniest thing;  I’ve noticed that there’s no women on this list. Weird.”

Eric’s eye twitches. 

Hyunjin takes a seat across the table, folding his hands on top of a notebook. 

“Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Mr. Rowan?”

Eric scoffs and shifts around in his seat. 

Your interest is piqued, you sit up straight in your chair and lean forward. 

Why did he get so nervous all of a sudden? 

Eric picks up the cup of water that he requested and takes a long sip from it. Hyunjin waits patiently. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything, Detective.”

Hyunjin laughs and opens the file. “See, I thought you would say that. My chief also asked the same question.”

Said Chief, who has been standing behind you for the better part of 5 hours, most certainly did not ask that. Chief Bang snorts quietly at the lie. 

“But you know what, we detectives have to do our due diligence.” Hyunjin opens a file and slides a large printed photo out across the table. “Recognize her?”

So many different emotions fly across Eric’s face: anger, loss, betrayal, depression, rage, hurt. The muscles in his face dance as they try to settle on an expression. 

“No,” he grits out. 

An obvious lie.

“Interesting.” Hyunjin pulls out another photo and slides it across. “Because just by taking a quick look at your social media profile, I can see how this girl was your girlfriend . Look, here you are together! Leah Miller. Pretty girl.”

Eric says nothing. He can’t look away from the picture. 

“Most interesting part I noticed was that you haven’t posted anything with her in about a year. What happened? Breakup? They suck, hm? Sorry, should I have said ‘ex-girlfriend’ before? My bad.”

You can’t help but smile. Hyunjin’s always been brilliant in interrogations, you can’t deny that. You’ve only ever heard rumors about how he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. 

Sneaking a peek at the picture of Leah Miller, your eyes widen. She fit the profile: long, blonde hair and sweet, light eyes.

More pieces fall into place. 

“It’s none of your business,” Eric grits out between clenched teeth. 

Chief Bang shifts behind you and grabs the back of your chair. Obviously he senses it too, a confession, a slip up, anything. It’s showing its head. 

“What? What are you saying?” Hyunjin laughs. “It’s exactly my business. That’s quite literally what my job is, you know, to know your business. It’s the same reason I know that you asked out Andrea Bowman during one of your tutoring sessions and she rejected you.”

“That’s not—“

“Oh, sorry, is that not how it happened? Did you maybe try and make a move on her and she rejected you that way? Maybe you put an arm around the back of her chair? Classic.”

“I-I didn’t—“

“Not that one? Understood.” Hyunjin nods and flips through the pictures on the table. “Oh, did you use the old ‘give me your number just in case you need more help’ trick? Used that on a girl in college, myself. Of course, it worked for me.” He winks at Eric.

Eric is fuming, his face is turning redder and redder, the vein in his forehead is popping. 

“Here we go,” Chief Bang whispers under his breath. 

Your mouth is agape, you’ve heard about Hyunjin in interrogation rooms before but you’ve never actually seen it. 

It’s like he’s dancing with fire so beautifully. He’s twirling a flaming sword with a silver tongue. 

“I think Andrea rejected you and then when she never came back for more tutoring, you lost it. You looked up her campus address in the internal systems, because guess what, you have access to that as a tutor, and you went to her dorm room, and you killed her.”

“Wh-What? You’re way off base here, Detective.” Eric stutters, his eye twitches again, his leg starts bouncing under the table. 

He pulls on the cuffs keeping him to the table. 

Hyunjin you’re so close, come on, come on. 

“Funny!” Hyunjin exclaims and slides another piece of paper across the table. “Here’s the search history in the library computer with your login credentials!”

Eric gapes, his mouth opens and closes several times.

“You know what, maybe you didn’t go to Andrea’s dorm with the idea of killing her. Maybe it was a grand romantic gesture, yeah, that seems more like it— flowers and everything.” He slams another picture on the table. 

A bouquet of flowers was found at Andrea’s crime scene. 

“You presented her with the flowers. And she rejected you. Again. ” Hyunjin’s voice is getting louder and louder, crescendoing with Eric’s anger and heart rate. 

Your breathing picks up. Both you and Chief Bang stop moving. 

“Stop,” Eric suddenly pleads. His hands shoot up to cover his ears but they’re stopped by the cuffs. 

The metal clinks and pulls, they dig into his wrists. 

“She rejected you twice! To your face! But you couldn’t take that for an answer. God, why did she do that? Why did she turn you down when you were just trying to be nice? ”

Hyunjin stands up slowly from the table, towering over Eric. 

“She was just like her, she was just like that bitch that broke up with you? She tore your heart out and spit on it! She was no better than Leah! So, you knocked her out and you tied her down to her own fucking bed in hopes that she would just hear you out!”

“Stop, stop!”

“Because maybe if she just listened she would understand that you’re just a genuine guy trying to be a good boyfriend to someone! You’re so nice, you’re such a good guy, no one likes good guys anymore, huh? And, of course Leah didn’t see that either!”

“ Stop! ”

“She tried to scream for help, so you killed her. You slit her throat without a second fucking thought for anything! And it felt so fucking good, didnt it? It felt so good to finally take power back from her? So, you didn’t stop.”

Tears spring from Eric’s eyes as he squints them shut, his body physically curling in on itself. He writhes around, unable to get far because of the handcuffs. 

“So you kept going, and you went after women who looked just like Leah. And it felt amazing because every single time you could picture her face as you slit their throats. Each and every one of them babbling for mercy, crying out for their mothers, to only choke on their own blood—“

“ FINE! ” Eric screams, slamming his fists on the table. “I killed them. I killed each and every one of the fucking bitches. And I fucking wish I could have killed her too!”

The sudden seemingly endless torrent of sentences comes to a screaming halt. 

Hyunjin sits down on his chair once more with a huff. 

And just like you did yesterday, he leans back on his chair and knocks once on the window. 

It takes you a second to find your voice after witnessing the most amazing, jaw dropping interrogation you’ve ever seen. 

“G-Got it!” You say loudly through the glass. “We got it. Oh my god!” You stand up quickly from the chair and turn around to Chief Bang, who has an equally surprised expression. “We got it! ”

He stutters for a moment and shakes his head to clear his mind before speed walking out of the side room to get officers to arrest Eric. 

Eric Rowan, who is now pathetically sobbing in his chair. 

Eric Rowan who signed his confession with the opposite hand that he’d been using to drink his water. 

Eric Rowan who is ambidextrous.

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

It’s so weird to see your kitchen island devoid of files and endless stacks of papers after the last few weeks. 

Eric was taken in for booking. Your job was over. 

Well, it was over for now. Chief Bang gave you and Hyunjin a week off and then you’re due back in the office for the next case. 

Plus, you’ll have to be at Eric Rowan’s trial since you were the lead detective on the case. 

So maybe ‘over’ isn’t the best way to describe it. 

More soft music plays from your speaker as you clean up the rest of the files. A large t-shirt draped over your body, it practically covers the shorts you have underneath. 

There’s a couple knocks on your door. His knocks are so distinct. You’ve gotten so used to them over the past two weeks. 

“Come in, Hwang!” you call out. 

The door opens and shuts. 

“I think I left a few things here,” he says kicking his shoes off in your entryway.

You hum in response, gathering up files to stack them neatly. 

His soft footsteps pad up behind you. 

“I don’t think I ever saw your countertop, is this granite?” he teases over your shoulder. 

You snort a laugh. “Yeah, it is. Came with the place, so don’t ask any more questions.”

Putting the stack down, you turn around and come nose to nose with Hyunjin. He is so much closer than you thought he was. 

You jump slightly and back up a bit, your hips hitting the countertop. 

Hyunjin doesn’t move. 

“I didn’t get to see you after the interrogation,” he says with a quieter voice. 

Not able to hold his searing gaze, you look off to the side and cross your arms over your chest. 

“Yeah, well, you know how the hustle and bustle can wrap someone up after a case closes. Next thing I knew, Bang was sending me home.”

Hyunjin takes a half step closer to you. “What did you think?”

“Hm?”

“What did you think of the interrogation?”

So many sarcastic, sharp retorts die on your tongue when you remember the conversation that the two of you had earlier. 

But still, complimenting him was about as easy as petting a cactus. 

“I told you I’m not going to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He takes another step towards you, both of his arms come up to cage you to the counter. 

Heat rises on your cheeks more and more with each passing second. You refuse to meet his eyeline. 

“Humor me, L/N. How was my performance today?”

Tonguing your cheek, you roll your eyes. Your heart rate picks up at his proximity. Why does he smell so good?

The last time the both of you had an opportunity to shower was two days ago. 

He still smells like aftershave and expensive cologne. 

“It was good, okay? You got the guy.”

“ We got the guy, L/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, golden boy, we got him.”

He knows your sarcasm is empty. Just by looking at your flushed face he can tell you don’t mean it. 

“Come on now, L/N.” Long, lithe fingers grip your chin and turn your head towards him. “You can do better than that.”

Your jaw clenches. Arousal shoots down your spine like an electric shock. 

Fuck. 

Closer and closer his alarmingly handsome face inches closer to yours. The beauty mark under his eye seems more prominent than ever. 

His mind is one of a brilliant detective, but god, that face. He should’ve been a model. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and when you try to look away from his deep eyes, the grin on your jaw tightens. 

“Come on, L/N.” He smirks. “Tell me how good I did today. Say it.”

The brat inside you decides to surface. So, he wants to go this route, hm? “Why do you need me to say it so badly, Hwang? Everyone else in the department is so far up your ass, they can wear you like a hat.”

He rolls his eyes, his body pressing against you entirely. Your arms uncross and you reach back to grip the countertop next to his hands. 

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You should be shoving him away, slapping him across the face, spitting on his shoes. But instead you relish in the feeling. 

“Yes. But they’re not you. ”

Your eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches. He knows he has you in the palm of his hand. He just needs to break you more. 

But does he really?

Finally, he brings his lips closer and closer to yours. He pauses right before he makes contact, giving you a chance to say no. 

Nothing of the sort tumbles out. 

The first kiss he presses to your lips is nothing short of devouring. 

His soft, plush lips consume yours like he’s a starving man at a feast. You meet his enthusiasm with fervor.

Hyunjin’s head tilts to get better access to your mouth. His eyebrows pull together in concentration, he almost looks like he’s in pain. 

The fingers on your chin move down to your neck, he wraps his hand around it, thumbs on top of your pulse point, but he doesn’t squeeze. 

Your hands tentatively reach for him, grabbing at his dress shirt and tie, pulling him even closer to you. 

A small moan comes from the base of his throat and through his nose. Hyunjin’s other hand grabs your hip possessively. 

“Say it, L/N,” he hushes between kisses, completely out of breath. “Tell me how good I am.”

How is it that he has this sort of possessive grip on you and yet he’s putting the ball in your court?

A small boost of confidence courses through your veins. 

“Can’t you just admit it already?” he adds.

Smirking, you say nothing. One of your hands threads into his long hair and yanks his face back to yours for another bruising kiss. 

He huffs through his nose once more, but kisses you nonetheless. 

Twirl after twirl of his tie around your hand tightens your grip. With the last tug, Hyunjin moans once more into your mouth. The hand on your throat squeezes a bit.

“L/N,” he pleads again against your lips. 

You tug hard on his tie. Hyunjin loses his balance slightly, his knuckles turning white from grabbing your countertop so tight. 

Bringing your lips to his ear, you blow hot air on the sensitive skin first. He shivers against your hot body. 

At the same time, your bare foot travels up the back of his clothed calf, your thigh brushing against his hip.

“If you want my approval that badly, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Hyunjin makes a choked moan, “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. The hand on your hip tightens. The fingers wrapped around your throat twitch. 

“How does that sound, Hwang? You be good to me and I’ll let you know how well you’re doing.” You roll your hips against his.

Your words have an obvious effect on him, the hardness that presses to your leg says it all. 

Hyunjins lips drop down to your neck, he bites the soft skin where it meets your shoulder. “Fucking hell, L/N, don’t play hard to get.” 

Humming, you roll your head back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your skin. “I’m not playing anything, I already told you how to get what you want.”

Licking and sucking his way down your neck, his teeth nip at your exposed collarbone. The hand on your throat slides backwards and into the hair on the back of your head. 

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth to stop a moan from leaking out. You pull Hyunjin’s tie to keep his face there.

“Just like that, golden boy, your mouth feels so good.”

His hips involuntarily buck into yours at the praise, he whimpers against your skin. “ Shit, ” he curses into your neck with a hot exhale. 

You wrap your entire leg around his waist and roll against him more. His mouth stutters, but afterwards he sucks hard . A bright purple hickey already surfaces when he detaches. 

“L/N,” he murmurs into your neck. You hum in response. “Can I take this off?” He tugs at your shirt.

You smirk. “You can.”

When your hand unwinds from his tie, Hyunjin backs off of you. His face is already so fucked out; eyes are half-lidded and hazy, his lips are so puffy and swollen, spit glistening off them in the soft kitchen light. 

From all your pulling, Hyunjin’s hair is all askew and coming out of its usual ponytail.

He wastes no time, grabbing the hem of your t-shirt and yanking it over your head, he throws it behind him carelessly. His eyes light up at the sight of your bare chest, tongue poking out to lick his already slick lips.

You chuckle.

“You gunna touch me or what?” you tease. “Or maybe you don’t want it that badly.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenches and he meets your eyes. The look he’s giving you is dangerous.

He huffs once and grabs your waist tightly, lifting you up off the ground and sitting you on the cold granite. The sharp temperature change against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

Hyunjin parts your legs and stands between your thighs, his head dips down and envelopes one nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck!” you cry out, grabbing a fist full of his hair.

One of Hyunjin’s hands trails up your leg to grab at your exposed thigh while the other comes up to play with your other perky bud.

His eyes shut in his own pleasure. That tongue is absolutely relentless, licking circles around your nipple to flick over it a few times and then sucking.

Your toes are already curling, legs wrapping around his waist to get him closer to you.

“How about now, L/N?” his hoarse voice whines against your spit covered chest. “Is this good for you? Does it feel good?”

The more he talks, the more you can’t tell if he’s teasing you or genuinely asking for his own sanity. 

“It feels fucking amazing, Hwang, keep– shit – keep going.”

Hyunjin takes in a shaky breath and switches sides, your fingers yank on his hair and he whines again around your nipple. 

You let him continue for a while, relishing in the feeling of his spit dripping down your chest and onto your navel. The wet licks and sucks bouncing off the walls combined with his own small whines and your loud moans. 

Roll after roll of your hips grinds against his hard tent in his dress pants. After a few minutes, your hips seem to have a mind of their own, your soaking wet cunt seeking friction against anything to satiate the need for contact. 

The more he licks at your chest, the more Hwang Hyunjin continues to drive you insane. 

“H-Hwang,” you pull his attention. His eyebrows furrow as you yank him away from your purple marked chest. 

When he finally detaches, he looks up at you, panting. 

“Touch me, touch me, please . I can’t fucking take it.”

His shoulders curl forward like you knocked the air out of him. 

With more strength than you thought he had, he scoops you up and wraps your legs around his waist while smashing your lips together again. 

You cling onto him for dear life while letting your tongues slide over one another. 

“Hah,” you pant out in between kisses. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

He whines.

“Could’ve made me cum with just that tongue on my tits. Such a shame.”

Hyunjin drops your body onto the couch without a warning. You squeal and bounce on the soft cushions. 

“Hwang–” your voice dies in your throat when you catch the sight of him standing on the other side of the sofa arm. 

The change in his demeanor gives you whiplash. 

His eyes are dark, almost black. His chest is heaving with heavy pants. Those long fingers are tugging at his tie, until it's loose enough for him to rip off his neck. 

Your knees tuck up a bit towards your chest as you watch him with wide eyes like prey. 

Hyunjin reaches down and snatches your ankle, he tugs on it harshly. You yelp as you’re dragged forward into a lying position.

Coming around the sofa, he swings one knee over you to straddle your hips. One by one he begins to unbutton his dress shirt, never once breaking eye contact.

Each sliver of skin that is revealed is devoured by your eyes greedily. Never once has he so much as undone the top button on his collar at work.

Shamelessly, you rake in his athletic build. 

“You want to cum with just my tongue? Okay, L/N, I can do that.”

Your heart thuds in your chest. 

He shrugs his shirt off and drops it to the floor. Hands grab at the waistband of your shorts and yank them off with your panties in one swoop. Another article of clothing to hit the floor.

The cold air against your soaking wet folds makes you hiss slightly. 

Hyunjin stares down at your arousal, biting his bottom lip. Lower and lower he descends until you can feel his heavy exhales against your cunt.

He pushes your thighs apart, putting one over his shoulder, your heel settles into the dip of his spine. He’s smirking the entire time.

Finally, he tears his eyes away from your folds to look you right in the eye.

Your jaw clenches and you watch as he licks all the way from your entrance, up to your clit, circles around it to go back down to your entrance again.

An immediate shockwave of pleasure shoots through your body down to your toes. You toss your head back with your mouth agape, a silent scream stretching your lips.

Hyunjin keens at your reaction, doing the same maneuver again before focusing his attention on creating the most sinful figure eights with his tongue.

Your hand flies down to grab at his hair, shoulders arching off the couch. “Shit, shit, H-Hwang, feels so– hah – s-so good.”

He moans into you, the vibrations go right through you. 

With your heel on his back, you can feel how his back curves as his hips rut into the couch underneath him to relieve some pressure off his aching cock. 

Praises fall from your lips like water falling over rock. Each one makes Hyunjin whine and kick it up a notch. 

“That fu- uh -cking silver tongue, holy shit .”

Hyunjin moans loudly, he grabs both of your hips, nails digging into your skin with deep scratches. It only makes you cry out louder, pulling on his hair even harder. 

The tie in his hair comes out completely. You toss it away from you and gather up his hair in between your fingers to keep it out of his eyes. It feels like silk.

A coil within you begins winding tighter and tighter. The more he licks and sucks, the higher your cries get and the tighter your abdomen feels.

“Feels so good, it feels fucking amazing ! S-So close! Shit, please make me cum, please, shit!”

Each word makes Hyunjin sutter and moan into your folds, his eyebrows pulled like he’s in pain. Harder and harder he ruts into your sofa, his nails digging into you so much you think he might draw blood.

It’s taking every ounce of his will not to spill out in his pants at your praise. At your begging .

One of his hands comes up and kneads at your chest. His thumb rubs over your nipple a few times and that’s all it takes for the band within you to finally snap.

Your orgasm washes over you so hard it’s like being hit by a bus. 

With a silent cry, your entire body tenses up. Hyunjin’s movements slow down, but he still coaxes you through your climax with that skilled tongue of his. 

He hums into your folds, licking up every last drop of your juices.

You come down from your high slowly, chest heaving up and down, every exhale is paired with a moan. Shockwaves still ripple through your thighs.

Hyunjin’s eyes open and he stares at you, his mouth going over to bite your inner thigh. You squeal and squirm.

Slowly, like a lion, he gets up and crawls over your form, keeping eye contact. Once he’s close enough, he captures your lips greedily. Your arousal is still all over his tongue. It’s swapped between the two of you with your spit. 

Your hands reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. Hyunjin makes no move to stop you, instead, he pushes you further.

“Look at that,” he pants, looking down at your fumbling hands. “So desperate for my cock, huh, L/N?”

Your eyebrow twitches. You undo the buckle and reach down to grab his rock hard erection through his pants.

Hyunjin’s elbows buckle at your touch and he grunts, squinting his eyes shut.

“All talk, aren’t you? Once I touch you, you crumble .”

“Shit!” His eyes snap open and he bucks into your hand. “Because– ugh –, like I said, it’s you . Fuck ,” he moans when you squeeze him again over his pants.

“Keep going,” you tease. “Keep going and I’ll keep stroking this fucking monster cock you keep tucked in these pressed dress pants of yours.”

He exhales shakily while you unbutton his trousers. 

“When were you ever going to fucking– agh – realize that you drive me fucking insane, L/N?” His eyes start to unfocus when you push down the waistband of his pants and boxers down his thighs.

Fucking hell . Has he always been packing this?

“God damn, Hwang.” Your hand runs up his length. Hyunjin shudders and closes his eyes. Your touch is so featherlight he thinks he’s going insane. 

His eyebrows twitch and hips buck forward to try and reach your touch. 

“I’m not hearing a lot of talking.” You lean up and attach your lips to his neck, continuing to only trail the gentlest of touches up and down his throbbing cock. 

The head is red and angry and weeping precum.

His body trembles. “ Shit – I wanted you for so long, L/N. You drive me– fuck – insane. Every single fucking day I did whatever it fucking took to get your attention.”

Finally, your hand wraps around his length tightly and you start pumping very slowly. The long, pathetic moan that tumbles from Hyunjin’s lips is something of sin.

He sounds so relieved yet even more aroused at the same time. 

You continue to suck your own marks onto his perfect skin. Sweat drips down the side of his face and down his now slick back. 

“ Ughhh – L-L/N…��� He buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

Your hand stops moving when he stops talking.

He cries out into your neck, hips frantically bucking into your touch to chase it. You only chuckle in response. 

“ Please! ” He whimpers. 

“Keep going then, golden boy.” You suck a sensitive spot underneath his ear. 

Another stutter of his hips.

“I begged the chief to put me on your case!”

Your pumping picks up speed again, his entire body rolls into yours. You grip him tighter and jerk him faster.

“I said– ah – I would do whatever case he wanted next if he– ffuuck – let me work with you on this one– oh my god! And I still would, I would do whatever– mmmph – case I need to to fucking work with you every day. Agh! ”

Despite your outwards nonchalant expression, on the inside, his words are fucking killing you. The throb in your cunt that was satiated moments ago comes back with a vengeance. 

To hear Hwang Hyunjin at your mercy is going straight to your core. Each noise he makes goes straight to your pussy.

“God, fuck , L/N, I-I’m close. Please, god , shit.”

After a few more pumps, you stop, taking your hand away completely. Hyunjin cries into the crook of your neck again, his body rolling and rutting the air at the loss of contact. 

“Please, why, fucking hell , I was so close!”

You grab the hair on the back of his head and yank his head up to look down at you. His eyes are cloudy, ears and cheeks bright red. Sweat drips down the side of his face and over his sharp cheekbones and jawline.

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?”

His face twists up with another moan. 

Hyunjin dives down and captures your lips in the sloppiest kiss of the night. He’s messy and desperate the longer he kisses you. 

While trying to stay attached to your lips, Hyunjin fumbles around to kick off his pants and boxers.

Both of you finally naked together, he grabs his cock in his fist.

“I-I’m not going to last–”

You cut him off with a sharp tug to his hair. “Fuck me, golden boy, don’t you think you deserve it after today?”

His eyes practically roll back in his head.

As soon as he’s lined up with your entrance, Hyunjin slides into you slowly. Inch by inch you’re stretched open,

He might not be thick but god, he is long .

With his mouth on yours, he swallows each moan and cry of pleasure. Without wasting any amount of time, he pulls out to slam back into you.

Both of you moan out together.

Your arm wraps around his neck. He rests his weight on one elbow and the other wraps around your shoulders to hug you close to him. His hand splays out between your shoulder blades to keep you anchored against his sweat slicked chest.

The skin to skin contact sends both of you wild.

Over and over again his hips undulate to thrust into you in the most delicious way. The angle of his hips brushes his pelvic bone against your clit with each slam against you. 

“You feel so fucking good,” you whine into his ear.

Hyunjin’s next thrust hits a bit harder. If praise makes him fuck you harder, then so be it.

“God, your cock is amazing.” Harder. “Hitting me just right.” Harder. “Never knew you would feel this fucking good.”

With his mouth on your neck, he leaves sloppy hickeys wherever he can reach. His pants fill the room and mix with your whines.

His head suddenly dips down to take your nipple into his mouth once more. You keen and toss your head back, hips canting up. The new angle has his cock slam right into your g-spot.

A loud scream tears from your lips. Hyunjin immediately picks up on this and picks up the pace, making sure he hits that spot every time.

If you thought your first orgasm had a sudden build up, it’s nothing compared to this one. There’s a sudden pressure increasing in your lower stomach.

“Fuck!” Thrust . “So good!” Thrust. “Oh my god!” 

Praises and noises fall from you, you don’t even realize what you’re saying anymore. The pleasure has your mind in the clouds.

“Y/N,” the sudden use of your name grabs your attention. Hyunjin comes up over your face with a pleasure twisted face. 

“Say it, please, please , I’m fucking begging you , please, say it.” 

Your eyebrows pull together, mouth still hanging open. What does he want you to say that you haven’t said already?

“ My name. Say it, please, please, please, please–”

Oh, fuck.

You smirk and watch as the desperation drives him wild. Even in the deepest throes of pleasure, you string him along for a few more seconds as you approach the edge.

Closer and closer you come to the edge.

He whines, begging louder and louder as his own climax creeps up on him, the muscles in his body tightening more and more. 

He needs it so bad. 

“Y/N! Please! ”

Just as you’re about to tumble over, your mouth stretches open.

“Fuck, Hyunjin! ”

The loudest moan you’ve ever heard from a man comes falling out of his mouth as he buries his face into your neck. Hot, sticky warmth shoots within you in long, drawn out spurts that match with Hyunjin’s whines and groans. 

His hips stutter for another twenty seconds before his moans finally calm down. 

Both of you hold onto each other tightly, heaving heavy inhales and exhales to catch your breath.

Absent-mindedly, your hand begins to rub up and down Hyunjin’s clammy back, drawing small circles and lines onto his skin.

He hums into your neck and holds you closer for a moment before collapsing onto the couch on top of you.

Surprisingly, his weight on top of you doesn’t seem to phase you; instead it brings the same comfort as a weighted blanket.

After a few more minutes of you silently rubbing his back, Hyunjin begins to lazily press kisses onto your bruise covered chest, paying extra attention to your collarbones. 

The kisses are soft and sweet, nothing like the lust coated ones from before. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask him quietly.

He pauses his kisses only to answer you. “Mean what?” He starts kissing you more.

“That you asked Bang to work on the case.”

He chuckles against your neck, his hair tickling your skin. “Oh, yeah. It took entirely too much convincing.”

You laugh with him and keep him close to your body.

In the back of your mind, you know you should get up, that he should pull out and the two of you should shower and drink water, but you can’t seem to distance yourself from him.

There’s no harm in sitting there for a while anyway.

Hyunjin hums into your neck again, “Thank god we have the week off.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[helen-with-an-a]

I am an adult pt 6

Hiiiii. I just wanna say thank you so much for everyone's support and love while writing this series - it means so much to me. This part was very easy to write but also emotionally draining ahahaha. Ik I did a poll and a lot of people said they wanted 1 really long fic, but I've split it into 2 halves instead cos it was so long! Also a massive shout out to @lyak12 who helped me a lot with the plot and hyped me up- forehead smooches for u. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Epilogue

Barça Femeni x reader / Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Description: R faces the consequences of her actions

TW: It's very emotional and hints of R's bad mental health

Word Count: 6.6k

You genuinely had no idea how you ended up at the beach. One moment, you were in the changing rooms with your life falling apart around you – your shattered dreams and splintered relationships crashing to the ground. And then you were on a quiet bench near the sea wall, legs tucked under your chin as you sat silently, broken in so many ways.

The gentle breeze carried the tangy scent of saltwater, mingling with the faint aroma of sunscreen and something fried wafting from a nearby snack stand. The waves relentlessly lapping at the shore rhythmically, the repetitive sound a soothing melody to help you drift away in the stillness. Time seemed to blur as you stared out at the vast expanse of the sea, lost in the chaos that was your mind.

You didn’t need to look up when you felt a presence standing next to you. You felt the bench dip as they sat down, not bothering to speak. You stayed silent for a very long time. You had no idea how long you had been there – minutes, hours, perhaps even longer. But as the bright blue sky began to shift into a blaze of fiery oranges, soft pinks, and deep purples, you realised that it had been long enough for the day to give way to the dark blues of the evening. A lone tear trekked down your cheek; you didn’t bother wiping it away.

“They hate me,” you finally said. You heard your companion sigh quietly, a sound filled with empathy and understanding.

“They’re scared,” Esmee countered, her voice soft and soothing. You didn’t respond, the weight of your thoughts drowning out the gentle reassurances offered.

"I fucked up," you admitted after a few too many minutes, the rawness of your confession cutting through the silence. It was Esmee’s turn to be quiet, her expression a mixture of compassion and thoughtfulness.

“We all make mistakes,” she said after a beat, her words a gentle reminder. Well, that was the most Esmee response ever. You turned to look at her, the fading light casting shadows across her face.

“This was more than just a mistake.” you insisted, your voice sounding weak and far away.

“You were hurt. You needed comfort. Something that you couldn’t find in Barcelona.” Her words hung in the air between you.

“I hurt them,” you said resolutely.

“Yes, you did. But I don’t think you meant to.” You could always count on Esmee to offer the truth. Some people thought she sugar-coated things, but you always found that she just said things in a way that was honest yet kind.

You fell back into silence, both of you looking out to the horizon. You had no thoughts wandering across your mind. No voice in your head or niggling feelings. You were just numb. It could have been minutes or hours; you weren’t sure.

“C’mon. Let’s go.” Esmee encouraged, standing up and offering her hand.

“I, um,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t have my keys or anything.” You looked up at her with big, wide eyes.

“That’s ok,” she smiled.

The silence in the changing rooms was deafening, broken only by the sound of shallow breathing. No one dared move. The only noise was the door clicking softly shut behind you.

“Qué quiso decir? Por qué no le renuevan el contrato?” It was Martina who was brave enough to speak up. Bruna looked up from her intense stare at her boots. All of the younger girls' eyes fell on Alexia. She was their captain, and they needed her to navigate these choppy waters. Alexia blinked. No one had mentioned the possibility of the club not extending your contract. She knew you were able to go on a free at the end of this season, but she had assumed you would sign for Barça again, at least for a year or so. When she had seen those pictures of you in Germany, she thought something had looked a little off. Even through the pixels, you looked so … distant. You clearly did not look comfortable there. At first, she chalked it up to nerves about meeting your new teammates and guilt that you were caught in the act. But now … now she wasn’t so sure. There was a tightness to your face, your usually bright and animated eyes looked clouded, and a subtle sadness in your posture.

“N-no sé.” Alexia breathed, clearly dazed.

“Ella no puede irse.” Vicky insisted. You and Vicky had a unique bond, one that often drove the older girls insane with your misbehaviour.

“She doesn’t have a choice.” Kiera reminded her softly, bringing an arm up to comfort the youngster. “A club doesn’t have to offer anyone an extension if they don’t want to, for whatever reason. Y/N has to leave Barcelona if she wants to play football next season.” Keira had always been a voice of reason in the team; she always had an great understanding of the dynamics at play both on and off the pitch.

“Pero … por qué?” Vicky looked around.

“I’m not sure,” Keira answered honestly.

“Ella no se está transfiriendo?”

“Not willingly,” Keira smiled weakly.

It wasn’t until you stepped through Esmee’s front door that you realised you'd never actually been to her place before. You weren’t the best of friends; she usually hung out with Aitana, Ingrid, and Frido – the quieter girls on the team, quite the contrast to the lively bunch you, Cata, Pina, and Ona could be. Her flat was distinctly Esmee: neat and tidy but with a warm, inviting atmosphere. The shelves were littered with pictures of friends and family, and the walls were filled with colourful art. Her couch looked cosy, with a soft green throw draped artistically over the back. “Do you want some tea?” she asked kindly, smiling as she gestured to the kitchen. You returned her smile with a soft nod. Why was she being so nice to you? You had been a raging arsehole and deserved nothing but the harsh words Lucy had hurled your way.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I told the others you’re with me,” she said apologetically, handing you a steaming mug. You nodded again, your heart sinking a little. “They aren’t going to come round, at least not tonight.” Was Esmee a mind reader? How else would she know you were anxious about them coming over?

“How did you find me?” You asked sometime later. It had stumbled across your mind when she first appeared next to you.

“You mentioned that you like to go to the beach to think.” Have you mentioned that? “After training, I drove along the front until I saw you.”

You stared into your refilled mug; the steam curled upwards and danced in front of you. “I didn’t know you knew that,” you murmured. “I didn’t think anyone knew that.” It was true; you don’t think you had ever mentioned the long walks along the beach you liked to take in the early hours when you couldn’t sleep. The fresh air helped clear your mind, the movement of your body helped to get the blood flowing again, and the peaceful nature helped soothe your soul.

Esmee shrugged, a gentle smile on her lips. “I notice people.” Her words hung in the air between you, warm and comforting like the tea you held. You glanced up at her, feeling a flicker in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely. She nodded back at you, settling back against the sofa, sipping on her own mug.

Ona was conflicted. On one hand, she was immensely relieved that you were safe. You weren’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere or injured and in a coma, unable to identify yourself to anyone. The scenarios that had been playing in her mind for days were far worse than the reality. She had been losing sleep, haunted by the fear that something terrible had happened to you. Knowing you were okay was a weight off her shoulders. But on the other hand, a heavy sense of betrayal gnawed at her. You hadn't trusted her enough to tell her anything. She thought about all the times you had confided in each other, sharing secrets and dreams and comforting each other during tough times. She was your best friend, the one who had always been there for you. And yet, you ran a thousand miles away without a word, without a hint of where you were going or why.

The hurt she felt was deep and raw. How could you not have trusted her with your plans? Why didn't you believe she would understand or help you through this? Her mind swirled with questions and doubts, each one cutting deeper than the last. She wanted to be happy that you were safe, but the sting of your secrecy made it hard to fully embrace that relief. The bond you shared felt strained, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of abandonment.

And now you had disappeared again. When she finally stepped foot on the pitch, she had thought you would have been there too, waiting for training to start. But you were nowhere to be found. Ona scanned the field, her eyes darting from one familiar face to another, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Her heart sank with each passing moment. The coach blew the whistle, signalling the start of practice, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't focus, the worry gnawing at her insides. It must have been one of the worst training sessions she had had in a long time.

She had broken one of Alexia’s steadfast rules – no phones at training. Ona checked her phone obsessively, hoping for a message or a missed call from you. Nothing. The knot in her stomach tightened. She wondered if something had happened again or if you had chosen to vanish this time without a trace, leaving everyone behind to worry and speculate. Her phone buzzed.

Esmee: I’ve found her. She’s safe. I’ll bring her back to mine when she’s ready. E

She could have cried. She was fairly sure she had. Relief washed over her, mingling with the painful ache of betrayal. At least you were safe, and that was the most important thing. As she stood there, clutching her phone, Ona resolved to be patient. She would give you the space you needed, but she would also be there, ready to listen, when you were finally ready to talk.

You woke up the next morning in just as much of a daze. It took you a moment to realise you were on Esmee’s couch, the unfamiliar surroundings disorienting you even further. You hadn’t slept well. You tossed and turned as much as possible on the small couch, the spare bedding Esmee gave you tucked up around your chin. When you did sleep, it wasn’t much better; the nightmares that your mind dreamed up made you even more tired than before.

The quiet chatter from the kitchen pulled you from your not-quite sleep. “That’s up to her to say, Mapí,” Esmee said softly. You could imagine her face, the small apologetic smile and pinched eyebrows.

“Pero... sólo quiero saber, por qué? Ella de dijo algo anoche?” Mapí implored further. Of course, Mapí would be grilling Esmee. You could see her arms moving around as she spoke.

“Min skjønnhet, stop bugging Esmee” Ingrid cut in. You could envisage Ingrid’s soft smile and gentle hand moving comfortingly across Mapí’s shoulders.

“No, mi corazón. Necesito saber por qué se fue del puto país en lugar de hablar con nosotras.” she all but shouted, a guilty look flashing across her face as she registered her volume.

“María.” You didn’t need to be in the room to see Ingrid’s unimpressed look.

“Mapí, I’m not going to betray her trust like that. I found her, I took her home, she stayed the night. Ask her yourself.” You had never heard Esmee sound so tough. Your heart swelled at the thought of her protecting you. Sitting up slowly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and listened more intently.

Mapí sighed, the sound of a chair scraping back as she sat down. “Aunque estoy muy enojado con ella. No creo que pueda hablar con ella sin gritar.”

“I know,” Ingrid reassured her, her voice softer now but still firm.

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to finally face them. The floor felt cool beneath your feet as you walked towards the kitchen, the soft murmurs of their conversation growing louder.  As you entered the kitchen, three pairs of eyes turned to you. For a moment, no one spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words and raw emotions. Mapí stood up, her movements hesitant. “Por qué te fuiste sin decir nada?” Her voice was trembling, and you could see the effort it took for her to keep her tone steady.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “I...” you took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just needed out,” you confessed.

“Y pensaste que desaparecer sin decir una palabra era la mejor manera de hacerlo.?” Mapí’s frustration was evident, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. You had no words. You had no reason, no excuse for your behaviour.

Ingrid stepped forward, her face a mask of disappointment. “Do you have any idea what you put us through? We were worried sick, thinking something terrible had happened to you.”

“No puedes simplemente huir de tus problemas y dejar que nosotros recogamos los pedazos.” Mapí added

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at each of them, their disappointment bearing down on you, crushing you. You had never felt so small, so utterly ashamed of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible through your tears. “I never meant to hurt any of you. I was just... overwhelmed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We understand that you were struggling, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. We’re your friends, and we deserve better than to be left in the dark like that.” Ingrid sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We care about you, but you need to understand that your actions have consequences. You can’t just expect us to forgive and forget.”

“I don’t expect you to.” You refused to meet her eyes, gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop. “I really am sorry,” you whispered out, blinking rapidly to try to stop the tears. Feeling the weight of their words settling heavily on your shoulders, you knew you had a long road ahead of you, one filled with apologies and making amends.

Alexia couldn’t allow herself to feel all the emotions she was feeling. She had to be the strong one, for the team, the one who held everyone together when everything seemed to be falling apart. But deep down, behind the facade of strength she presented to the world, she was crumbling. Fear, anger, and grief churned inside her, threatening to consume her whole. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. But she couldn’t. She had to keep it together ... for the sake of those who depended on her.

Her training was one of the best she had ever done. She focused solely on the ball at her feet. Her passes were stronger, her shoots were faster, her tackles harsher. Each movement was driven by a mix of determination and frustration. Yet, no matter how much she threw herself into her sport, the ache in her heart remained. The weight of your absence hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the betrayal she felt. You had received some terrible news. News that had blindsided you into fleeing the country. And you hadn’t confided in her. That was what made her the most … angry wasn’t the right word. Sure, she was so incredibly angry with you for running away. Even when you had all the legal trouble last year, she had never been this angry with you. But now that anger mixed with pain. You had begged her, pleaded with her to treat you more like an adult. And the first thing you had done when times had gotten tough you had acted like a child. Rather than asking for help, reaching out to those around you … those who loved you like family … you had fled. No word, no explanation, no nothing. You left. You left the team. You left her.

As she sat in the solitude of her car, the weight of your actions bore down on her like a heavy burden. The betrayal cut deep, slicing through the layers of friendship and trust she had built with you over the years. She wanted to understand, to offer you comfort and support in your time of need. But the hurt ran too deep, leaving behind a bitter taste of resentment and disappointment. How could you have kept such a monumental thing from her? Had she made you think you couldn’t come to her? Why? Why? Why? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered and unresolved, adding to the confusion already in her heart.

Esmee graciously drove you back to the training ground to retrieve your belongings. Grateful that it was only an afternoon session, you silently thanked the heavens for the deserted car park. It was eerie, walking through the silent corridors and into the empty changing rooms. You tried very hard to not think about the events of yesterday, focusing on the speckled flooring and the wooden benches as you dug through your bag to get your keys. You would be back that afternoon, so the kit could stay in your locker for now. Your phone was dead, unsurprisingly, but you knew Lena would have spammed you in the meantime.

Returning home felt surreal. Evidence of someone's presence lingered—dishwasher humming, blankets neatly folded. The thought of Ona or Alexia, perhaps tidying in anticipation of your return, tugged at your heart. The house, once brimming with life, now felt suffocatingly empty. Each room echoed with your absence, the memories of laughter and warmth now hauntingly distant. Moving through the familiar spaces, you felt like a ghost, your steps muted by the plush carpet beneath you. Every corner held a fragment of the life you would have to leave behind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Yet, as you moved from room to room, a sense of disconnection enveloped you, as if you were a stranger peering into a life that no longer belonged to you.

Your phone buzzed, and buzzed, and buzzed. Lena’s texts were coming through.

L��: How was it?

L💚: Did u speak to them?

L💚: Is everything ok?

L💚: Schatz?

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Helloooooooo

L💚: Schatz?

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Ur really scaring me

L💚: Schatz ????

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Please

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Bitte

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: WHY THE FUCK HAS ALEXIA JUST TEXTED ME TO TELL ME U DIDN’T TELL THEM U WERE IN GERMANY????????

L💚: PLEASE TELL ME U TOLD THEM U HAD LEFT THE FUCKING COUNTRY

L💚: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Y/N !!!!!!!

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: PHONE ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!

The last message dated from only 30 minutes ago.

Incoming call from L💚

“Schatz, what the actual fuck?” Lena almost shouted down, the Facetime picking up her distress.

“I … I …” you felt a tear escape. “Fuck,” you said, harshly wiping it away.

“This makes me look so bad. Do you get that?” You did get that. To the team, she was now the girlfriend that aided and abetted your horrific actions. “I know. And I’m so, so sorry, Leibe,” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell them?” she questioned again.

“I wasn’t thinking. I needed … out. I needed to get away. And it was all so fast and …” your explanation trailed off, a weak defense against her justified questioning.

"That's not good enough, Schatz. They're your friends. Did you think they wouldn't care? Did you think they wouldn't help? I'm trying to understand," Lena's tone softened slightly.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I fucked up massively. And I have no explanation for any of it.”

Lena let out a frustrated sigh, her features creased with concern. “You can't run away from your problems, Schatz.”

“I know,” you said, the guilt weighing heavily on your heart. “And I promise I'll do better. I'll make things right, I swear.”

“Wirst du das tun, wenn wir jemals streiten? Wirst du auch einfach verschwinden?” Lena's voice trembled with uncertainty, her fear palpable.

“No, never,” you replied immediately, the sincerity in your voice echoing through the connection. “I won't ever leave you. I promise, Lena. I love you.” Lena scrutinised you for a moment, searching for truth in your eyes. Finally, a glimmer of hope flickered in hers.

“Okay ... just promise me you won't shut me out like that. We're supposed to be a team, remember?” Lena implored. You nodded earnestly. “And make this right with the team. You can’t leave like this, especially not with Ona and Alexia.”

Lucy's fury surged like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf her and everything around her. Never before had she felt such a consuming anger, a tempest of emotions raging within her. How dare you, she seethed inwardly, her clenched fists trembling with unrestrained fury. The words reverberated in her mind like a relentless echo, each syllable fuelling the fire of her indignation.

The betrayal cut deep, slicing through the bonds of trust with surgical precision. How could you drop that absolute bomb of information on the team and then just leave? The question echoed in Lucy's mind, a refrain of disbelief and betrayal. Her chest heaved with the unspoken words, the air thick with the tension of unresolved anger.

Every fibre of Lucy's being screamed for justice, for retribution against you, who had callously shattered their trust. The image of Ona’s face burned in her mind like a brand, a scar etched into her memory. She had looked so scared, so fragile and raw. But beneath the raging storm of anger, there lurked a profound sense of hurt, a painful vulnerability that threatened to consume her. How could you do that to everyone? Did they mean nothing to you? Did Ona mean so little to you? The wounds of betrayal ran deep. Lucy found herself adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions, struggling to make sense of the chaos that had engulfed their once-unified team. The anger burned hot and fierce, a relentless inferno that threatened to consume her from within.

The changing rooms didn’t hold their usual pre-session chatter. There wasn’t a loud, bright atmosphere as people greeted each other and slipped into their workout gear. There was no gentle undercurrent of excitement for the day. Instead, it was spookily silent. A few low murmurs were uttered here and there as people passed, but there was no conversation, no high-fives, or laughter.

You had arrived at training early, hoping to avoid any awkwardness. As you entered, the stillness was almost suffocating. Mariona was the only other person there, her cubby positioned directly opposite yours. You both went about your routines in an awkward dance of avoidance, her presence a constant reminder of the tension that now defined the space. Seeking refuge, you slipped into the bathroom, deliberately taking longer than usual. The routine tasks of washing your hands, tying back your hair, and applying suncream felt almost meditative, a brief respite from the silence that awaited you.

Moving like passing ships in the night, you and Mariona drifted around each other, the silence punctuated only by the rustle of clothes and the soft thud of locker doors.

“Entiendo,” Mariona said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm but firm, and your head whipped up in surprise. Her words hit you with the force of a confession, their gravity making you feel like she had just admitted to something far more serious. “I understand … I’m terrified, and I’m leaving voluntarily.” The admission hung in the air, starkly contrasting the heavy silence from earlier. “I can’t imagine what it's like for you.” A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to find the right words.

"I didn’t mean to hurt anyone," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The weight of your words was palpable, each syllable a testament to the regret you felt.

Mariona’s eyes softened, but the tension remained. “Yo sé eso.” You nodded at her words. Your mouth opened to say more, but you were interrupted by the door swinging open and Irene, Marta and Caro walking through the door. You snapped your mouth shut, dipping your head down and turning back to face your locker.

The trio's arrival brought with it a fresh wave of awkwardness. Their conversation, though low and cautious, filled the room with an attempt at normalcy. You focused on your locker, trying to steady your breathing, feeling the weight of their glances. Irene, always perceptive, gave you a fleeting look of concern but said nothing. Marta and Caro exchanged glances, sensing the tension but unsure how to address it.

Slowly, the rest of the team trickled in. It was obvious that you would be participating in this session in silence. No one made a move to talk to you, to even greet you. Not until they had the all-clear from Alexia. You waited until you were one of the final few in the room. Turning, you caught sight of Ona and Lucy whispering in the corner. Ona’s face was still slightly puffy, her eyes still red as she picked at her nails. Lucy’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, the corners turned downward in a scowl, her eyes flicking in your direction occasionally. Her body was taut, every muscle seemingly coiled and ready to spring. Shoulders squared and rigid, she stood with a stance that was both defensive and confrontational. Her hands balled into tight fists and trembled slightly with the force of her suppressed rage. Her breath was measured as if she was struggling to maintain control and not let the anger consume her entirely. You hurried out of the room, rushing to leave the couple to their conversation.

The training session was one of the most awkward and painful things you had ever experienced. You stood quietly, tucked away at the end of the line, as Jona started the warmups. Trying to avoid drawing any attention to yourself, you focused intensely on the basics: placing one foot in front of the other, the rhythm of your breathing, the movement of your body. You hoped this would keep your mind occupied and distract you from the palpable tension around you.

When it came time for partner work, you found yourself lingering silently, waiting for a few uncomfortable moments before turning to the trainers. With an odd number of outfield players, someone had to be paired with one of the staff. Today, it seemed like that someone would be you. It wasn't the arrangement itself that bothered you; rather, it was the underlying implications. There was an air of exclusion that hung heavy in the atmosphere, making you feel like an outsider in what was supposed to be a team activity. The most unbearable part of it all was the not-so-subtle looks being thrown your way. It was clear that people were talking about you during the water breaks. Jana would frequently glance in your direction, only to be slapped on the arm by Pina as if reminding her to be discreet. Vicky appeared to take a tentative step toward you, possibly to offer some form of solidarity but was quickly redirected by Bruna, who nudged her in another direction. These interactions left you feeling isolated and self-conscious. Every whispered conversation, every sideways glance, seemed to amplify your sense of alienation. You could almost hear the silent judgments. This wasn't just a training session; it was a stark reminder of your outsider status, of how much damage you had done.

The scrimmage at the end was no better. Thankfully, Jona had made the teams for the final 7 v 7. Was it karma that he had placed you on the left wing with Lucy as the opposing right-back? Maybe. But you couldn’t deny that you deserved every shove, every tackle that she gave you. She seemed to be toeing the line between unprofessionalism carefully. She never left a lasting mark on you, but you could tell each push was personal.

As the exercise progressed, Lucy's aggression became more evident. She was relentless, pressing you harder than she did anyone else on the field. Each time she shouldered you off the ball or slid in with a perfectly timed tackle, you could feel the underlying animosity. It wasn’t just about winning the ball; it was about sending a message. If it were a normal day, a day when you hadn’t messed up so unbelievably badly, you would have shoved back or shouted a little. But you couldn’t do that. Today, you were paying for your mistakes, and Lucy was more than willing to collect.

So, you took it. Every time you were sent to the ground, you didn’t question it. You didn’t wait for the whistle to be blown or hope that someone would extend a hand to help you back up. Instead, you popped back up, shook yourself off, and continued like nothing was wrong like your whole life wasn't crumbling around you. Each time you hit the grass, the sting of the impact seemed to echo your emotional bruises. But you refused to show it. You forced yourself to remain strong. You could break down again later. You pushed through the scrimmage with grim determination, aware of the eyes on you, aware of the judgment, but unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Despite the bruises and the rough treatment, you managed to stay on your feet more than you had thought you would do. You moved through the motions, running up and down the small pitch, crossing balls into the box, and tracking back on defence. But every action felt hollow, your mind a swirl of what-ifs and if-onlys. The final whistle came as a relief, yet also with a sense of dread. You knew the real battle was far from over. As Jona dismissed you for the day, you helped the trainers collect the equipment, hoping to delay your return and allow the others time to leave peacefully.

As you walked through the main doors back into the building, you noticed Alexia. Standing strong and unimpressed, leaning against the wall. You went to speak but thought better of it, nodding once and smiling uneasily instead. As you moved to walk past her, she stopped you, a warm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Nosotras necesitamos hablar.” Her voice was sharp, a firmness that was hardly ever directed at you … not since the trouble from last year. You nodded, your voice unable to work.

You followed her through the maze of corridors until you reached a seldom-used meeting room. Was it a coincidence that it was the same room you had the meeting with the State Officials in and first told them about Lena? Maybe, but you wouldn’t put it past Alexia to have chosen it specifically. “Sentarse.” Her voice held a harshness to it that cut through you like a knife. You deserve this. You deserve this. You hurt her. You hurt everyone.

“Since you wanted to be treated like an adult, we will talk like adults.” You nodded. God, why couldn’t you speak? It wasn’t like you hadn’t been in trouble before. Maybe it was because this was such a personal mistake. When you hadn’t completed the forms on time, yes, it had been your fault as you were the person responsible, but there was a somewhat clear-cut way to fix it. It was laid out for you. But this … this was something you needed to navigate like an adult. No one was going to help you this time.

Alexia pointed to a chair, and she pulled out her own. “Explicar.” Her command was simple, really. But where could you begin? Where should you start? You were clearly taking too long. Alexia huffed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at you. You sank into the chair, feeling the weight of her gaze bearing down on you. How could you explain the mess you had made? The knots in your stomach tightened as you struggled to find the right words. Despite your best efforts, your breath quickened, and your fingers had a mind of their own as they started to pick at the dry skin around your nails.

"I... I don't … I don’t know … where to start," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Alexia's expression softened ever slightly, but her impatience was palpable. She had never seen you look so young. Even when you were in the hell that was the legal trouble last year, or the wide-eyed teen that turned up on her doorstep at the request of the club, with a single suitcase and a dream.

"Just start from the beginning," she urged, her tone imperceptively gentler now. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves.

“I got a phone call from Paul … my agent,” you swallowed, staring harshly into the table, refusing to meet Alexia’s eye or even look in her general direction. “He said he had just got back from a meeting with the club.” You stuck to the facts, no emotions, no elaborations, just facts. You couldn’t … wouldn’t … cry if you stuck to the simple facts. “He said they couldn’t afford to keep me next season.” You stopped.

It was clear to Alexia that that was as much as you could say about the situation without breaking. You were so similar in that way. Both of you refused to cry in front of someone else, not unless you were truly comfortable and perfectly safe around them. Did you not feel safe around her anymore? Had she broken your relationship? No, she stopped those thoughts in their tracks. You had broken the relationship, you, not her … then why did she feel like she was to blame, at least partially?

Alexia watched you carefully, her heart aching at the sight of your pain. She wanted to reach out ... to comfort you. No. She held herself back. She knew that now wasn't the time for softness, not when there were hard truths that needed to be faced. “What about Germany?” Her voice was still icy, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. What about Germany? Germany was where Lena was. Germany was safe. Germany had Lena. You took another steadying breath, pushing down everything that was threatening to overwhelm you.

“Lena phoned me. She said either I went to her or she came to me. She had the Pokal final, so I went to her.” Another pause. “I needed to think. To breathe. To …” you trailed off. You let out a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Todavía no entiendo.” She admitted after a moment. You nodded, biting your lip so hard that you started to taste blood. A tear plopped onto the wooden table in front of you, another one joining quickly afterwards. “Por qué … why didn’t you tell someone? Anyone?” Alexia's question pierced through the haze of your thoughts, demanding an answer you weren't sure you had. Why hadn’t you done that? You honestly had no explanation for it. You just needed out. Out of your house. Out of Barcelona. Out of Spain. Every time you looked at your phone, all the emotions came flooding back like a tsunami. So, you didn’t look.

“I don’t know,” you croaked, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat.

“Eso no es lo suficientemente bueno.” Alexia's words were severe, a reminder that there would never be a good enough reason to justify your actions. You knew that. You knew that there would never be an excuse that could erase the hurt you had caused. You nodded. “Mírame,” she demanded after a moment. Your head remained down, but your eyes drifted up.

Alexia looked in pain. Not the physical pain – you had seen the uncomfortable look she had when she had tweaked her knee again or the scrunch of her eyebrows when an opposing player left her mark on her. This was different. This was emotional pain, etched into the lines of her face, shadowing the brightness of her eyes. As you watched her struggle to contain her emotions, the guilt pierced your heart tenfold. Your actions had caused her pain ... had shattered the fragile peace she had worked so hard to maintain. “Por qué no viniste a mí?” Once she asked that initial question, the floodgates opened. “No querías que te ayudara? I could have done something. I could have spoken to the club or something, anything. Em culpes?” She finished her sentence in Catalan. She thought you blamed her? You didn’t know what to say. The dam broke. Hot, fat tears rolled in a steady stream down your face.

“Never, Alexia. Never. I never, ever blamed you. I promise. It’s not your fault. It’s on me, it’s all on me. I’m not good enough for the club. For anyone. Of course, they want to renew you and Lucy over me. You deserve it so much more than me. This isn’t anyone’s fault but mine.” It was a mismatch of languages. Some sentences in English, some in Spanish and Catalan, and others in German. “I fucked up so badly. I don’t even know what I was thinking. I … I couldn’t ... I needed to … I don’t even know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You don’t deserve any of this. I fucked up so horrifically.” Alexia had never seen you so upset. It was clear she needed to intervene when she noticed your breathing quickening. You were hyperventilating now, apologies still streaming from your mouth. With a gentle hand, she reached out and placed it on your trembling shoulder. She didn’t think you even noticed it.

“Cariño. Breathe.” She instructed. Eventually, you slowed down, your breathing and heart rate returning to a more normal level. “Thank you for apologising,” she said when you had fully calmed down. “I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not hurt. And I’m not quite ready to forgive you. But I think there is more to this story than just you. You should not have been blindsided like that by the club. But your actions …” You nodded.

“I truly am sorry, Ale, um, Alexia.” You really wanted to hug her, but you knew you weren’t quite forgiven enough for that yet. She stood, offering a weak smile to you as she left the room, leaving you to your own thoughts.

I hope you enjoyed <3<3<3<3

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.2k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail a little less than a year ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it?”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“…I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“…Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“…You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother was dead, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw your way back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[macfrog]

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

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[yandere-kokeshi]

Hi! I hope you're having a nice day

I'm just wondering if you can make a yandere ghost or price with a s/o who has a other boyfriend fic?

Thanks<3

(if you don't have time for this, it's okay)

— Such Waste

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, suggested age gap, swearing, talks about reader who grew up in an abusive family; current-bf is abusive/has an unhealthy relationship; reader is slightly naive, violence, and detailed blood..

A/N: this one was pretty hard for me to finish so sorry if it's dull or simply not well; I'm not very happy with it lmao. Enjoy! :]

Inserting the key into the door with a small click!, and opening it to your usually, scattered apartment, you sighed — heavily. 

Today was grueling. Not only was your work office incredibly demanding, but it was possibly draining what was left of your very soul. Your bones and stiff muscles were hurting. Begging for you to get more sleep than having 2 – 4 hours of naps every day.

You took off your shoes by the front door and put your belongings on the table; re-footing your steps backwards, to put your keys on the bookshelf for remembrance. Though, you were rudely interrupted as your phone buzzed multiple times, and you let out yet another sigh. 

In your bones, you had a feeling — an immediate feeling of who it was.

Grabbing your phone in the back pocket, you whisked it out and typed in your passcode before seeing multiple, if not, tons of missed calls and text messages from your current boyfriend.  

Liam: Are you srsly ignoring me? It was a joke. — sent at 8:23 pm

Liam: baby, come on. You passed your break. Just answer me. — sent at 8:57 pm

Liam: answer the fucking phone! Are you dumb? Pick up the phone!!!! — sent at 9:21 pm

Liam: if you don’t answer, it's over. — sent at 11:48

You rolled your eyes, feeling anger rise in you again. You chose to send a small message. Who would’ve thought the blue-eyed, blond hair and a tooth gap combo of a man would be the best fit? Not you, apparently. 

You: Got caught up with work. Sorry, we can talk more about this tomorrow. I’m gonna head to bed. Night.  — sent at 12:19 pm

While Liam was a nice guy, he was slightly controlling and immature. Always wanted to know who or where you were, why you were hanging out with people he didn’t know, and if you loved getting unwanted attention. Sometimes, fights got so bad that your elderly neighbors had to call the police to separate the two of you for a few nights. 

Poor Lucy. Wonder how she still deals with you being next door.

Groaning, you put your phone back into your back pocket, before your hands rubbing over your face in exhaustion. 

Not only was your boss extremely cranky and rude today, but everyone was on edge due to his behavior. You couldn’t even talk to your coworkers without them using the excuse of ‘I have to leave’ whenever he steps foot into the room. Plus, the stress of bills, your current boyfriend, and the harassment was getting to your breaking point. 

God, you hated this job. But it paid your bills. That’s all you cared about, right?

You scoffed, feeling your back prick and pop in places that sounded like it shouldn’t. Looking at the fridge in your kitchen, you slumped over and walked over to it, talking to yourself as you opened it, reaching down for the leftover pizza box that you didn’t get to finish last night.

Barely eating a few pieces, you were already heading down the hallway to your bedroom, peeling off your sweaty work clothes. However, something stopped you in the tracks that made your heart jump right out of your chest and into your mouth. 

Roses. Roses were on your bed. Sure, it was beautiful. The lilac, reddening color shining in your room was gorgeous. 

But who put them there?

You stared at them. Who the hell was in your apartment? Was it maintenance? Maybe a surprise gift they gave out for people living here in the poor-run down apartments?

No. It couldn’t be. Rarely do they ever give you things — especially flowers. What and who the fuck?

“Do you not like them?” 

You jumped at the sudden rough voice, dropping your pizza on the floor and whipping around, seeing a giant man sitting in your favorite chair in the corner of your bedroom; wearing a thick, menacing skull balaclava, piercing your skin like a knife. 

“Who… the fuck are you!” you shouted. Your feet stepped back, watching him as he repositioned himself — his elbows now resting on the armrests of the chair, and leaning forward into the obvious comfy chair. You couldn’t help but judge the guy. Who wears a skull mask other than on Halloween? Was he a killer? Going to slice you—!

“I would think you’d know that with the stuff I gave you.” 

A chill ran down your spine. So was this — no, this was the guy. 

The man who left your favorite chocolate on your window seal each morning, the sweet notes of compliments, sometimes bearing suggestions on things you should wear that day. And the huge bouquet on the front door, which was soon transported to your dinner-table, that was left every Friday.

Oh, my g-d.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, finally looking at his outfit, seeing the Britain flag sewed on his Khaki pants. It’s military. What the fuck did you do? “Did I break the law?” you hushed out, terrified at the man.

However, the man in front of you snickered. “Doubt you’d have the guts to break the law, sweetheart.” 

“I– what?” you looked at him dumbfounded. Who the fuck was this guy? 

“Ya’ heard me, only have a speeding ticket,” he remarked, making you dart your eyes toward behind you to the hallway, seeing the front door before back at him. “Pretty impressive for your age, if ya’ ask me.”

Your brain short-circuited. “How… do you know that?” you posed, feeling your breathing quicken. “I have so many questions,” you added. But yet, the man stared at you with his darkening eyes. Didn’t help that your room was dimmed. You really should’ve fixed that light. 

He stared at you before speaking up. “Bet ya’ do. I’m all answering them as long as you get rid of that cunt of a boyfriend.” 

“E… ‘cuse me?” you stammered, taking another step back. But, your anger got ahead of you; your eyebrows knitted against each other. “I can assure you that he treats me well.”

Though, the man just scoffed and stood up as your throat closed at the sight of the man. Why the fuck was he so tall? “Sure. Keep imagining that sick fantasy image of yours, and you’ll wake up in the hospital with a broken nose.”

You wanted to defend yourself. But he was right. Breaking your index finger hurts like a bitch. The frequent fights were exhausting. The last time you tried talking with Liam about visiting a close friend an hour away ended up with his hand reaching out towards your wrist, twisting it with a large sprain and a large hospital bill. 

The yelling. The self-blame. The hours of constant harassment with texts and calls. The horrible smell of booze. You really fucked up your love life, didn’t you? 

“But,” he started, a thick accent voicing in as he stepped closer into your direction. “I can treat you better, love. Someone who won’t hurt ya. Treat you like the doll you are.”

You narrow your eyes at him, nervously biting at the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to continue. 

“I’ll make sure to treat you well. Something you haven’t been lucky to feel. Your parents were mean towards you, no?” he asked questionably, and it made your heart drop to your stomach. “But, I can take care of you; better than anyone has.” 

So many questions raced through your mind as your eyes darted at the floor then back toward the man. Like a rabbit, you stiffened. Confused. Body shaking as the predator approached. 

“I don’t… even know who you are,” you replied, tightening your hand into a fist. Your heart was speeding, hands and legs shaking with fear. Your throat stiffened. He could clearly see it — and yet somehow, his eyes got softer; those brown pupils having a sad and apologetic look. Almost like a dog trying to comfort you. 

You don’t know you’re crying until you feel a gloved thumb wipe them away, causing you to flinch. Realizing that the man was now in front of you, you tried to step back, but your ankle hit the bedroom wall, securing you in a close habitat. 

But, with everything going on, you didn’t have the energy to push him away nor look up at him. Continuing to look at the floor as your mind circled around on whom the fuck was this man? 

“Look at me, will ya’?”

You hesitated. Didn’t reply. But as he said your name, a shiver traveled down your spine, and you looked at him – his predominant features coming in. Even with your anxiety and fear swirling in your stomach, you looked at the creases in his eyebrows, the clashing scars near his temple, eyes, and brows. His jarring eyes surrounded by black eyeshadow, seemingly gentler, almost like they were trying to welcome you into a trap. 

You stare up at him with half-lidded eyes. And with a gasp, you felt his hand take your chin, his palm almost eclipsing the lower half of your face, and turn your head right into the direction he wanted you to: staring at him in the eyes.

“I promise. I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassures, though, it doesn’t help as more tears drowned down on your behalf. 

And yet, you couldn’t fathom his words. 

“I don’t–” you started, taking a deep and sharp inhale, “–trust you, I don’t even know your name. How can I know you’re… not some, serial killer?” your question was weak. And stupid. But it was the only thing you could think of out of the bluster. 

His eyes narrowed at your reply before answering at your ‘plea’. 

“I suppose that’s a start,” he huffs.

You looked at his eyes, before narrowing down at the mask. And clearly, by your eyes and non-answer, he nodded at your invisible ask. 

Stepping back, the man’s hands traveled to lift the mask upwards. He revealed the point of his chin, the skin equally rough, like his demeanor. 

He didn’t stop from continuing, exposing more of his lower lip. The skin there was rugged and scarred, little creases in the flesh. Scars that made your heart thud awkwardly. At his cupid’s bow, where you saw a huge scar, it made you gasp quietly out of wincing. The thick mark going upward on his left lip, so callused and rough. It looks like it still hurts.

Finally, he pulled the mask fully off, revealing his natural-resting face, thick eyebrows, and the two large scars right above his filled brows. It helped a bit that he revealed himself, but you were still unsure how to… understand the situation.

He said your name, and it made you look at him. “Rest your worries when you’re by me, yeah?”

Those words fell into your stomach and twisted like a towel being squeezed. Though, somehow, in a way, you felt safer. A hesitant silence settles between you both, before you decide to speak up.

“Y–ou won’t hurt me?”  

Those stunning brown eyes take a moment to gaze into yours, searching something deeper in your meaning. Instead, all you could muster was eye contact that kept flickering to the floor and trying to calm your quickened breathing.

“What kind of man would I be if I did that, hm?” his voice is airy, tone-flimsy when asking his question. 

You swallowed thickly, “I want to know your name.”

“You do know my name, sweetheart,’” he coldly corrected you, “—use that smart brain of yours.”

Seconds blurred by you, trying to think – imagine what could or would be his name. But nothing came up. Nothing came to your brain, which, the man in front of you, hummed in acknowledgment at the state of your confused state. 

“Shame you don’t remember,” he started, a smirk curling on his face. “It’s Simon.”

Memories you didn’t know at the time came forward. 

Many things are given by that name — your favorite fast food being delivered to your home after a bad day, bouquets in expensive vases being delivered every week; cards given with clothes and money. And somehow, your insurance was now covering things they didn’t. 

Oh, and let’s not forget about the lingerie being sent. A note of: I hope to see you wear this tonight. Signed with initials: SR. 

At first, you thought it was Liam – but he was a cheapskate. Never liked spending money, especially on you. 

Your eyes widened, a bubble trapping itself in your throat — it was him. Police didn’t help, saying something along the lines of, ‘until they hurt you, we can’t do anything’. But when did they ever help? 

“So… what do you want, then?” you whisper, suddenly breathless with this proximity. You can see the gold-brown of his eyes clearly, the halo of honey flecks that cover the circumference of his pupil. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks, so pretty and… oddly feminine. 

“You.”

And just as he rasped that word, the banging on your front door started. The familiar yelling of Liam drowned out your thoughts, and his screaming made the two of you snap your head in the direction of the front door. 

He yelled out your name, and you flinched. Already feeling the bruising grabs, the constant screaming where your ears ring for hours. Oh god, what the hell did you do? 

“You– need to leave,” you ushered out, hands and legs shaking for the splinting images that shot through your head. 

He was banging on the door, jamming his fists; the handle being shaken so hard that it rattled stuck. It was all too much. 

Simon said your name, but you shook your head. Denying his existence. Danger was near, nobody would help save you. He needs to leave, he needs to leave, heneedstoleave—!

He grunted your name louder, and you looked at him with teary eyes; the small rivers turning into full tsunami’s. You couldn’t think. Breathe. He was here. Going to hurt you. He was going to die. So were you.

The door broke, the familiar thundering footsteps shook from across the house. And before you could react, Simon pushed you behind him — shielding you away from your abuser.  

“You—!” Liam screamed into the bedroom, a bottle of beer in one hand and his other clenched into a fist; his blue eyes burning into your stomach. You choked out a sob as he stepped further, but stopped at the sight of Simon. For once, Liam looked retched at his own thoughts. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled, and the man only narrowed his eyes at Liam; challenging him with his height and quiet demeanor. 

“Get the fuck out.” his rough and dark voice sent shivers down your neck, making every hair stand up.

Liam scoffed, a plethora of curses voiced out, before he shut up. Your eyes narrowed, and as you looked at his shocked face, you saw a gun in view next — Simon’s finger gripping the trigger, aiming it at Liam’s head. 

Your heart leapt out. Fight or flight mode flicking on.

“Come on, man– we, we’re playing. Right—?” he chuckled out, and Simon grunted. 

In the dimmed room, you can see his high cheekbones and the absolute rage that is evident on his face, even hiding behind his mask. His hands are clenched around the gun tightly, finger curling even tighter around the trigger. 

“I’m not going to ask again; leave the fucking apartment.” 

Liam falsely chuckled, “O-or what? You’ll shoot me? Doubt you have the balls, my… guy.”

Within seconds, the gun went off — making you scream, closing your eyes, and covering your ears. Your fingernails scraped at your ears, making them ring. It hurt, not a single thought. Oh god, what the fuck happened? 

“—uck!” was all you could muster before you knelt to the ground, wrapping arms around yourself; teeth clenching down your lips as you felt— tasted blood. 

After a few minutes – or seconds – you open them up and find Liam, leaning on the wall for support, bleeding through his arm. There was so much– on the floor, on his hands. His eyes were widened, looking at the man in front of you; anger yet fear rising. 

He started hiccuping — more blood dripping down to the floor as he clenched his nearly wound. 

“Don’t ever let me see you again.”

Simon’s rough voice of threatening sent shivers down your body. Your breath hitched. Your body starts to shake as your eyes widen. Simon’s threat was enough for Liam to nod instantly, giving you one look before running out; not giving you a second look as it may not leave tonight with his face intact. 

You were about to say something, but the man cleared his throat and looked down at your shaking form. “Ya’ okay?”

You looked up at him, slowly nodding. In return, he said nothing, making you feel his eyes take in every detail of you. To your face and pupils, to your shaking legs and ragged breath. Yet, having never meeting you before, he gladly handed over his hand down to you. 

Looking up at his scarred hand, you hesitantly looked at it — large fingers, nails scratched and clear hangnails. You didn’t know what to do, other than grab it and strand up with his help. 

“Get your things.”

Your eyes narrowed, breath heaving. “Why?”

 He looked at you, brown pupils dilated. They were so feminine– pretty. His breath hitched, and a large hand grasped your shoulder. 

“Cause’ you’re gona’ be coming with me, forever.” 

—

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© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[sunshine-sunni]

You, Me, and a Screen.

—★! NSFW, MDNI, AFAB! Ghost likes to show off what he's got.

—★! Part 2 here!! Part 3 here!! Part 4 here!!

Alright, We've all heard about y/n having only fans and Ghost going absolutely nuts for her but what if the roles were reversed?

You're a dedicated worker, or perhaps more accurately, a merciless taskmaster, given the number of hours you put in at your job every week. Time off was a luxury you weren't granted, so your apartment became your only sanctuary for any sense of peace. As soon as your feet crossed the threshold, all the tension in your body melted away. The comforting scent of home enveloped you, welcoming you after a long day.

Your uniform is swiftly tossed aside, forgotten in mere moments - soon you're in more comfortable clothes, a pair of shorts, and a simple t-shirt. Lunch went bust earlier when one of your coworkers needed someone to cover their shift, leaving you hungry. So now you're lounging in bed with your laptop, snacking on your favorite bag of chips while aimlessly browsing various websites, searching for something to watch or any form of entertainment really.

An accidental click causes a popup ad to disrupt your screen, flashing and intruding on your space. The damn ad blocker hardly ever works. You close it, thinking it was just a minor disturbance, only to have another one immediately take its place. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you go to close the tab once more, but something on the page catches your eye and stops you.

You pause, eyes narrowing - you stare intently at the dark laptop screen. Suddenly, you see it again - movement. It's a live stream. A chat window pops out and now a man's figure steps out from the darkness in the background. The camera only shows him from the neck down, but it's clear that he is a man based on the grunt he makes as he sits down. His face remains hidden, but you can see tattoos peeking out from under his long-sleeved black turtleneck.

He remains silent, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. The chat room erupts with excitement at the mere sight of him, begging and pleading for him to perform for their eager eyes. His cargo pants reveal a visible tent, adding to the anticipation of the audience who came for this very show.

"What a needy bunch." His words resonated with a deep rumble, colored by a distinct British accent.

A chill runs down your spine as his voice fills the room, captivating you completely. He lets out a deep chuckle as his large hand rests on it, hidden beneath the fabric. You lean in closer, fixated on the bulge that visibly twitches under his touch.

Ding

A donation of 100 pounds comes through with an attached message: "Stop teasing, GD!"

GD? You're puzzled by the username "GD" and scroll down, hoping to find some information about them. You expect to see a bio, but instead, there's nothing - no age, name, or any other details. The only thing present is their username: "Going Dark".

"Donating won't make me go faster, sweetheart," GD responds with a sly tone, causing the audience in the chat to protest. Yet, donations continue to pour in, raining down on the enigmatic man with seemingly never-ending wealth.

He pauses, leaning back in his chair as he slides his hand down his cargo pants and into his trousers. A pleasurable groan escapes his lips as he starts to palm himself. The audience is captivated, waiting for the moment when he will finally reveal himself. He takes his time, slowly pulling out his length from within his pants.

The head of his penis is an angry red, oozing with precum. He may not be long, but he makes up for it in width and girth. He could easily fill you up and leave you feeling him inside you for days.

Your mouth goes dry and your eyes stay glued to the sight before you - him. You've seen penises before, but never one like this. It's almost… intimidating. How can someone have such a thing just attached to their body? Your gaze follows his every movement, from the delicate way he rubs the tip to the contented hums he makes when someone donates. This man is like a jack-in-the-box, waiting to pop out once he's ready.

He keeps moving his hips, pumping into his hand with varying rhythms as he gasps for air. One moment he's going at a slow and steady pace, not holding back on his moans of pleasure. And then he switches to a relentless speed, chasing a pleasure that only he knows, his arousal leaving slick traces on his hand with each movement, the sound of wetness accompanying this pace.

GD gets closer, you can see his hips falter and shudder before rising to meet his hand. He pushes himself to the edge, then slows down and falls back into a rhythm, ready to start over again. Your panties are drenched at this point from watching him pleasure himself. The way he moves is incredibly erotic, even though all he's doing is stroking himself.

Ding

250 Donation: "GD, give us a money shot?"

There is no verbal response, but the way he grips his cock tightly tells you he read the message. GD quickens his pace, tighter and harder, as if trying to chase away any thoughts or distractions. His breaths are ragged and heavy, his movements becoming sloppy and uncoordinated as his hips demand more. He leans back in the chair, moaning in pleasure as his cock explodes, releasing thick ropes of cum that cover his chest beneath his clothes.

He remains still, not making a sound or uttering a single word. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the only indication of his exhaustion. Just when you think the performance is over and he has used up all of his energy, he suddenly sits up, his face still concealed. He leans over and grabs something from the desk nearby. To your surprise, it's a bottle of lubricant and a pocket pussy.

The anticipation built, and soon he was ready for another round. His member stood tall once again, eager to continue the pleasure. The previous climax faded into insignificance, as he was already eager for more. "I know you all want this, wishing it was your cunt," GD taunted with a smirk, his husky voice echoing in your ears. "What a bunch of naughty girls.."

GD coated his hands with lubricant, adding even more moisture to his already slick cock, making it shine in the dim light. He took his time, moving his hands up and down his shaft in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He gave attention to his balls, squeezing and massaging them gently as they were heavy with cum.

With a joyful hum, he set the lube aside and grasped the pocket pussy firmly with both hands. He teased the opening with his tip, gliding up and down its artificial folds, trying hard to suppress a moan. GD's self-control was reaching its limit; he couldn't resist any longer. He was on the verge of entering, penetrating this sinful paradise, tip just about to push through.

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[hobicakess]

PLAYING DANGEROUS | (one)

summary: It's been almost three years since Jack in the box was caught, and no one could make him talk. No one knew his story, and what drove him to become the monster he was today. That is until you're assigned your first story. What makes you so lucky?

rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)

pairings: Journalist!Reader x Criminal!JungHoseok x CEO!Kim Namjoon x Detective!MinYoongi.

warnings: warnings: no thoroughly edited, EW Ai , character death (nothing to cry about), black/plus sized coded reader, talks of murder, talks of torture, corporate evilness, violence, Mc reads hobi to filth, yandere characters, possessive/obsessive behavior, short hair namjoon (yes that's a warning), one maknae introduction, maknae helping cause chaos, cigarettes, Yoonie is an angry kitty this chapter, bratty mc, mc is kinda a bitch (a bad one at that), unhinged serial killer hobi (joker vibes tbh) , yoongi hates his job, namjoon loves his job (he gets to piss you off everyday) SMUT— nothing too crazy , choking, sub mc , missionary, mating press , man handling (yummy)

a/n: HEYYY omg this took me so long to write and it's just a little over 2k words... LMAO I suck i know, but we're getting there I pinkie promise. I really hope you all enjoy this and constructive criticism is welcome!!

TAGLIST: @sumzysworld @bbgniecyy @paramedicnerd004 @heartsbr0ken @grltwin @superbbananananana @secfir @darkuni63 @thisladysperspective @p34rluv @secfir @sarcastic-cookie @coffeedepressionsoup @ot7nem @italiekim @cynicalbitch666 @jalexd @whenthebeatdrop-beatdrop

2 MONTHS BEFORE JACKS ESCAPE

Kim multimedia station.

The place of business was always busy and there was never not anything to be done, Endless reports and stories in need of being written, the podcast teams always chattering about the hottest topics.

KMMs was a journalist's dream — your dream.

You were a known face around the company both online and in person. A pretty foreigner who was damn good at her job and that made you favored by the late CEO Kim. You were always hand picked by him to attend press conferences in his favor. He treated you kindly, allowing you into a large world of business pulling strings to get you the best stories helping you— a once broke freshly graduated English major climbing up in the world of reporting.

It's only been three months since CEO Kim passed away and the company was changing fast. You were grateful that you weren't a part of the many that were fired and replaced by new faces and AI, and you were now noticing how low the viewers were on podcasts, social media and blogs.

KMM was dying out very slowly and that meant you might go away with it. You were dedicated to your work, and the company that helped you become the person you were today.

And you were willing to do anything to not be forgotten.

Sleeping was not on the agenda right now.

A quick double tap to a cell phone showed an awfully bright screen reading 4:40 am. You had been lying in your bed mind racing while staring at your wall for the past hour and a half.

Jack in the box.

Rolling out the tangled bedsheets and arms you pull on a large T-shirt that'd been discarded a long with the other items of clothing on the floor shuffling towards the desk in the corner of your room. Laptop already open from your previous research when you pull out a pack of cigarettes from your drawer before plunging deep into the web. Your mouse clicks every site as your pen moved furiously taking in all the information you can about said serial killer.

“On May 14th, 2018 Serial Killer Jack In The Box was finally caught after a murdering spree in Seoul. The killings of ordinary outgoing individuals taken with a quick swipe of a knife and a long torture method.”

"Before his kills Jack likes to taunt his victim. He ironically sends them a Jack in the box to let them know they're next. The next few days said victim lives in constant fear, looking over their shoulder, leading the mostly known outgoing victim to slowly isolate themselves from loved ones in fear of them being hurt, eventually this leads to insomnia and in some cases hallucinations and histera. Then Jack disappears for a while making them think they're finally okay and he's gone until he wasn't."

The scoff that left your lips echoed through the quiet room, breathing out the nicotine smoke from your Cancer stick.

So Jack was an antisocial loser and took out his lack of social skills on people who could.

"No one knows of Jack's real identity. Police have reported that the man has lived many lives and has owned many faces for the past 11 years. Reporters have tried their hardest for the past 4 years to get a one on one interview with the man but unfortunately he refuses to talk only resorting to violence."

A reporter says he went for a handshake and left with two missing fingers.

Another says he watched the man bang his head on the wall hard enough to bleed when he asked the murderer's real name.

A broken arm??

“Fuck” you huff flicking the ash at the butt of your cigarette. You stare at the mugshot photos supplied at the end of the article. Dark wide eyes, shaggy black hair falling over his forehead, the piercings sticking from the bridge of his nose eyebrow and top lip.

The look definitely screams psycho but…. he was kinda hot. It took everything in you not to go and click the endless fanfiction that you stumbled upon.

A pair of warm lips press onto your shoulder causing you to jump. Turning to look over your shoulder at the shirtless sight of Kim Namjoon.

“We have to be up in four hours, baby, come back to bed.”

You hum into his embrace with a pout stubbing out the cigarette into the pink ashtray beside your computer. “Did you know Jack went through eight lawyers? Until one day he randomly called Kim Seokjin. That high profile guy from the law firm we're partnered with? they must know each other”

Though Namjoons attention was not on the words that were leaving your mouth. Hands wander all over your body while placing kisses on your neck, and cheeks.

“He literally bit the finger of the last reporter clean off. Like do you know how much force you have to put into that? I think he reads too much gothic liter—”

Cutting you off with a quick grab of your jaw turning your head to connect his plump lips to own. Pulling away with a cheeky dimpled smirk, “I’m not sure how I feel about you talking about another man.”

“Well you shouldn't feel any type of way because you aren't MY man.”

You squeal when you're lifted up from your chair and throw over a broad shoulder. He huffs when he throws you onto the memory foam comforter, your (his) shirt lifting up your thighs exposing your bare cunt. Immediately his big body was hovering over you as he slightly pressed his body weight onto you.

“Get off you dick” pushing and smacking his tan shoulders but that did nothing for you at this moment. “Well I'm trying to put it in you.”

He bullies your legs up over his shoulders as he taps his hard piece against the wetness between your thighs. “If something happens to me during this case I swear” choking on your words as he slowly but surely presses his thick head into your cunt.

“Fuck — may the man himself strike me down.”

Hand reaching to grip your throat smashing your lips together. Luckily your mind left the thoughts of the serial killer , the only thing on your mind right now was Namjoon and his ridiculously large cockm

It wasn't weird for you to obsess over your assignments to the point where it was all you thought about. Everyone does that.

Though this one you couldn't seem to finesse your way out of. Without the help of the late Kim you'd have to pull your own strings to get what you wanted and now that Namjoon was in charge he loved making your life harder.

“Y/n.”

Your head snaps up from your laptop hand stalling from moving on your notepad face to face with gorgeously pale Detective Min Yoongi.

“Yoonie” you smile, motioning for him to sit in front of you. He looked different from when you last saw him all the months ago, more tired and cat- like you guessed it was from the heavy responsibilities that came with the position as Chief of Seouls police department

“Did you just call to look at me?”

“Sorry it's just been . . a while” you push the large Iced Americano towards him as a peace offering. He gladly accepted it with an amused raise of an eyebrow, “You know I just wait for your call.”

“The phone works both ways” you internally wince , you sounded like an estranged father talking to his child.

“What do you want?” A frown spread across your face and lips, shutting your laptop. “I can't call an old friend for a friendly coffee date.”

You waited for his answer as he took his time generously drinking from his plastic cup. With a smack of his lips he sat the cup down leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You only call me ‘Yoonie’ when you want something” eyes scanning over the scatter of papers and notes taking up your side of the table.

“This must be serious”

Hands going to clasp under your chin you sigh, cutting the bullshit. “Three years ago you were the lead investigator on the Jack in the box case which brought you from rookie detective to Chief of police.”

“I was wondering if you could help old friend out tell me what you know about-”

“No.” He cuts you off with little to no thought.

“No? Why not? This isn't our first rodeo Min”

There were plenty of times Yoongi helped you with stories without a second thought. He'd give you case files, witnesses, and anything you needed but why not now?

“Anybody but him”

You scoffed at him, irritation rising in your body. “I need this story not anyone else.”

“Well I can't help you, princess.”

“That's bullshit!” Your voice raises causing a couple people around you to turn their attention towards the two of you. He stood up, chair scraping the floor, slamming a few dollars on the table. “Call me if you need anything else.”

Turning on his heel he leaves you sitting there in your slowly growing rage. You quickly hopped from your seat chasing after him, managing to catch up with his long strides. “Yoongi slow down dammit”

He twirls around grabbing onto you by your arm, “Who gave you this story.

“Namjoon he-” you whine as his grip tightens on your arm as his eyes slit. The angry red scar on his face makes his angry stare look even more intimidating. “You don't understand how dangerous Jack is. Just because he's behind bars doesn't mean he won't have people on the outside that will whack you for being a nosy reporter.”

He softens his hold, lifting his hand to rub your cold cheek. “If something happens to you. . .” He shakes his head letting you go.

“Sit this one out Y/N I don't want to see you in our precinct mortuary.” with that he walks away disappearing into the crowd.

You sniff doing the walk of shame back to the Café sitting back in your seat with your head in your hands

Detective Min Yoongi.

“Excuse me Ma’am” the blonde barista came over holding a box of blueberry doughnuts which happened to be your favorite. “It's on the house.. everyone saw your fight with your boyfriend, manager said this might help cheer you up.”

“Oh! Thank you but he wasn't my boyfriend, just a work colleague.” You tried to defend yourself but the sympathy in his eyes only grew so you accepted the treat with another thank you. “What is your name? I've never seen you here before.”

A soft brightens his pretty face, eyes scrunching slightly adding to the prettiness of his face. “Park Jimin, Ma’am.”

MEANWHILE

The buzz of the electrically wired door opening didn't alert the man that stayed deep in the corner of his cell. “Long time no see.”

“Why now?” the visitor asks, “After all this time you choose now.”

He giggled, the haunting sound bouncing off the walls. “Did you bring what I asked for”

The visitor threw the pictures and the box of cigarettes into the cell. “Answer my question.”

“It's been three longgg years.” He finally answered, moving from his corner to pick up the photos. “Tell me is she this gorgeous in person?”

“Just for her?”

“And I need to stretch my legs” he laughs louder this time the high pitched sound echoed even through the thick steel door that kept him locked in tight.

Jack was ready to play more games

©hobicakesss , please don't repost or steal my work. don't be a loser

[bellyyearner]

Office life at 550+ lbs

Word count: 1061

Extreme obesity, mobility issues, work environment, feedee perspective

No gender mentioned POV

Being a working feedee is hard sometimes, especially when your gain slows down to a snails pace despite how much you've been eating. In the last 3 years you've only put on another 40lbs, but you have an easy job that pays the bills and allows you to live comfortably so you can't complain too much. The only part of this job you hate though, is the journey inside.

As you exit your car you can already feel the sweat forming between your rolls, it's been taking a few tries lately to stand up after swinging your hefty left leg out onto the concrete. You've even questioned if you should bring your car to the shop to check the suspension just in case your fat ass crashing back down onto the driver seat a half dozen times a day might be causing issues. At the very least you were thankful for your personal parking spot only being about 250ft from the elevator up to the office floor. Only 100ft from the buildings entrance and the cold AC running throughout the building.

And so you begin your slow pendulous waddle, thighs scraping against each other with every step, causing so much friction your jeans always have a distinct wear pattern only a couple weeks after buying them. One foot infront the other you waddle, repeating the laboured motion as your breath grows heavy and your belly slaps against the tops of your thighs. Halfway to the door now you hear the clicking of heels against the concrete, 2 interns whizzing by you without a word. You can't even imagine moving as fast as they do, or why they'd even want to move that fast in the first place. Your sense of urgency left you a couple hundred pounds ago.

Another 20 heavy steps later you reach the door, a mailman on the other side who was about to leave opens it for you, clearly staring at your mammoth size and brow covered in sweat. You make it inside and can barely catch your breath to say thank you before he's gone. The AC graces your hot sweaty skin and you feel relief, you spot your double wide chair HR had fought to get installed for you last year, and plop down on it with a huff. All there's left to do is catch your breath for a couple minutes, walk 60 steps through the lobby, turn right, walk 10 steps to the elevator, a minute of standing, and another 30 steps to your cubicle. Where you will then chow down on a couple snacks you brought and rehydrate before looking at spreadsheets and grazing on more food for 8 hours. A routine you had grown so accustomed to that it became second nature.

You look at the handle bar bolted into the wall and remember when you found it insulting, but now it was a necessity. Gripping the bar you start to stand hoping a second try isn't needed because of how many people were in the lobby. You can feel your heart quake and your knees whine but thankfully you hauled your lard laden ass off the seat in one attempt.

The second journey begins and the heavy waddle ensues, gut bouncing, thighs scraping, mouth open and breathing loudly enough that you're attracting attention. You try to ignore their stares but it's only fueling your appetite, already making a mental list of what you're going to grab from the vending machine once you get off the elevator. A few minutes later you round the corner and take the final few steps only to notice a sign on the elevator. You can't read it yet but you can feel your heart sinking already. It can't be right? They would've told you. They would've sent an email or a text. "Out of order".

Panic sets in, you can't climb 4 flights of stairs, you bought a one story house for good reason, you haven't had to climb more than a curb in years at this point. Your mind is growing frantic as you feel the burden your legs are under grow stronger, anticipating if you're really gonna be expected to climb the stairs.

Your phone buzzes, a text from Susy in HR

"Hey! I'm so sorry 'your name', this just happened like an hour ago and I totally forgot to tell you. The elevator is having some major issues and we don't know when it'll be fixed. I dug up that old paper work you filed 6 months ago about work from home and I'm gonna push it through asap! I've sent Lucy downstairs with a work laptop for you to bring home, just take a couple days off while we get all the paperwork in order."

Relief washes over you as you hear the distinct clicking of heels coming down the stairs. You steady your breath and try to seem unfazed, almost certain you look ridiculous.

Lucy: "Hey 'your name', here's your laptop and a cherry cola, figured you would need it before heading back to your car ;). You know I'm gonna miss seeing you around here, less stuff to talk about and no one to gawk at. You have my number so just let me know if you need me to come over to help you adjust"

A quick farewell and her heels were clicking back up the stairs, but all you could think about was how you're never gonna see the inside of that office again. With no where to go and no decency to be upheld there was no reason you wouldn't finally break 600lbs. You chug the Cola, wanting to make one final show for the coworkers and acquaintances you've made over the years, and start the final journey, one to immobility.

With a gassy belly swaying from side to side, your humongous thighs atop fattened lard laden calves carry you through the lobby one last time. Not even trying to hide your burps and groans you walk out of the building, skipping the chair by the door you once saw as a refuge. Thoughts of what takeout you're gonna get delivered and a quickly growing Walmart order forming in your mind as you slowly waddle through the parking lot one last time. All fueled by the dream of being an immobile work from home piggy

[winxanity-ii]

HANDSY

ship: gamer boyfriend!gojo x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering) word count: 3.3k A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that i'm reposting this from my alt account, lulu-4-u in case you've seen this posted before...

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Your boyfriend had beautiful hands—it was one of those subtle things you hadn't really noticed at first.

It wasn't until that one day, when you were out on a date, and Satoru had wiped a smudge of food from the corner of your lips, that something clicked.

The way his fingers brushed so effortlessly against your skin left you thinking about them long after.

Since then, you’d found yourself noticing more about his hands. The way they moved, their length—long, slender fingers with perfectly trimmed nails, always clean, the nail beds smooth.

His hands were... well, elegant.

They were the kind of hands that could ruin you.

This particular evening, the two of you were lounging in the living room. Satoru had his headset on, completely engrossed in some multiplayer game, while you were curled up at the other end of the couch, legs casually stretched across his lap.

You were working on some homework, your laptop beside you as every now and then, he'd hiss in frustration or shout some command into the mic, his voice sharp with focus.

Hours passed like this, with you finishing up your assignments. Satisfied, you wiggled your foot gently against Satoru's stomach to get his attention.

He looked over, blue eyes meeting yours as you mouthed, "I'm finished."

He gave you a quick nod, leaning over to cover his mic. "Give me a few more minutes," he whispered before diving back into his game.

Left with time to kill, you opened up a tab on your laptop and started reading... well, something a little more indulgent.

The smutty story had you wrapped up, but every now and then, you'd catch a glimpse of Satoru out of the corner of your eye. His curses and shouts grew louder as he scooted forward, completely focused, your feet trapped against his stomach as he leaned into the game.

That's when you found yourself staring at his hands again.

His fingers moved quickly over the controller, and without realizing it, that familiar warmth began to bubble in your stomach.

The fic had stirred something in you, but it was the sight of his hands, the way they gripped the controller, that sent your mind spiraling.

Thousands upon thousands of scenarios flashed through your head, ones you had no business thinking about while Satoru was so locked into his game.

You'd never thought of yourself as someone with a thing for hands... but here you were.

His fingers hovered over the game controller, each movement precise, quick. The way his thumbs grazed the buttons, the light tap of his fingers as they adjusted with every motion—it had your attention now.

His hands were large, the veins prominent as they flexed, each motion sending a ripple up his forearms.

They were graceful but strong, almost too perfect, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from them, not when he clicked through the game commands with that same fluidity.

Your mind wandered, drifting from the soft glow of the screen to something much more heated.

he way his fingers wrapped around the controller made your thoughts spiral into places they probably shouldn't have gone, at least not right now.

Images flickered in your mind, thoughts about what else those hands could do, how they might feel on you in... different ways.

Suddenly, a hand waved in front of your face, snapping you out of the fantasy. "Huh?" You blinked, looking up to find Satoru grinning at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've been calling your name for the past minute."

You hadn't even noticed, lost so deep in your own thoughts that you missed the world around you.

His right hand dropped from the controller, settling on your thigh as he gave it a gentle squeeze, emphasizing the point.

Though the gesture shouldn’t have flustered you, a rush of heat crept up your neck, your face suddenly feeling like it was on fire.

Satoru tilted his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "What's gotten your attention, hmm?" he asked, his voice playful as he set the controller aside on the coffee table.

You shifted a little, trying to look away, but your gaze kept straying back to his hands, still resting casually on your thigh.

You swallowed hard, your mind still lingering on everything you shouldn’t be thinking about. "N-nothing," you managed to stutter, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. It was lame, and you knew it.

He raised a brow, genuinely confused now, leaning forward slightly. "Nothing? You've been staring at me like I've grown a second head," he teased, clearly not buying your weak excuse. His fingers twitched against your thigh, and you felt the warmth of his touch spreading through your skin like wildfire.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out nervous and awkward.

Satoru frowned, scooting closer to you, his attention now fully on you instead of the game. "Hey," he murmured, reaching over to gently grip the bottom of your chin with his long fingers. His touch was soft but firm enough to guide your gaze back to him. "Look at me."

Your heart skipped a beat as his hand cradled your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.

The confusion melted into something a bit more focused as his thumb brushed along your jawline. "What's wrong?" His voice dropped lower, softer, as if he were trying to coax the answer out of you.

You didn't respond right away, your throat suddenly dry. His hand, now cupping your face, felt impossibly warm, and your mind raced with thoughts that made your pulse quicken.

Before you could stop yourself, your gaze flickered back down to his hand again.

Satoru noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He tilted his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His thumb paused against your skin, and he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Oh?" he whispered, his voice taking on a playful, knowing tone. "Is it my hands?"

Your breath hitched, and you felt the heat flare up all over again. He chuckled, low and teasing, as he moved his hand just slightly, the pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You've been staring at them for a while now… want to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You didn't have to answer for him to know. His gaze softened, though there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Would you like to feel them somewhere else?"

Your mouth opened slightly, only to close again as words failed you. All you could do was stare into Satoru's eyes, feeling your pulse quicken as he pulled back just enough to get a better look at your face.

His gaze was dark, half-lidded, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks—a rare sight for someone so confident, but it only made him more alluring. He watched you with that mischievous smile, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Perhaps here?" he murmured, his hand sliding down from your waist and splaying across your lower abdomen. His fingers rested dangerously close to your center, the heat of his touch sending a shiver through your body.

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and instinctively, your legs snapped shut, trapping his hand between your thighs.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but Satoru didn't seem fazed.

Instead he purred, the sound low and smooth. "I won't, not if you don't want me to,” he said, voice gentle but teasing. His free hand, the one not caught between your legs, moved up to cup your neck tenderly.

His fingers brushed against your skin, sending another wave of warmth coursing through you as he tilted your head back ever so slightly.

His lips hovered just above the apex of your jaw, the faintest brush of contact making your breath hitch. He nuzzled there, his warm breath fanning across your skin, causing your eyes to flutter shut for just a moment.

His hand, still resting against your lower abdomen, didn't move, but it was enough to keep your heart racing.

Satoru's touch was firm but so soft, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck as he continued to nuzzle along your jawline. "You just have to say the word..." he whispered, his voice melting into your ear.

Your breath hitched as the weight of the moment settled in, and before you could even think, a soft, stuttered "y-yes" escaped your lips.

That was all Satoru needed.

In an instant, he was on you like a man starved, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that took your breath away. It wasn’t gentle or slow—it was heated, hurried, like he’d been holding back for too long.

He ripped off the headset, tossing it aside without a second thought, and in one smooth motion, he was reaching for your laptop.

You let out a short, breathless giggle as he fumbled to set it safely on the coffee table, but the sound barely left your mouth before Satoru silenced you with another strong kiss. His lips were demanding, stealing the air from your lungs, as if he needed this more than anything.

His hands moved quickly, one gripping your hip with a firmness that made your heart race, the other tangling itself in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so he could deepen the kiss.

The way his lips moved against yours was raw, almost frantic, like he was drowning and you were the only thing that could save him.

His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and when you opened up for him, a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he kissed you even harder, pressing you back against the couch cushions.

Every touch from him was electric. His hands roamed, sliding up your sides, then back down to grip your hips as he pulled you closer, needing you pressed against him.

His kisses were messy, heated, filled with an intensity that made your skin flush.

You felt like you were on fire, and each second his lips were on yours only fanned the flames higher.

Satoru shifted, leaning in more, his body practically covering yours as his hand slipped down to the waistband of your shorts. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your lower abdomen, and your breath hitched again, a shaky exhale escaping as his lips moved from your mouth to your neck.

He kissed along your jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin as his hand teased at the edge of your shorts, but he didn't move any further—not yet.

He was savoring this moment, taking his time to build the tension as his lips continued to trail down your neck, each kiss, nip, and graze of his teeth leaving your skin tingling in their wake.

Your breathing grew more ragged as his fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric, tugging your shorts down slowly, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he pulled them past your hips.

You squirmed slightly, the sensation of his cool fingers against the warmth of your skin making you more aware of just how exposed you were becoming.

With one smooth movement, Satoru pulled your shorts all the way off, dropping them carelessly to the floor before his attention returned to you.

His lips continued their journey, trailing down your stomach before finally reaching your thighs. He nipped at your skin, soft bites that had your breath catching in your throat.

You could feel the heat of his breath as he kissed along the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of electricity through your body. He took his time, savoring every inch of your thighs, his lips brushing dangerously close to the edge of your underwear.

By the time he pulled back, your entire body felt like it was humming, your heart racing as he moved you. In one fluid motion, he gripped your hips and tugged you closer to the edge of the sofa, so that your legs hung off the arm of the couch, feet barely grazing the floor.

The shift made you feel vulnerable, laid out beneath him in nothing but your underwear, with Satoru towering over you, eyes dark and focused.

You could feel the heat pooling in your cheeks as his hungry gaze lingered, tracing over every inch of your body like he was committing it to memory.

Your face burned under his scrutiny, the silence between you both thick with tension. The longer he stared, the more embarrassed you felt, a soft blush spreading across your skin.

You huffed out his name, nudging him lightly with your leg in an attempt to break the tension. "Satoru…"

He didn't respond at first, but the way his lips curled into a small, knowing smirk told you he heard. Instead of pulling away or offering any comfort, he tightened his grip on your thighs, hands firm but gentle as he held you down, making sure you couldn’t move.

"Stay still," he murmured, his voice lower than usual, a commanding edge to it. His thumbs pressed into your skin just enough to make your pulse jump, and you bit your lip, feeling that heat rise even more.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, his eyes half-lidded and filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I'm not done looking yet," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

The heat in your face spread to the rest of your body as Satoru leaned forward, taking a deep breath that caused your breath to hitch.

"Satoru!" you squealed out, your voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

He didn't even acknowledge your reaction. Instead, he did it again, slower this time, but now it was followed by a low, deep groan that seemed to vibrate right through you.

A soft, needy whine escaped you as you called out his name again, this time unsure, almost pleading. "Satoru…"

He looked up, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips as he met your gaze. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a teasing lilt, though his gaze was dark and intent. He didn't stop, didn't let go of you. Instead, his fingers dug into your skin, just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted, completely pinned under him. "You sound like you want something," he murmured, dipping his head again, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't respond, unable to form the words as the heat building inside you clouded your thoughts, but Satoru didn't need you to.

He already knew.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down again and this time, delivered a long swipe of his tongue from the bottom of your underwear to the top.

The sudden warmth of his tongue through the thin fabric made your thighs twitch involuntarily, and you bit your lip hard to stifle a moan. He continued lapping at you, slow and deliberate, his tongue dragging up and down your core with an intensity that left you trembling beneath him.

You felt like you were on fire, every nerve ending in your body lit up as he worked through the fabric.

The dampness of your underwear only seemed to spur him on, and after a few more agonizing moments, Satoru finally pulled the soaked fabric down, the wetness making it almost transparent as he discarded it carelessly to the side.

Before you could process the next wave of embarrassment, he was back on you, his mouth quickly attaching to your nub. Your thighs twitched again, but this time he gripped them harder, holding you down as his mouth continued its assault.

His fingers teased at your entrance, tracing along your slit before finally slipping inside with ease, his movements confident and sure. Satoru moved with precision, as if he knew exactly what would make you fall apart. He easily found your g-spot, and you couldn't help but let out a low moan as he began to work it in slow, deliberate circles.

He added a second finger without hesitation, curling them perfectly to coax even more pleasure from you. He continued to whisper praises, kissing up your body until his breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

His white hair laid disheveled, clinging to his forehead in strands. His lips were parted slightly, swollen from the intensity of your earlier kisses, his eyes dark with focus and desire.

"Gods, look at you," he breathed, sending a rush of heat straight through you. His thumb grazed your clit, teasing you as his fingers moved deeper inside, curling just right, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. "You're so beautiful like this... so responsive for me…" His words came out in a low murmur, each one laced with adoration, as if he were marveling at the way your body moved for him.

You could hardly breathe, the sensation so overwhelming that it made your breaths come out in shaky, ragged gasps. He was driving you closer and closer, every touch setting your nerves on fire.

"Good girl," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck as his fingers moved with practiced ease. "You're taking my fingers so well…" His voice was low, the praise making your heart race.

His free hand trailed up your body, tracing along your ribs before settling gently on your throat, not squeezing, just holding you, grounding you in the moment.

His eyes were low, pupils blown wide as he took in the sight of your face, watching the way your expression shifted under his touch. He could feel you getting closer, the way your breath hitched, the way your body responded to every movement of his fingers.

Without even realizing it, Satoru's hips began to move against you, grinding lightly against the side of your body as he sought his own relief.

He was focused entirely on your reactions; the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths—it was everything to him.

His lips found their way to the curve of your neck, and he lingered there, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Such a good girl… letting me have you like this."

The way he spoke to you, the way his fingers moved inside you, made you feel like you were driving you closer to the edge.

"I-I could stay like this forever," he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke. His voice was thick with desire, but there was a teasing lilt to it, something playful that made your pulse quicken. "Watching you fall apart just for me."

His hips continued to grind against you, but his focus remained entirely on you. He could feel how close you were, the way your body tensed, the way you trembled beneath him. His grip tightened slightly as he quickened his pace, driving you to the very brink.

His mouth was at your ear again, his voice a low purr, sending a fresh wave of anticipation through you. "Think you can handle three next time?" he whispered, his breath ragged and filled with desire, hips stuttering in tempo. "I-I'll stretch you out so good… I p-promise... make you perfect for me."

And that was all it took.

With his fingers curling inside you one last time, pushing you to that edge, the tension that had been coiling in your body snapped.

When you finally came down, still trembling and breathless, Satoru pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with satisfaction.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, his expression now softened with affection. "You did so well," he whispered, brushing a thumb across your flushed skin. His lips curled into a teasing grin, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I hope you liked my fingers," he murmured against your ear, "because you're going to like my dick even more."

A/N: hi guys! just decided to combine my alt account and main one... and if youre wondering why this even got to the point, long story short, i was kind of embarressed/unsure if i'd do a good job/know how to write smut but i'm pleasently surprised to see that people enjoy it, so i'll stay posting on here as well... i'll probably just can/save my alt account as a backup tho...

[hellokittyyyysblog]

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 1

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: You work as an intern at a prestigious law firm, dedicating countless afterhours to your tasks. One seemingly ordinary late night, you encounter a mysterious individual who reveals a discovery that shatters your perception of reality and everything you once believed in. This fateful meeting sets off a chain of events that will forever alter the course of your life.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

It was dark outside, though you only knew by chance. You had caught a fleeting glimpse of the night through a window as you passed by a coworker's office—a brief reminder of the world beyond the law firm's walls.

Working after hours had become routine. Since starting as an intern, you'd quickly realized that your official duties were merely the tip of the iceberg; unseen responsibilities piled up off the record. The firm demanded your efforts but refused to pay for them, yet clocking out on time was a surefire way to lose your job— you'd witnessed it happen to many diligent workers.

The company expected unwavering devotion; free time was a luxury reserved for those at the top. If you wanted to keep your position, you had to play their game, allowing your superiors to exploit your fear of unemployment. They dangled potential futures before you and the other underpaid interns, but in the months you had been there, no one had been promoted who wasn't already wealthy and privileged. Still, you were determined to become that someone, enduring the unethical treatment and the all-consuming nature of your work. You believed that someday it would all be worth it; the challenge lay in enduring the suffering long enough to reach that point.

After all, it was your goal to do what made you most proud in life and felt natural: defending people. You were a natural at it, always standing up for classmates when they were unfairly called out by teachers for some unknown reason or when someone picked on your friends.

You were the one your friends turned to when they were in trouble, the one who could see through the noise to the heart of the matter. — It felt like a calling, an inner drive to protect and advocate for those who couldn't do it for themselves. You had envisioned the courtroom as your ultimate arena, where your skills and passion would converge to champion justice.

Little did you know, your world was about to take a drastic turn.

Lost in your thoughts and consumed by exhaustion, you found yourself staring out the window— the dark cityscape a blurred mosaic of lights.

Suddenly, the sharp click of heels behind you snapped you back to reality. The sound echoed through the empty halls, reminding you of where you were. You turned around to see Ava, your coworker; her short black hair moved with a graceful sway, catching the faint light from the hallway lamps. Her features, distinctly European with delicate French contours, gave her an air of sophistication.

She was more than just a coworker; Ava was your closest friend in the firm. Both of you had come to the States for college—she from France, you from Italy—making a bond over shared experiences of adapting and striving in a demanding professional world.

"What are you doing here so late?" she asked—her voice filled with genuine concern.

"I could ask you the same" you replied, managing a tired smile.

Ava blushed slightly and glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby. "I had a... meeting. Or more like a hookup, actually— with Louis. You know, one of the senior partners? We've been seeing each other secretly."

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Louis, huh? I knew it. You can't hide anything from me. How's that going?"

She grinned, a playful glint in her eye. "It's complicated, but he's been really good to me. Just trying to keep it under wraps, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Just be careful; this place is a minefield."

Ava nodded, her expression turning serious. "I know. But enough about me. What about you? Why are you still here?"

"I was just going through some old case files and doing some research" you explained. "I was actually about to head to Davis's office to update him on a case we've been working on."

“He really pushes you to work too hard, and no, don’t defend him anymore” she remarked with a sympathetic expression. “AND we haven't hung out in SO long….how about cocktails on Friday?"

You smiled "That sounds perfect. I definitely need a break."

"Great! It's a date then" Ava said with a wink. "Well, I'll let you get to Davis's office. Don't stay too late."

"Thanks, Ava. See you tomorrow"

You both exchanged goodbyes, and you watched as she walked down the corridor—the sound of her heels fading into the distance as you made your way to Davis office. The cold air was making you shiver and the thin fabric of your black slacks and white blouse were not keeping you warm enough. Each step of your high heels echoed softly in the quiet hallway, the usual bustling energy of the office now replaced by a serene emptiness.

Reaching Davis's door, you knocked firmly—the sound punctuating the silence. After a moment, the door cracked open, revealing his assistant, Emily, peering out with a polite smile.

"Hello" she greeted warmly. "Can I help you?"

"I was hoping to speak to Davis" you replied—trying to hide your discomfort from the chill— "I have an update on the case we've been working on."

"Ah, he was actually looking for you. He's in Bowman's office" Emily informed you.

"Thank you, Emily" you replied gratefully, offering a brief smile before saying your goodbyes.

Great. You thought, while making your way to bowman’s office.

Interacting with one of the two CEOs after such an exhausting day wasn't something you relished. Bowman was notorious for his tough demeanor and demanding expectations, and you couldn't shake the apprehension as you headed towards his office— and you weren't exactly looking forward to interrupt his meeting either.

You knocked on the door of his office, expecting to be called in, but you were met with more silence. Emily had said, Bowman's office, you knew she had. — Yet you couldn't even hear someone approaching the door to let you into the room. So you stood there like a deer in headlights.— If your presence was needed, surely you'd be expected to arrive at some point.

You were torn between knocking again and seeming impatient or standing in the hall like a clueless know-nothing. Both impressions were unflattering.

However, you'd rather look too eager, than not eager enough. So you knocked again. This time, you heard murmuring inside. You weren't sure if someone was being instructed to open the door, or if you were being instructed to enter. After another moment of waiting with your mouth hanging open, you took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.

The door didn't open slowly, but it felt like time stood still as the moment you had eyes on the room— you saw Bowman hunched over the desk, blood trickling from his lips. Davis lied lifeless across the tabletop.

Before you could inhale a breath, Bowman was in front of you, with a hand clamped over your mouth. He swiftly pulled you inside the office and locked the door behind you. It took no time at all, but you knew it happened.

"My, my, my, who do we have here…seems like I got myself a delicious midnight snack" Bowman taunted. His chin was dripping with blood that ran down from two prominent fangs. You'd never seen those before.

You wished you had a witty retort, but you were too stilled with fear. He was going to kill you, after maybe taking advantage of your body—that was how things like this worked, or at least that was what films would have you believe. As far as you'd known, vampires weren't real, but crazy men were. Yet you weren’t certain that you were being threatened by that very monster.

"At least you’re still warm”

If you could scream, someone would know. If you could make a lot of noise, they'd catch him in the act, even if you were dead by the time they arrived. You had to make noise.

You couldn't.

But then, you didn't have to. — Bowman’s steely eyes lifted from your face. His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared.

"So they've sent the dogs after me?" He said.

Your vision was obstructed by Bowman’s frame, but someone had entered the office from the window—There hadn't been a sound, yet Bowman hadn't needed to turn around.

"Did you think they wouldn't?" The second voice was the audible equivalent of silk with a twinge of a feminine Slavic accent. "And obviously I came at the right time. How did you plan to clean this up, youngling?"

Bowman’s grip on you waned and he spun around. You hadn't realized your feet were off the ground until your soles hit the floor once more. Bowman reached for your shirt collar to keep you near. At a different angle, you were able to see the woman. She had red hair that complimented her strong features and dark green eyes; like Bowman, she too had longer canines.

You were in awe of her despite feeling the need to stay present in the room—Yet somehow, her presence had made you feel safer—She was clearly unhappy with your boss, but you had no evidence that she would let you live once she was done with bowman.

As if she knew your inner monologue, she addressed you whilst still looking at Bowman. "Human, you may leave."

“Oh no, nope she’s not going anywhere."—Bowman didn't let loose of your shirt.

The woman finally made eye contact with you, and you felt your chest tighten. It felt like the first time someone had ever made eye contact with you—someone had ever seen you. As soon as it happened, it was over just as quickly,and the woman was looking at the man beside you. Her head tilted like a cat sizing up its prey. Whatever she was thinking, whatever she was planning with that look, was not good, but you felt oddly sure that you were not her focus.

It took no time at all for the woman to cross the room. You didn't even catch it with your eyes; she was a blur. But you knew she had to be faster and stronger than Bowman, as she had him in less than a second. His hand was no longer attached to you. You were free. It happened so fast that it didn't register. You were transfixed by the red-headed woman hoisting Bowman up into the air. His feet dangled despite the fact that he was nearly a foot taller than she.

"Human" the redhead said calmly, without looking at you. "Is this your boss?"

"Yes" your mouth felt dry—it was the first time you'd spoken since Bowman had dragged you into the room.

"Then I would say that considering the time, you have the rest of the night off."

Understanding why moving would take some time—but you'd regained enough of your faculties to know that it was time to leave. With a squeaked, "Thank you" you exited the office—The door closed behind you without a need for effort on your part. Whatever the woman was going to do, she didn't want an audience.

You looked disheveled, and your eyes were still wide and pleading for safety, though you were alone and, as far as you knew, you were safe. Though no one would see you and think 'Vampire attack interrupted' if someone took the time to spare you a glance, they would see a person who had clearly experienced something out of the ordinary. You were not the same as you'd been when you'd entered the boss' office—in more ways than one.

You hurried to your office, grateful for the late hour and the deserted offices that ensured no one noticed your swift departure as you gathered your belongings. Amid the quiet corridors, a solitary light emanated from the closed door of the office opposite yours, a reminder that you weren't entirely alone in the building.

Unbeknownst to you at the time, Bowman's parting grip had left a faint smear of blood on your jaw—It went unnoticed until you caught your reflection in the elevator doors.

The front desk attendant gave you an habitual: "Have a good evening."

"Thanks" you managed to say. Your voice was a bit shaky, but the attendant didn't notice. He actually looked at you, but you knew it was a part of his routine. He'd send you all off, nod in your direction, and then he'd go back to his computer. At least someone had acknowledged you, you thought—though, he was as oblivious as anyone else. The front desk was probably not the best place for a person who apparently had tunnel vision.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The chill of the night greeted you as soon as you stepped outside, accompanied by a wild wind that seemed to howl through the air. You knew the sound was just the wind—familiar yet eerie after your recent encounter with the supernatural. If vampires were real, as you were now certain they were after what you had witnessed, then the possibility of werewolves seemed just as plausible.

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Your supervisor was dead, and your boss—a vampire? It was all so nonsensical, yet you had seen it with your own eyes. The memory of her, pale and powerful, lingered vividly in your mind.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the red-haired woman who appeared suddenly in your path until she was right in front of you. You gasped and instinctively took a step backward. The woman made no move to invade your personal space; instead, she stood calmly, confident that you wouldn't flee. Despite the flight alarms blaring in your mind, you found yourself rooted to the spot.

"Human” the woman said. It was a word you had never been addressed with before, yet tonight it had been uttered several times already in reference to your kind. Despite knowing it to be an undeniable fact, hearing yourself labeled as merely 'human' felt oddly surreal. Normally, you might have laughed it off or made a light-hearted comment or a teasing remark, but the intensity in the woman's eyes quelled any inclination for humor or banter.

"You cannot tell another about what you witnessed tonight."

She was fast. She must have “finished” Bowman while you were in the elevator—maybe even before. You envisioned the nightly cleaning staff stumbling onto a horrific crime scene. You liked the night staff, they didn't deserve to clean up such a mess—disposing of viscera was not in their job description.

"I won't" you replied. The thruth is you wanted to tell someone; holding in that kind of information was going to make you sick. But you knew, deep down, that the moment you opened your mouth, others would think you were insane. "No one would believe me."

"Unfortunately, that is a chance I cannot take." the redhead woman replied with a gentle, almost mocking smirk.

You instinctively took another step back, feeling the edge of the wall against your back. People streamed out of the building, oblivious to the tense encounter unfolding just steps away; oblivious of the fact that maybe those were your last moments on earth.

"You don't have to—" Your voice faltered, shaky with fear. The woman's threat hung heavy in the air. If she intended to kill you, there was little you could do to stop her. You had witnessed her power in action, if only briefly, and it left you unnerved. You gulped, "I won't say anything. I promise. You don't have to kill me." Maybe you should’ve said something more convincing than “I promise”when someone was about to take your life. Did promises bring any value to her kind? She would’ve never believed you.

She arched a brow, studying you with a mixture of amusement and disdain—her frown deepened, as if she disliked your assumption. It was clear she was capable of violence and you were uncertain if she had any inclination towards mercy. Her words had left little room for interpretation—she intended to eliminate any witnesses, and you stood alone as the only witness.

"I do not wish to kill you" she said. Her voice was so soothing that it made your shoulders soften. You hadn't realized how stiff you'd gone.

Her presence held power over you, and when she said she didn't want to kill you, you believed her.

"Then what do you want to do? I meant it, I won't tell anyone. I don't even know your name."

"And you won't. I will take away the memory of tonight for your safety and the safety of my people."

"Your people...you mean uh…"

She nodded and made no effort to verbally confirm your suspicions.

You were silent as you stared at the confirmed vampire in your presence. She was mysterious in a very dangerous way—but a feeling was burning in your stomach. It felt like a need, but you hadn't a clue as to what you needed and how the red-haired vampire could help you.

Apparently, her way of helping you was erasing a piece of your mind. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but she had expressed the explicit desire to tamper with your memories.

It would feel better, you sensed that much. You knew that the shock would go away, as would the fear, and unanswered questions. But, with those negative things would go the knowledge that you as a human were not alone. Knowledge was power, even if you weren't sure how to wield it yet.

"I don't want to forget" you admitted quietly.

When the woman approached you again, you didn't step back. "I want to know what happened to my friend.”

The vampire reached out and rubbed away the blood from your chin, she hadn’t asked, and you didn't need her to. You stood still and let her.

"You want to remember the way he met his end? for what purpose?”

"Someone should know; someone who knew him."

"And when your boss is missing and you know the truth, what will you say?"

You weren't sure how to answer the vampire's question. Everything had moved so fast, you didn't have time to plan what you'd say to everyone else.

"I don't know."

She considered you, and most likely what she was going to do with you. You weren't convincing, you knew, but she hadn't acted without consulting you. So maybe, just maybe, you had a way out of having your mind wiped.

"Go home, human" she said—and you thought you'd taken a kickball to the gut—you were taken aback so abruptly.

She was letting you leave, or so it seemed. "You have twenty-four hours to consider this choice. I hope you will see reason. I will find you tomorrow night."

You should have focused on the deal the vampire was making you, rather than the fact that she was promising another meeting.

Maybe she would answer some of your questions.

Maybe she would satiate your curiosity.

Or maybe she would make you forget she existed at all.

"How will you find me?" you asked— It was a wonder, but it was one of the last questions you should have asked— she'd scaled a building and entered through a window without so much as a sound. She could find you easily. You wasted your breath asking a question that didn't need to be answered.

"Don't worry about me. Keep your wits about you, and your mouth closed. Consider my offer and the alternative. Your knowledge is yours for now, but understand that should you speak of this night to anyone in the next day, my offer will be revoked." She said before turning around and disappearing behind the crowd.

The vampire woman was not suggesting that she'd lay off and leave your memories alone. She was suggesting that you and your knowledge would cease to be. She was essentially giving you a day to come to your senses and realize that you wanted to forget the ordeal.

But you were stubborn and embarrassingly naive, and she was too interesting to forget. You had to figure out a way to keep your knowledge and gain some answers in the process, if only for a chance to see her again.

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor pt.4

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Back at home in your district, you debate the merits of calling the phone number you've been given

part three | part five

You stare at the phone. You’ve been on the floor next to your bed, staring at the phone on your nightstand for an extended period of time. 

A crumpled piece of paper seems to taunt you as you clutch it in a tense fist. It has his number on it. Not that you needed to write it down, but you practically ran to the nearest pad of paper when you boarded the train yesterday. 

You sat in this same spot last night, as well, for probably an hour. Ultimately, though, you decided calling the same day would come off as desperate or uncool. 

Although Finnick has thoroughly demystified and made himself available for you, you can’t help but want to make a good impression. The two baby breakdowns you’ve had in his presence probably haven’t helped. Really, to retain your reputation, you should simply not call. But that’d be mean. Would that be mean? But that’s beside the point. You want to call, you do. But you don’t know what exactly he gave you this number for. Talking specifically about your unfortunate shared trade? Trauma dumping? Breakdown hotline? 

Currently, you're handling things as best you can before Snow throws you back in the deep end. Rehashing everything would probably be more damaging. 

You want to call, but would he want to have a normal conversation? Are you capable of having normal, authentic conversations with people at this point? 

Besides, you don’t even know if this is his District Four number or the number to his Capitol residence. Really, you might not reach him at all. 

“What are you doing?” Darla’s voice causes you to jump four feet in the air. Your head snaps quickly over your shoulder to glare at her. Darla had been watching trashy Capitol TV at your house since the train brought you back. She said she didn’t want to be alone.

“What the fuck, D? You can’t just sneak up on a person like that!” You insist. 

She makes a face at you, “It’s not my fault you’re having a staring contest with the phone.”

“Did you want something?” You ask, jaw clenched. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs casually, “someone’s at the door.” Now that surprises you. You jump up, leaving the worn-thin paper beside the phone. 

“And you just left them there?” You breeze past where she stands in the doorway to your enormous bedroom. 

Tramping confusedly down the stairs, you pad barefoot across your wooden floors, through the hallway, and up to the thick oak door separating you from the elements. 

Swinging the front door open, you momentarily regret not grabbing a robe to cover your old pajamas. There’s no one there to witness your fashion faux pas, however, and your nose scrunches in confusion. You lean your torso out of the doorway and into the crisp night air- thankfully warmer than the Capitol. Shaking your head, you seal the door back up and flick the deadbolt. 

“Did they leave a name?” You shout up to where you’d last seen Darla. She doesn’t reply, but as you start walking back to your room you swear you hear her faint voice. 

Suddenly, it clicks. You really should have learned not to underestimate her by now. “Darla!” You break into a sprint across your house. 

“She’s been staring at the phone alllll night,” you hear as you make it to the second floor. 

You know who she’s talking to. And you just know he’s wearing a smirk. You don’t even have to hear the pleased “Really?” that comes through the phone.

Bursting into your room, you tackle her away from the phone. “I’m gonna kill you!” You growl as she starts fighting back. Darla didn’t win her games through pure luck, after all. The phone sits a foot or two away, unattended on the ground, as the two of you wrestle. 

Finnick hears the fight over the phone and listens with a concerned smile. He won’t deny that it’s entertaining. 

Finally, Darla elbows you in the nose and uses the chance to escape. “Sorry! Don’t hang up!” She calls out as she flees your wrath. 

Your shoulders drop in annoyance, and you wipe your upper lip to see she knocked you hard enough to make you bleed. “Bitch!” You call half-heartedly after her. 

Grabbing some tissues, you turn to where she left the phone on the ground. You cautiously make your way over and pick it up with a grimace. “Hello?” 

“Hi,” Finnick’s smart reply rings in your ear, “good wrestling session?” 

“She gave me a bloody nose,” you bemoan. 

“Poor baby,” he taunts, and you scoff. 

“Shut up!” 

“You know, I was told you’ve been staring at the phone for forever,” Finnick ventures, and you can practically see his grin. 

“It wasn’t that long,” you correct, quietly. 

He sighs, “Why didn’t you just call?” 

“I just- I didn’t know if you’d want to talk to me,” you say defensively. 

“I gave you my number,” his confusion is audible. 

With some hesitant, you huff, “Yes.”

“And you called it,” you can hear his smirk through the phone. 

“Not quite,” you snap. 

“That’s ok, you’ll call without youth assistance soon enough,” he says confidently. 

“Are you calling me old?” 

“Never, darling,” he replies lazily. “So… why’d you want to call?” This is the part you were dreading. 

“I don’t know,” you snap defensively. After a moment of silence, you take a breath. Reluctantly, you say, “Aren’t we- friends now?” 

“Wow, a lot of confidence in that statement,” he teases. You glare at the phone. 

“Fuck off,” you say, only half joking. 

“Okay! Friends,” he concedes. More silence. 

“I’m just bad at this, okay?” You admit, feeling awkward. “I haven’t really had a friend in years.” 

To your luck, he takes the information in stride rather than replying with pity. “You mean falling in cow shit didn’t endear you to people?” 

He earns a small grin from you, “You’d be surprised, actually. The family who owns the corner store ate for a week on the money my nana gave them for soap. They loved me.” 

He chuckles thoroughly at that, “Look at you, stimulating the local economy.” 

“Oh yeah,” you laugh too, “you know, that’s happened a few times, actually! Once-“ you cut yourself off. 

“Why’d you stop?” Finnick asks, after a second of silence.  

“You know a lot more about me than I know about you,” you reply cooly. “You don’t get another of my hilarious and charming childhood tales.” 

“Booo,” he complains. 

“Nope,” you stand firm. “That’s how it works. You’re missing out on some good ones, too.” 

“Fine, would one of my childhod stories mske you feel better?” He asks.

“Yes, actually,” you nod. 

“Okay, when I was twelve, there was a district-wide competition and whoever had the biggest catch won. I helped my father pull in the winning fish,” Finnick offers. 

Your face falls flat, and you don’t reply for a few seconds. He calls your name, thinking you might’ve lost connection. “You totally missed the point of this,” you tell him. 

“Excuse me?” He asks defensively.

“Has the great Finnick Odair never had anything embarrassing happen to him in his life?!” You ask, almost frustrated. "Falling in shit is very different than being a champion fisherman,” you say. 

You can almost see him rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he gives in and you grin, “that same day, I kept refusing to wear sunscreen. So by the time we docked with our catch, I’d spent about eight hours in the sun. Well, I didn’t feel it until the next day, but I was so burnt I got incredibly sick.” 

Your shoulders drop, “Finnick, this was supposed to be funny, not sad.” 

“I was wearing sunglasses on the boat all day. When I finally went back to school, all the kids called me ‘goggles' because of my tan line,” he grumbles. You break into a laugh, and he smiles. He likes the sound even more than he did yesterday. 

“Sorry,” you apologize for laughing. 

“No, no, you asked for it,” he shakes his head. “Was that good enough?”

“Definitely,” you nod. 

“So, do I get to hear the story you were about to tell me, then?” He asks expectantly. 

“If you insist,” you tell him. “This was before the poop incident, by the way,” you preface. 

“Naturally,” he nods. 

Smirking, you start, “So, I was sort of a ringleader when I was really young, and one day, I led a group of local kids on a forest adventure.” 

“This can't be good,” he says, and you shake your head. 

“While we were in the woods, we came across some sort of nest.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” you nod, continuing, “So I poked around a bit, and I saw some babies, when suddenly, the animal it belonged to showed up.”

“Of course,” he said. 

“It was unhappy, and started hissing at us. So everyone wanted to run, and I reluctantly agreed, but not before it sprayed us.” 

“Don’t tell me it was-“ 

“A skunk? Yeah,” you confirm, “I was single-handedly responsible for about seven tomato soup baths across town.” 

He laughs, “So whoever made tomato soup was grateful to you too?” 

“Well, the family that sold the tomatoes was, but everyone who had to make the soup was really unhappy with me.” He laughs even harder at that, and you smile at the sound. 

“You know, I doubted you, but I’m starting to think your childhood stories are all charming and hilarious,” he admits. 

“Thank you!” Before you can say anything else, Darla shouts up from downstairs. 

“Your TV is broken!” 

“Hold on a sec,” you tell Finnick, then try to muffle the receiver. It hardly helps, he can hear your whole conversation. 

“So what?!” 

“Come fix it!” 

“Do it yourself!” 

“Hang up on your boyfriend and help me!” 

“No!” 

“Then come spend time with me!” You pause at that one. “Please?!” 

You bring the phone back to your ear and sigh, “I have to go, Darla needs me to fix the TV.” 

“Oh, so you’re a tech wiz too?” He teases you. 

“No, but I might be a babysitter,” you reply.

“You love her,” he corrects. 

You huff, "I do."

"Tell the kid I say hi," you smile at that.

“Will do,” you nod and go to put the phone down. The sound of your name stops you. 

“You know I’m gonna call you now, right?” He asks, and you grin a little. 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

“Good,” you confirm, “I’ll be around.” 

“Not staring at the phone I hope,” he says. 

“No, I might be too busy tending to the diva,” you shrug. Darla validifies your statement when she shouts out asking you to make hot chocolate. 

“Good luck,” he offers, "I’ll let you leave before she gives you another bloody nose.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, “Bye, Finnick.” He wishes you the same before you hang up. You sit there a moment longer. 

“Are you staring at the phone again?” Darla shouts. You roll your eyes, and start heading her way. 

“Just for that you’re not getting hot chocolate,” you taunt, and she complains. 

It’s nice to have friends. 

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

taglist: @emerald-09 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @daixylie @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @fandomhopped @axelinchen

It is getting progressively harder to find good pictures to use for these.

Anyway, I didn't really edit this, but I hope you all enjoyed <3 also I might write something for Johanna soon because I love women - if you have any requests let me know ig?

[connorsblog]

Season 4 Carl has a grab on me. Could please write a fic where Carl and Rick are in the house, Rick is unconscious, basically those episodes but when Michonne shows, she shows up with reader, whom Michonne found on her journey. Carl and reader become friends quite easily. Just a massive fluff. Pretty please, with a Dixon on top? 💕🙏

who's the cowboy? | c.g

genre : fluff !

summary : read request

a/n : i love this idea, thank you for requesting !!

i didn't really know how i ended up with michonne, i was just pacing up and down this abandoned house's hallway — and i had heard something clang on the road.

i was hesitant to check it out, but i'm glad i did.

me and michonne were walking down this narrow street. i think she is looking for someone, but i'm not sure, she seemed preoccupied.

"are you looking for someone?" i inquired, focusing on my feet planting themselves on the gravel whilst michonne tried to find a way to answer.

"yes, i'm looking for my friend. his name is rick. he has a son, too," she seemed melancholy about them, almost like one of them were dead — or something of the sort.

"oh — here we are, i think." her head angled upwards as she looked towards the house. it was scuffed up, dirt projected all over the sides from the roamers' hands scuffing it up.

"you think?" i asked, squinting as far as i could into the window of the door. i couldn't see anything, nor hear anything. probably not a good sign.

"can't be too sure these days, kid." was all she had said before promptly walking around the house's outside area — probably inspecting it.

i heard a sudden clang, which made me jump. michonne came straight over as it happened, and it was from inside the building.

suddenly there was some sort of indistinct yelling, it sounded from a kid. he sounded angry, too.

michonne seemed to recognize that voice immediately, most likely this “rick”s son of his.

she didnt have any problem with knocking now, her knuckles making a firm noise against the white wood.

i saw a head peek into the door's window, a pale faced boy with piercing eyes — dark, almost an upsetting shade of blue surrounding the middlest hue, bright and electrified.

his face seemed to light up as he saw michonne, he hadn't seemed to notice me yet though. he'd figure out soon enough anyway.

after various locks unclicked on the door, it swung open to reveal a couch shoved into the corner of the main room, probably just recently.

he had a sheriff's hat on his head, uneven and disheveled — probably from the yelling that occurred just a minute ago.

"who's the cowboy?" i half-joked, teasing him about his sheriffs hat. truthfully, it suited him quite well.

"his name is carl," michonne spoke up, introducing carl to myself and me to him before we all three entered the house.

he closed the door loudly prior to us entering, clicking the locks with a certain precision, probably signaling he had been here for quite some time already. or maybe he just got used to the locks.

michonne stayed by the older mans body — presumably this rick she had talked about. he looked dead, which explained carl's disheveled appearance.

"do you read comics?" carl finally asked after he caught me staring. not a good first impression, i thought silently.

"i read some, i usually don't have time for it, though." i answered simply.

"i have a few michonne got for me. wanna see?" he voiced, seeming to get more comfortable with me as the seconds ticked on.

"yeah, sure." i squinted, following carl to one of the other rooms to check out his comic collection — or what was left, at least.

——————————————————————————

it had been at least an hour of me and carl talking about comics together before michonne interrupted him in the middle of an X-Men comic he had grown quite passionate about.

"carl," she started as she poked her head into the doorframe rather eagerly, saying both of our names. "you guys hungry?"

me and carl shared a glance before nodding, his smile infectious and spreading to my face almost instantly.

as me and carl ate, we had laughed about numerous things. stupid stuff like milk dribbling down carls chin as he ate eagerly, or my obnoxious laugh as he did so. it was refreshing, i had missed that burning sensation in my cheeks from smiling.

i had said something that caused michonne to chip in and laugh as well. they both seemed to forget about ricks figure on the plush couch.

well, they couldn't now — i saw his frame move. either he was a roamer now, or he had magically woke up.

——————————————————————————

"i don't think i've heard him laugh like that since — well, for a while." i heard rick murmur as carl began to laugh again.

"well — this one time, i had a friend in like second grade, right? i had tried his lactose free milk and i almost puked!" exaggeration seeped into his voice, but it was too funny not to start laughing along with him.

this conversation had started when michonne offered for carl to try this lactose free milk, cue his story.

"seriously? you almost puked? i doubt that," michonne chuckled, watching the both of us laugh along with her.

"no! i'm not lying, it was horrible!" he puncuated each word, making a vomiting sound at the end of his sentence.

that caused us to laugh even more — even rick ended up joining in eventually.

note : i LOVED writing this so very much !! thank you again for this request, i appreciate it :)

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Dad!Yang Jeongin x F!Reader TW : children ; mention of pregnancy ; slightly suggestive ; mainly fluffy though ; Word Count : 1.4k Request : nope! A/N : all of the skz snippets are done!! yay!! These little drabbles really helped me and I kinda want to do another group for the snippets of life... hmmm...

The lock on the front door clicked, alerting you to your husband's arrival. It would be his first day home after three long months of being on tour. Nights of phone calls between you and him would almost always be interrupted by your 4 year old son who missed his father just as much as you did. 

“BOO!” You had been in the kitchen when Jeongin came through the front door, rather quietly as well, like he was planning on surprising you and your son, but Jeongyoo had different plans. Your boy had been in position behind the little table for a solid hour just waiting for his fathers return. 

“Holy shi-!” Jeongin began, but you pointed at him sternly with the wooden spoon you were holding, stopping him before he could finish the curse word that you didn’t want your son to utilize just yet. “That was a good one, thanks bud.” Jeongin quickly said when he looked down and saw Jeongyoo still standing in front of him. “Do I get a hug? Did you miss me? Hmm?” Jeongin asked, crouching down in front of the boy who was almost like a statue at this point, just staring at his father as if he didn’t understand him. 

A long moment of silence, and you were intrigued by it, wondering about what your son was about to do or if he was going to speak at all. He was a lot of things, but predictable was not one of them. “RAWR!” He suddenly shouted, his hands flying up into tiny claws before running off towards his bedroom. 

Jeongin, in a pure state of reasonable shock, fell back onto his butt, his eyes wide as they followed the little boy that was full of scares right now. “What the fu-! FLIP!? WHAT THE FLIP?!” Jeongin screeched, quickly pushing himself up off the floor to go into the kitchen where you were, almost like he was hiding behind you. You couldn’t help but laugh, especially after hearing stories from Jeongins own mother about how much of a goblin-respectfully-he was as a child. “Does he do this to you? Are you okay, jagi? Has he been tormenting you for three months?” 

You snorted loudly, rolling your eyes at your husband's dramatics before turning to face him, cupping his cheeks and pressing a kiss to his slightly pouty lips. “He’s been a good boy. You’re the only person he’s been scaring, unless he does it at the daycare and his teacher just hasn’t told me.” You explained, turning back towards the little lunch that you had been preparing. “I think he’s doing it because he misses you and he just doesn’t know how to express that feeling yet.” 

You could hear the pop of Jeongins lips as his mouth fell open, clearly not on board with your reasoning, but he wasn’t going to argue with it. “Little dude could just give me a hug but he tries to make me shit my pants… got it.” Jeongin joked quietly, and you couldn’t hold in your laughter. “It’s not funny… I miss my son and he doesn’t even miss me enough to not terrorize me as soon as I walk through the door.” 

Sighing softly, you turned around once again, your hands firmly placed on Jeongins shoulders so you could look at him and so that he would look at you. “He does miss you, very much actually.” You started, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of his shoulders, feeling him slightly relax under your hands. “He misses you so damn much, he wants to be just like you. Your mother came over and she was telling us stories about how you were as a child…” It was as if a lightbulb clicked inside his head and you could only smile and nod as you seemed to watch it all start to make sense in Jeongins head. “You really were a little stink when you were younger.” You teased and now Jeongin seemed to have both a sense of pride, and maybe just a hint of fear in his eyes. He knew how he was when he was younger, and now he wondered whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that his son wanted to be like him. 

“I don’t think I jump scared my parents like he is though, or at least they never said anything about me doing that. Did they say I did?” He inquired, leaning back against the center island in the kitchen and pulling you closer to him as he did. His hands rubbed up and down your sides, unknowingly sidetracking your brain from answering his question until his head tilted to the side, prompting you to answer. 

“Mm… No, she never said anything about you doing anything like that, but he put his own little spin on being a mini stink stink just like you.” You joked, and in retaliation he squeezed you hips, causing you to squeal and squirm against him. “Rude ass. Don’t get me excited. You know damn well we can’t do anything when Jeongyoo is awake.” You quietly scolded, but Jeongin seemed to find more fun in teasing you, his hand landing firmly against your ass with a loud smack that had you jumping and pressing further against him. 

“Who said I was trying to do anyth-“ Before he could finish his sentence, Jeongyoo once again popped out, seemingly from out of nowhere, this time making both Jeongin and you jump in shock. His blanket was over his head, pretending to act like a ghost, but when he attempted to run off he ended up slipping on the blanket and falling to the floor. “Ah… shi- shoot!” Jeongin shouted, miraculously holding in his curse as he carefully moved you to the side and ran to help his son, scooping him up and holding him tight against his chest. “It’s alright, bud. Daddy is here…” Jeongin cooed, soothing the little boy's soft whimpers as he tried his best to hold back his cries to be strong in front of his father. 

“Did I scare you?” Jeongyoo asked softly, his glistening eyes looking to his father for acceptance, and Jeongin nodded so swiftly, you could almost see the sadness wash away from your son’s face, replaced with a look of both excitement and pride. “I not hurt… I just fell down… I okay now.” He said, attempting to wiggle out of Jeongins hold, but he held onto him tighter, running crazily around the room while making siren noises just to elicit giggles out of your son. 

“My boy! He’s gotten a booboo! Nurse Y/N, we need ice cream and stuffed animals! Quickly!” Jeongin shouted, gently dropping your son onto the couch as you swiftly jumped into the role of nurse to keep up with the impromptu game that your husband had just come up with. “Oh no! He seems to have a case of the giggles! What should we do?!” Jeongin wailed as your sons laughter only got louder, and you rushed over with all the stuffed animals you could carry from his room and dropped them onto the couch. 

“I’ve never seen a case of the giggles like this! I think he needs Mr. MonkeyBoots!” You picked up your sons favorite stuffed animal, one that had been a gift from Jeongin when he had come back from tour last year, and Jeongyoo quickly grabbed his, holding it close to him and hiding his face in it as his laughter slowly died down. “We did it, Dr. Yang! We cured the giggles!” You cheered, clapping your hands together. 

The game ended just as quickly as it started, and soon there was a silence, but it was calm, it was peaceful. Jeongin knelt down on the floor in front of the couch, his hand brushing through his son's hair and he had a smile that he seemed to save only for his son. “I missed you so much, bud.” Jeongin whispered before leaning his forehead against Jeongyoos and letting out a little sigh. “When you’re a little bit older, I’ll take you on tours with me. You and mommy. I don’t like being so far away from you two…” 

“Three…” You corrected him with a soft whisper from the kitchen, and Jeongins head whipped up to look at you over the back of the couch, his eyes wide, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked look on his face. “You’re the one who wanted to give me a parting gift before you left for tour… It was one hell of a gift, thank you.” 

Jeongin gasped loudly, causing his son who had at some point fallen asleep to stir. “That one better not get any ideas from my mom like he did… I don’t think we can handle another mini me.” 

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[matchagator]

Clash | jjk (mature) Ch. 1

I've had a really fun time working on this story so far! Let me know what you think and if you're interested in reading more parts. I have SO many more ideas in store for these two, including some smut. 😈

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Slice of Life | Neighbors

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.

{Warnings:} Mature Language, Enemies to Lovers, Hostility, Mild Angst, Sexual Tension (This list will be updated as each part gets released)

After successfully surviving your first week in your new apartment, you decide to celebrate by popping open a bottle of Stella Rosa to commemorate the start of your mid-twenties. You pour yourself a glass before cozying up to your favorite blanket, sparing no expense as you carry over a couple of slices of pizza that you just had delivered. You become eager to scroll through Netflix to find something new and entertaining to watch for the evening, finally enjoying a break from your tedious work schedule as you relish some time to yourself. 

It isn’t long until you find something that catches your interest, opting for a romantic comedy to kick off your weekend as your favorite candle burns on your coffee table ahead. Finally, you didn’t have to answer to your family or share the apartment with roommates. This place was one hundred percent yours to enjoy and do as you wish.

The movie keeps you occupied for the majority of your meal, leaving you invested in the outcome of the plot. While romantic comedies were notorious for being overly predictable, you still enjoy them. 

The gentle hum of your phone buzzing against the coffee table has you leaning forward to retrieve the device, gently tapping your fingers across the LED display to see a text message from your boss. Your eyes scan over the words that come up on your screen, pulling a long drawn-out groan from your lips as the message sinks in. Your boss wants you to come in early tomorrow to help catch up on overdue reports, causing tension to reappear in your posture as you toss your phone to the side. 

You turn your attention back onto the screen, quickly thinking over whether or not you want to take on that responsibility since your weekend off was just commencing. Ultimately, you end up sighing and caving in, sending a compliant response given that your job was the only reason you could afford your new apartment in the first place. You might as well take the opportunity to stack up some overtime. 

After checking the time on your phone, you glance back at your television screen, eager to at least finish your movie before calling it a night. You gently bring your wine glass up to your lips as you indulge in a couple more sips, finishing off the crusts of your pizza as you lay back to sink into the comfort of your couch cushions. 

Your eyes study the characters on the television screen, enjoying the banter between the two main characters as you watch their relationship blossom. You can’t help but dwell on your last relationship, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth at the thought of your breakup. 

You chug back the rest of your wine before a slow melodic thumping begins reverberating from the opposite side of your apartment wall. You glare at the material as if your stare could seep through the wall. You instantly shift your gaze onto the drywall, groaning at the thought of your neighbor insistently playing their music loudly at all different hours of the day since you’ve moved in. One morning, you woke up to Charlie Puth resonating through the thin barrier between your apartments while tonight they were enjoying a much more energetic melody of song selections. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You groan, as you lean forward to grab your remote, raising the volume to try and drown out the insufferable noise. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to camouflage the intrusive thumping, causing you to abandon any hope of enjoying the rest of your film. You can’t help but let a sigh escape your lips as you dramatically stand from the couch, collecting your trash and dishes before retreating into the kitchen. 

Part of you wishes to go next door and give them a piece of your mind, however, you withhold since you have yet to meet them. What a chaotic introduction that would be. Despite your irritation with their lack of respect for your tranquility, you don’t necessarily want to start this milestone in your life with a feud next door. 

Once you finish cleaning up, you retreat to your bedroom, eager to shower and get into bed for the night. As you move through your apartment, the noise from next door seemingly intensifies as you enter your bedroom. You pause at the door, groaning deeply at the realization that your neighbor’s room must be directly beside yours. “Seriously?” 

You bite back your festering anger as you retreat to the shower, wasting no time hopping into the tub and turning on the faucet. Thankfully, the loud stream of water seems to muffle out the noise as your body relaxes beneath the warmth, letting the tension melt from your muscles as you finally unwind from the stress of your day. 

While you usually take average-length showers, tonight your stay is a little longer than usual to keep yourself distracted from the ruckus in the apartment beside you. Eventually, the music would have to stop. It was the middle of the week, whatever their job was, it couldn’t possibly allow them to stay up past midnight on a Wednesday. 

Once you successfully wash away your day, you slip out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel to dry your skin of the excess moisture. The moment the faucet shuts off, you’re met with the persistent sound of music pounding through the walls. You catch a glimpse of your features hardening through the mirror as you pull on your bathrobe, tying it off before drying your hair with the towel. 

You shake your head as the next song arrives with more bass, causing you to make the split decision to dry your hair. Surely the blow dryer would cancel out the noise. To your surprise, the hum of the styling tool keeps you focused on your nightly routine, finishing up in the bathroom as you pass more time in hopes that when you get to bed, the music would be over. 

Your feet end up dragging across your carpet as you toss yourself into bed, the comfort of your sheets swallowing you as the music calms with the introduction of a few melancholy tunes. You figure this is your best opportunity to fall asleep, wasting no time to set your alarm on your phone as you set it up to charge on your bedside table, before crawling into the sheets. You let yourself sink into the mattress and you turn on your side, hoping your mind will let you fall asleep quickly. 

Luckily, the music remains smooth as your bed slowly lulls you into a peaceful sleep. Just as your mind begins to drift off, the thumping returns, another bass-heavy song blaring from next door causing a slight tremor to radiate across the wall. You tug your pillow over your head, pulling it down over your ears as you kick your legs in frustration, pouting into the pillow as you desperately try to ignore the unforgiving noise. 

-----

Thanks to your stubbornness, you find yourself standing outside your jeep with your arms full of reusable grocery bags, completely crippling yourself from reaching back towards the keys that you tucked into your purse. You refuse to take another trip down to retrieve the rest of the totes, so you simply continue sliding them down the length of your arm, fully knowing it was going to be a heavy trip up to the seventh floor. 

You contort your body uncomfortably as you utilize your elbow to push the button to latch the trunk close, watching the mechanisms of your vehicle automatically operate the door. You grin happily at your success, knowing that with everything stuffed into your arms, you wouldn’t need to take the extra trip down for a second load. 

Thankfully as you walk away from the car, the sensor automatically locks your doors once your keys are at a farther distance. You quickly begin walking towards the door leading from the parking garage to the main lobby of your apartment complex, hoping someone else would come along to help open the door for you. 

It’s as if your prayers are answered when a man appears from the opposite side of the garage, typing away on his cell phone as he makes his way toward the secured door. You quickly realize the distance you have compared to him and begin hustling toward the entrance. 

“Hold the door!” You holler out, juggling your variety of different tote bags as you rush toward him. You hope that his chivalry will prevent you from needing to find your key fob from underneath the stacks of groceries cutting the circulation from your wrists. 

You watch helplessly as a man with a grown-out mullet of curly hair taps his fob, a small tone indicating his granted access as he enters the building. You are desperately sprinting toward the door at this point, trying to sneak in behind him to make your life easier. Unfortunately, you’re stuck watching it close shut behind him, before you can even manage to catch up to him. You huff in annoyance as the man ahead of you completely ignores you,  keeping his attention on his cell phone and disregarding the fact that you’re struggling to carry in the large load just a few feet behind him. 

“Seriously?” You tut, completely unamused, that now you need to slide the handles of your bags down the length of your arms, just to reach back into your purse to pluck your keys from the front pocket. “Asshole! Can’t even hold a fucking door.” You mumble under your breath, performing a perfect balancing act as you lean over to press the fob against the sensor, lifting your leg to help pull open the front door of the main lobby. 

You sigh once you finally make it inside, thrilled that you managed on your own as you begin the walk to the mailroom towards the back of the first floor. You figure since you’re already down here, why would you waste a trip up to your apartment just to venture back down to get the mail? 

Maneuvering your way through the long corridor, you find the relatively large mailroom nestled in the back corner as you walk in, instantly seeking out the counter lining the wall by the door. You sigh in relief as the pressure is relieved from your limbs, placing your grocery bags up on the counter as you turn to face the various rows of mailboxes lining the far wall. 

You fiddle with your keys before realizing that you aren’t alone, spotting the same mess of grungy hair poking through a mailbox as he collects the contents inside. You blink in surprise, your face unable to hide your annoyance with the stunt he just pulled back at the entrance. You chew on the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from retaliating and giving him a piece of your mind, figuring it was most likely better to just be on your way without any confrontation. 

You adjust your posture, causing yourself to stand straight as you seek out your specific box, quickly inserting your key and tugging the compartment open to retrieve whatever lies within. Thankfully there was only a coupon booklet and a ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ flier stuffed within the small space, allowing you a simple addition to your already ambitious load upstairs.  

Peering down at the flier, you start to study all of the local joints attempting to solicit your business as you feel a sudden nudge cause your balance to shift. You catch your footing as you peer up, coming face to face with the culprit from outside who refused to hold a simple door for you. First, he ignores you and now he runs into you as if he isn’t even paying attention. 

Your irritation bubbles over as you grasp the paper tighter in your hand. “Watch where you’re going.” You hiss as you take a step back to properly face your assailant, a not-so-friendly expression plastering itself onto your features. You watch him pluck a headphone out of his ear, revealing the truth that he wasn’t blatantly ignoring you, he just couldn’t hear you. Your eyes flicker down to an envelope in his hand as you skim the print to find the name Jeon Jungkook labeled on the postage. Jungkook’s features tighten at the unforgiving tone in your voice, your eyes watching his jaw flex as he glances over the sight of you.  

There’s something about the way Jungkook’s large expressive eyes bear into your soul that causes you to feel guilty for judging him too quickly. If his headphones were preventing him from hearing you outside, he must not have heard you come into the mailroom behind him. You shrink under his handsome stare, noticing every feature on his face as you stand close to him  after accidentally colliding with you. Why did he have to be so handsome? Couldn’t you have snapped at anyone else? 

“My apologies, princess.” Jungkook’s condescending tone instantly washes over any remorse you felt toward him, your irritation revving back as you pop out your hip, crossing your arms in front of your chest.  “I didn’t hear you come in.” He was apologetic for colliding with you however, was annoyed by your short-tempered attitude. 

“Well, maybe you should try only wearing one earpiece.” You suggest defensively, knowing that while he may not have heard you, it was his fault for compromising his senses in the first place. 

You watch as Jungkook’s tongue presses against his cheek, his head tilting to the side as he chuckles in amusement. You can’t help but let your eyes wander to the pout on his lips, admiring the small freckle tucked beneath his bottom lip as he narrows his stare in your direction. You notice his pupils flick toward your groceries, a mischievous smirk tugging at his mouth. 

“Maybe you should try being less lazy and taking multiple trips.” His words cause your jaw to hang open in disbelief. A stranger did not just call you lazy without even knowing anything about you. Who does he think he is? 

“Excuse you.” You huff, completely perplexed by his crude disregard for a stranger. 

Jungkook seems content in your reaction as he pushes past you unapologetically, allowing his steps to drip with swagger as he seeks the exit of the mailroom. You want to retaliate but find yourself temporarily speechless as your mind tries to wrap around the interaction you just shared with the attractive, yet infuriating man. “Someone’s in a shitty mood today.” You mumble under your breath as he walks away, assuming his headphone was back in his ear. 

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook stops at the doorway, glancing back to get in one final word. “Yeah...” He grins before placing his headphone in his ear. “Seems like you’re in one.” With that, Jungkook waves you off by shaking the small pile of mail nestled in his hand through the air as he turns to walk back into the hallway. 

You feel your body tense as you stare down the space that was once occupied by Jungkook, still baffled that you were so enraged by this random man. The smug look on his face still haunts you as you scoff, rolling your eyes as you move to retrieve your tote bags, grunting at the thought of making it upstairs. You tuck your mail into the side of one of the bags, sliding each bag on your arms as the weight strains against your muscles. 

You take a deep breath before lifting the heavy load, quickly escaping from the mailroom to seek out the nearest elevator. You desperately want to make it to your apartment to neatly organize your groceries into their designated spot, eager to be rid of this tedious task.  

-----

The next day, the gentle hum of your jeep’s engine causes your eyes to weigh heavy as you drive back home from a long day at work. You fight off the sting in your eyes from the numerous hours spent in front of a computer screen, thankful for a break as you make your way back to your slice of independence. Your radio is off as you drive past each intersection, your mind and body exhausted from yet another night of terrible sleep. If only your mysterious neighbor would take a night off from blasting music or movies to prevent you from falling asleep. 

You groan as you rub a hand across your face, deciding the silence of the vehicle wasn’t helping you keep your focus on the road. You lean forward once you stop at a red light,  switching on the stereo as your car instantly connects to the Bluetooth on your cell phone. You utilize the break from driving to select your favorite playlist from Spotify, picking your favorite road trip jams to help keep your mind engaged for the remainder of your ride home. 

Thankfully the traffic is on your side as you approach the parking garage of your apartment building, the automatic door allowing you access once reading the signal of the fob tucked within the sun visor. You smile at the thought of soon being bundled in your bed, ready for a midday nap to help fight off the insufferable noise your neighbor insists on putting you through, day in and day out. 

 Usually, there aren't any spots available on the first floor once rush hour hits, however, once you turn the corner, you notice a vacant spot close to the main lobby entrance. A relieved smile pulls at the corners of your lips, knowing you aren’t in the mood to carry your laptop bag down two floors of the parking garage just to get inside. 

You quickly accelerate in an attempt to claim the space, suddenly noticing a BMW whipping through the parking garage from the opposite direction, barreling towards the vacant parking spot. Given the distance between you both, it’s clear that the BMW would reach the space first if you didn’t act quickly. Your exhaustion leaves you to act rashly, rapidly pulling into the spot and cutting off the man cruising through the space. You suddenly feel guilty, however, your tired limbs overrule the emotion since you no longer have such a long way to trek to get upstairs. 

You nervously chew on your bottom lip, peering up in your rearview mirror to vaguely see the man inside the vehicle waving his hand in disbelief, followed by a swift raise of his middle finger. You don’t dare retaliate, fully knowing you were in the wrong in that situation. 

You grip your steering wheel with both hands, sinking in your seat as you raise a hand to wave back, mumbling to yourself since he can’t hear you from inside your car. “Sorry!” The roar of the BMW ignites behind you as the BMW spots a car pulling out not too far from your current parking space. You wait till he disappears, quickly grabbing your bag and purse, and turning off the ignition of your jeep to park. You open the door, quickly slipping out as you grip your keys tightly between your fingertips, desperate to get inside and avoid an awkward conversation. 

You stumble around your jeep, moving toward the entrance door with your fob in hand, quickly tapping the sensor as you walk hastily to get inside. You feel the tension in your body simmer as you walk toward the elevators, leaving the previous events behind you. You maneuver your way through the elegantly decorated corridors, the fresh scent of your apartment building wafting around you as you drape your laptop bag over your shoulder.

You reach an inlet nestled between the various corridors that lead to the amenities offered by the complex, quickly pressing the call button as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You notice that the elevator is currently on the tenth floor, groaning at your luck. Of course, it would be on the tallest floor of the building, leaving you waiting like a sitting duck. You grip the strap of your bag, tapping your foot impatiently before hearing a deep voice echo from behind you. 

“Well, if it isn’t princess.” You blink before rotating your body, allowing your gaze to follow as you land on the image of the same man you encountered yesterday in the mailroom. The messy overgrown mullet is a dead giveaway that you’re talking to Jungkook, your eyes drop to find his keys with a BMW fob nestled in his hand. Your gaze follows up on his tattooed arm that was deliciously exposed beneath his oversized black t-shirt. 

You quickly turn back away, closing your eyes at the audacity of the situation. Of all the residents you could’ve cut off, of course, it just had to be Jungkook. “Shit.” You whisper under your breath, adjusting your posture to stand taller as he moves to stand beside you. 

“You almost hit me, you know.” His tone was serious, clearly agitated with you as his stare bores through the side of your skull. Jungkook notices your hesitance in offering him the courtesy of talking with him, shaking his head as he recalled your interaction from yesterday. “I didn’t realize calling you lazy would have you out for me.” 

 “Believe it or not, I had no idea that was you.” You don’t want him to think that you purposefully had it out for him, refusing to paint yourself as someone so petty. 

Jungkook grins in amusement, passing his tongue over the shiny metal piercing latched on his bottom lip. “Oh, so you just cut everyone off?” He chuckles darkly as he offers you a mischievous glare. “I didn’t realize you were such a bitch.” 

Your jaw drops once again, flabbergasted by his brazen remark. “I’m not a bitch.” You retaliate, inwardly recognizing that you weren’t exactly the most neighborly by cutting him off. You figure the least you could do was offer up an apology for acting so rashly. “I’m sorry, I just had a long day.” 

Jungkook’s wide eyes evaluate your sincerity, noticing the exhaustion behind your pupils as you offer him a genuine apology. He turns his attention back to the closed elevator doors, tucking his lip piercing between his teeth. “Hey, I get it.” He wasn’t a stranger to long days or long nights at work and understood the feeling of exhaustion. Your features soften at his understanding, taking the opportunity to observe his appearance completely. When you aren't arguing, you were able to notice how undeniably handsome he is, his tattoos and piercing adding to his edgy persona despite the large soft eyes that were peering back at you. 

Jungkook equally takes the opportunity to glance you over. His eyes traveling up and down your figure as he admires the way your dress hangs just above your lower thigh. You chew the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling nervous. 

“I’m Y/n.” You offer, keeping your hands clung to the straps of your bags as you offer him a smile in hopes of getting a truce. 

Jungkook hesitates for a moment before adjusting his grip on the backpack around his arm. “Jungkook.” He answers softly. “Most people just call me JK.” 

You nod before turning back to face the elevator, hating the awkwardness that was radiating between you both.  He hums softly as silence falls upon the pair of you, the void is suddenly filled by the chime of the elevator. You watch as Jungkook gestures for you to go first, suddenly becoming a gentleman despite the past two interactions you shared. 

You move swiftly into the elevator, watching as Jungkook follows, seeking out the operation panel as he glances back in your direction. “What floor?” He peers at you as he hovers his finger over the panel, waiting for you to answer. 

“Um, seven.” You speak, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the thought of the elevator door closing you into a tight space with Jungkook, a man who was equally as gorgeous as he was frustrating. Jungkook quickly presses the number seven before offering you a mischievous grin, sliding his finger down the length of the buttons as each one illuminates. 

Your eyes become wide in horror, realizing that the elevator would now make a stop at every single floor on its way up to your apartment. “What are you doing?!” Your voice has a little more snap to it than you anticipate, your irritation bubbling over as a chuckle reverberates from his chest. 

“Next time, don’t cut me off.” He offers you a devilish smile before pressing the button to have the elevator doors reopen just before they can fully shut. 

You narrow your eyes, any hope of patching things up with him dissipating as you cross your arms in front of your chest. “What are you, four?” You mock, scolding him as if he was a young child playing with the elevator panel. 

He shrugs his shoulders as he steps out of the elevator, glancing back at you as his hair hangs just above those bright brown eyes that seem to captivate you so effortlessly. He looks so handsome even though he was doing you dirty, allowing you to let your guard down around him. You could kick yourself. “Nah, I’m just bored.” He offers plainly, turning to seek out the door that leads to the stairs. “Enjoy your ride, princess.” He offers as he gives you a backhanded wave with his free hand, before using it to press open the door leading to the stairwell. 

You watch him disappear as the doors slide shut in front of you, leaving you alone to process the childish interaction. “Fucking asshole.” You groan, feeling the frustration bubble over you as the elevator begins ascending to the next floor. You sigh as you feel the jolt of the elevator coming to a stop, the door opening to reveal a barren second floor. You move to the control panel, repeatedly pressing the close-door button, angry that your body is too exhausted to trek up seven flights of stairs. You are going to have to endure the endless opening and closing of the elevator doors, pressing your back into the wall as you let a frustrated growl escape your diaphragm. 

-----

After a week of hiding out in your apartment and avoiding any more unfortunate interactions with the residents of your apartment complex, you decide it’s time for a much-needed day of relaxation. You tug on your favorite beach coverup, the kimono style article hanging off your curves while it conceals your favorite swimsuit. You shift around your apartment, walking toward the kitchen to retrieve something refreshing to consume in the summer heat sweltering outside. 

Your eyes scan over the selection, landing on a glass bottle of calypso lemonade as your mouth seemingly salivates at the thought of drinking it. You happily pluck it from its place on the shelf, tossing it into your tote bag before turning to grab your keys from the counter. Thankfully for a weekend, your next-door neighbor seems to have given their obnoxious music a break, leaving a pleasant silence in the span of your apartment. 

You hum contently as you make your way out into the hallway, turning to lock your door swiftly after stepping on your decorative mat. A dark object pulls your attention as you peer toward your noisy neighbor's apartment door, noticing a black gym bag tossed carelessly into the corner of the hallway. Apparently, your neighbor believes that since they hold the corner lot, they think they can utilize that corner space for storage. You roll your eyes before turning to make your way toward the elevator, eager to seek the comfort of a day at the pool.

Most of the trip down is spent browsing through your social media catching up on the latest celebrity news and the endlessly exciting lives of your friends and coworkers. You notice yet another engagement and pregnancy announcement while you’re mindlessly enjoying the single life. You roll your eyes as the elevator tone indicates your arrival at the main lobby, placing the device into your tote bag to avoid any more mental comparisons about your life and your friends. 

You end up strolling past most of the recreational amenities, utilizing the time to thoroughly observe each one as you walk down the length of the corridor. You pass by a lounge with a pool table and coffee machine, quickly glancing at a sign that reads ‘Free Coffee and Cookies 24/7 for Residents’. Your eyes widen at the sight, knowing that would surely be a perk you’d take advantage of. You continue down the hallway, passing an Internet cafe and a fully equipped gym. You smile brightly, knowing that you’ll utilize the gym instead of always going out on a run. 

The thought of the gym instantly reminds you of the bag outside your neighbor’s door, your curiosity peaking as you peer through the glass windows in an attempt to see if anyone is inside. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anyone there, leaving you clueless once more about your mysterious neighbor. 

With a shrug of your shoulders, you continue down the corridor to a door that leads outside into a courtyard that was completely surrounded by the towering buildings of your complex. It created a perfect rectangle in the center of the lot, left open to the sunshine as you glance around the beautifully tiled lanai. 

There’s a small stone fire pit in the far left corner of the space, lounge chairs and hammocks spread about for the enjoyment of the residents. There’s even a small bar and kitchen area available for rent in case anyone ever wants to host close to home. It was in moments like these that you felt accomplished, thrilled to know that your efforts to advance in your career allowed you to settle into a place like this. If only the crazy neighbors weren’t included. 

You strut happily through the courtyard, noticing a few residents moving about as you keep your eyes focused on a special lounge chair perfectly placed beneath the shade of an umbrella. What you didn’t notice was that in the pool were Jungkook and his coworker, Taehyung, casually tossing about a volleyball for their enjoyment. 

It didn’t take long for Jungkook and Taehyung’s gaze to find the sight of a young woman making her way towards the pool, your outfit drawing their attention. “Damn, JK. You got that walking around yet you're still single?” Taehyung teases, watching you set your bag back and settle into the lounge chair as he tosses the volleyball back toward Jungkook. 

Jungkook simply shrugs his shoulders as he effortlessly catches the ball, peering back at you only to catch a glimpse of your backside. It isn’t until you take a seat in the lounge that he catches a glimpse of your features, recognizing you from your last two encounters. 

“Yeah, trust me. I don’t need that one.” Jungkook scoffs as he tosses the ball into the air, spiking it down toward Taehyung. Taehyung narrows his eyes in Jungkook’s direction, retrieving the ball before twisting it within the confinement of his hands. 

Taehyung glances between you and Jungkook, noticing the tension exuding from his friend and coworker. “What’s that about? Bad hookup or something?” 

Jungkook laughs sarcastically as he motions with his hand for Taehyung to spike it back, shifting his feet beneath the water as he prepares to block the incoming object. “She wishes.” 

He grins mischievously at the thought of putting you in your place while he fucks the living daylights out of you, lucid images of getting you to shut your mouth in sexually creative ways plaguing his mind. He shakes off his imagination as he retrieves the volleyball that comes flying towards his body, gripping it tightly between his large hands. 

Meanwhile, you find yourself comfortably lounged about in your chair with your towel draped beneath you, allowing your skin to soak up the rays of the sun. Your tranquility falters slightly each time you hear the spiking of the volleyball against the water, however, you muffle out the sound by playing your music softly from your phone to not disturb anyone around you. 

The heat of the afternoon kisses your skin as you lean down to retrieve the bottle of lemonade from your tote bag, eager for a refreshing treat to quench your building thirst. You grip the neck of the bottle as you twist open the cap, a satisfying pop allowing you to tug off the metal piece as you bring the bottle to your lips to down a sizable gulp of the sweet yet sour liquid. 

You smack your lips happily, leaning your head back to enjoy the peace and quiet as your back presses into the half-raised lounge chair. The umbrella provides you with just the right amount of shade as you begin sunbathing, completely oblivious to the company just a few feet away from you. 

A good while passes, your phone scrolling through your summer playlist as Jungkook and Taehyung continue chatting and enjoying a few more tosses of their volleyball. “Wanna grab hibachi after this?” Taehyung offers as the ball travels back towards Jungkook, flying clear over his head as he dives in to swim after it. His toned limbs row effortlessly through the water, his tattooed arm distinguishing him from his friend as he snags the floating ball before it drifts farther away. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” Jungkook’s eyes swell against his cheeks at the thought of delicious food before he walks through the resistance of the water to get closer to Taehyung. He holds out the ball, preparing his opposite hand to punt it back in his direction before his eyes catch a glimpse of you sitting up. He studies your movements, watching as you bring your bottle back to your lips for another sip. 

His lips tug into a mischievous smirk, aiming his hand past Taehyung toward your unsuspecting self, swiftly sending his hand forward to send the ball in your direction. You’re too preoccupied to notice the incoming object until it’s too late, a small screech escaping your lips as the ball smacks into the arm that's holding your drink. 

The impact causes you to lose your grip on the glass, watching it drop into your lap as the sting of the ball radiates against your forearm. Your eyes widen as you notice the volleyball, glancing up to see two men staring in your direction from the pool. 

A stupid grin stretches across Jungkook’s lips as he waves over to you. “My bad.” He offers half-assed, before watching the ball roll back toward the pool. He lunges forward, swimming quickly to reach the opposite end of the pool that is only a few feet away from you as you suddenly notice exactly who is swimming towards you. 

“Seriously?” You groan, lifting your sunglasses to send your glare blaring at him. He simply grins as you observe the way his muscle top hangs loosely on his frame from the weight of the water. 

You watch his large eyes sparkle with pride as he retrieves the ball, a laugh erupting from his diaphragm as he notices the sticky blue liquid dripping from your lap. “Happy accident.” He assures you, challenging your glare despite the amusement dancing behind his pupils. 

You roll your eyes at the bullshit he’s trying to pull on you, lifting the now-empty bottle as you set it down beneath your chair. “Yeah, accident my ass.” You grumble under your breath as you lean sideways to grab the extra towel you packed in your bag in case you want to go for a swim. You move to wipe up your lap, only to realize the liquid completely seeped through your coverup. 

Jungkook turns to make his way to Taehyung who is desperately biting back his laughter as Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. You give up on salvaging the piece of clothing, standing up from your seat before crossing your arms to peel off the cover-up.

Jungkook turns around just at the right moment, catching you mid-action as you tug the clothing over your head, revealing the delicious sight of your body in your sexiest black two-piece. Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sight, his mind plummeting into his sexual fantasies as your swimsuit leaves little to his imagination. “Fuck.” He huffs under his breath, turning around to avoid any other intrusive thoughts about you. It was bad enough that he had to put up with you, let only be physically attracted to you. 

Jungkook shifts his attention to their towels and belongings, moving to pull himself out of the water to put away the culprit of your unfortunate spill. You toss your soiled coverup to the side, utilizing your towel to clean up as you watch Jungkook grab a blue towel, using it to wipe off his face and hair as he places the volleyball down beside their things. 

You smack your lips as you narrow your eyes in his direction, your irritation doing little to prevent your mind from ogling over the sight of his now see through muscle top, exposing his perfectly sculpted abdomen through the sheer veil. A shiver courses through your body from the anger and the arousal, feeling yourself become irrationally petty about the man you can’t seem to escape. 

Jungkook quickly runs to jump back into the pool once the volleyball is tucked away, leaving you with the perfect opportunity to be spiteful. You glance down at your body, feeling the sticky residue of the lemonade as you decide to head to the bathrooms to clean up. You grab your cell phone before sliding on your sandals, moving with purposeful steps toward Jungkook’s belongings. 

Taehyung currently has Jungkook in a playful chokehold as the pair begin roughhousing, distracting them from the sight of you stomping toward Jungkook’s towel, instantly grabbing the fabric before tossing into the pool. 

The men pause their actions as Jungkook glares in your direction, his long hair hanging in his eyes before he slicks his hair back to get a better view. “What the hell?” He growls, pushing Taehyung off of him as he moves to grab his towel that is slowly soaking up water and sinking beneath the surface. 

“Man, the breeze is just so strong today.” You tut in satisfaction, giggling from the frustration invading his features. “Maybe you should weigh it down next time.” You add before turning on your heel to seek out the restroom. You hear the sudden sound of water dripping against the tile of the lanai, only assuming that Jungkook was ringing out his towel. You grin to yourself as you disappear inside, refusing to give him the satisfaction of glancing back toward him. 

You disappear inside the lobby as you dash toward the women’s room, eager to cleanse your body from the residue causing your thighs to stick together. You move straight to the sink, twisting on the tap as you reach for the soap, eager to lather up the suds to rub against your abdomen and thighs, sighing as you glance in the mirror to spot your disheveled appearance. 

This was all thanks to Jungkook. Why did he insist on being such a brat every single time you saw him? Your thoughts cause you t0 halt as you find your eyes in the mirror, realizing that you’ve equally been a brat around him. You were just as guilty as causing this feud in the first place. You sigh, knowing that this would only continue getting worse until one of you apologizes. Unfortunately for Jungkook, you had no intention of being the first to do such a thing.

You grab a handful of paper towels, rubbing the material over your skin to remove any excess soap before tossing the remnants into the trash, bringing your hands up to smooth out the flyaways from the top of your head, taking in your figure before turning to head outside. 

You open the door to the corridor, rolling back your shoulders to create a false appearance of confidence, refusing to step outside with any sign of defeat exposing itself on your body. You turn the corner to reach for the door that leads outside until you feel your leg slide out from beneath you, causing you to fall. 

Your breath gets knocked out of you as your back collides with the tile flooring, leaving an ache against your backside. You pause for a moment, feeling a tight tension in your neck as you strain to keep your head from slamming back. “Fuck…that hurt…” You whimper as you gently let your head rest against the tile, watching your chest concave with each breath to compensate for the sudden impact. 

You bring your hands up to your face, running your palms up to push back your hair as you take a moment to collect yourself. You suddenly hear the echo of footsteps, letting your head roll to the side as you notice a pair of toned legs approaching you. Your eyes scan up the figure to spot a thin waist decorated in the same wet muscle shirt that Jungkook was wearing. You blink as your eyes keep traveling up to find his arm of tattoos. 

Jungkook has a cookie hanging from between his teeth as his hands balance two coffees. His brow raises as he observes the sight of you splattered against the ground. He moves one of his occupied hands to his mouth, retrieving the cookie between two fingers as he chews the bite. “What happened to you?” 

You move to push yourself up, your hands sliding against the tile as you realize that there are droplets of water decorating the floor. You glance back toward Jungkook, realizing that his body is still dripping wet from the pool as if he put zero effort into drying himself off before going inside. 

“I slipped on your fucking puddles.” You snap, realizing that once again, Jungkook was the culprit of your misery. “Didn’t you dry off?” 

Jungkook’s triumphant grin causes your cheeks to flush red as he casually shrugs his shoulders. “I would’ve, but someone threw my towel in the pool.” He speaks nonchalantly as he moves forward, raising his leg to step over you. You instinctually duck down as he mindlessly walks over you, moving to push open the door with his back given his hands were still occupied.

You stare at him in utter shock, stunned that he would leave you on the ground without at least offering you a hand. Before you can get another word out, he moves his hand up to his lips, eager to take another bite of his cookie. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, princess?” He chuckles youthfully as he escapes back out to the lanai, leaving you on the ground feeling infuriated and defeated once again. 

Once you’re alone, you grunt as you bring your hands down to your sides, slamming your palms against the tile in frustration. You gently pick yourself up, knowing you will need to walk back out to face the scrutinizing stare of both Jungkook and his handsome friend. You take a moment to collect yourself, pausing as you reach the door leading outside to take a deep breath, reluctantly facing your inevitable doom.

-----

The slow-building ache in your stomach causes you to groan in discomfort as you lean your body weight into the shopping cart in front of you, slowly stepping through the aisles of your local pharmacy. You peer down each row as you search for feminine hygiene products, utilizing your cart as a crutch while you familiarize yourself with your new neighborhood pharmacy. 

Thankfully like many others, the layout was quite simple, leaving you a clear path to wrap around the store towards the back area. You catch a glimpse of brightly colored bags lining one of the aisles, instantly halting your steps as your mouth begins to salivate at the sight of an unlimited choice of candy and chocolates. 

You fight off the building temptation to venture down to browse their selection of sweets, determining it was probably better to simply b-line for the back and avoid the intake of additional calories. You take a few steps before your stomach begins to rumble in protest, the hunger outweighing your resolve to follow your healthy eating habits as you pivot back around. 

A smile stretches across your face as you gently drag your tongue against your bottom lip, your irises instantly latching onto the sight of the large selection of chocolate bars. You shamelessly debate your options before reaching for your all-time favorite, grabbing a couple of bars to toss into your basket. 

You feel the discomfort of your cramps intensify as you resume your quest towards the back of the store, knowing the longer you spent roaming around, the more your cart would fill with things you most definitely didn’t need to purchase. 

To keep your mind occupied, you start humming along to the music being projected overhead, matching each of your steps to the beat of the music as you sway your hips from side to side. You spot the next aisle marker, noticing the sign hanging above the shelving as you stumble across the section of the store you actually came for. 

Just as you start turning the corner, you pause as your eyes settle upon a familiar sleeve of tattoos, specific designs standing out to you as you trace the pattern of a snake near the man’s wrist. You trail your eyes up to spot the blue words that read “bulletproof” just below his elbow, instantly taking a few steps back to retreat into the aisle to hide from Jungkook. 

What the hell was he doing here? It was at least a couple of days since your last interaction at the pool. Why did he have to be at this very pharmacy on this specific day? You peer your head around the corner, watching as he glances over a selection of hand-support braces often used by athletes. You raise a brow, suddenly curious to find out why he would need such a thing. 

You find yourself waiting impatiently for him to disappear off into a different section of the store, so you can quickly move to retrieve a box of your usual tampons. The last thing you want from this evening is to cross paths with Jungkook while you’re out making such a personal purchase. 

You decide to hug the sides of the store, walking past the refrigerated section to seek out the cashiers in the front. Your eyes look for a distraction as you peer over the selection of ice creams and frozen pizzas, suddenly craving both to indulge in as your dinner. You nibble gently on your bottom lip, debating the purchase in your mind as you recall everything remaining in your fridge that you could possibly cook. The mere thought of cooking causes you to groan, wishing you could simply crawl into bed with a heating pad and a delicious pizza to enjoy a simple night in. 

The fall in your resolve comes when you notice your favorite flavor of ice cream, licking your lips as you pull the case open to retrieve a small pint alongside your favorite type of pizza. You hum happily, deciding that you’ve worked out enough this week to splurge on something quick and easy for dinner. 

As you place the items in your cart, you glance up to find the sight of Jungkook making his way into the refrigerated section, leaving you scrambling to turn around and head in the opposite direction. You feel ridiculous for being so paranoid about crossing paths with him, yet feel immensely relieved when he stops in front of one of the cases to look over a few drink selections. 

You take that as your cue to dash down the snack aisle, ready to check out and head back home. Unfortunately for you, you aren’t paying attention when you arrive at the front of the store, colliding with another shopper’s cart. You are too busy glancing back to make sure that Jungkook is not following you, that you didn’t notice the incoming patron, cringing internally at the loud bang your cart caused against theirs. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You quickly tug your cart back, feeling your cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as the older woman glares at you with an unmatched irritation. The sudden desire to crawl beneath a rock comes from the disapproving glare the middle-aged woman flashes in your direction as you watch her smack her lips before turning down the refrigerated aisle. 

You bring a hand up to your face, dragging your palm down the length of your face as you internally cringe. The embarrassment leaves you swirling in your anxieties as a low chuckle reverberates from behind you. 

“Nice one, Klutz.” Jungkook is suddenly standing beside you, amused to find that you are the reason behind the sudden commotion in the pharmacy. The wide goofy grin on his features leaves you irritated beyond belief, groaning that you now pulled attention to yourself when all you wanted was to disappear. 

“Fuck you.” You instinctually reply, knowing your reaction is wildly over dramatic. You chew on the inside of your cheek, quickly trying to think of anything you can throw back in his face. Your eyes settle on the small case of yellow boxes nestled against his side, your eyes widening at the sight of banana milk. “Aw cute, did you drive all the way here for your little juice boxes?” You retaliate, utilizing your best infant vocal inflections to tease the gorgeous man staring you down. 

Jungkook’s jaw visibly tightens at your mocking tone, tonguing the inside of his cheek as his large bug eyes drop to the contents of your shopping cart. Two could play that game. He wasted no time observing the ice cream, candy bars, and pizza scattered about the basket, his eyes stopping upon the box of tampons. “Chocolate and tampons…is that why you’re acting like a raging bitch?” 

You feel your jaw drop open, something that Jungkook constantly seems to cause as you blink off your surprise. “Excuse me?” 

Jungkook simply grins at your flustered reaction, adjusting his grip on the case of banana milk as he continues toward the register, obnoxiously content with himself. “You’re excused.” He hums happily, bumping into your shoulder as he passes by. “Make sure not to run anyone else over, alright princess?” 

You scoff at his words, turning around to face him as you notice him waving a hand back at you as he focuses on greeting the cashier. “Fucking asshole.” You mumble under your breath, feeling angry about his smug attitude and the building pain from your cramping uterus. You sigh, admitting your momentary defeat as you join the opposite queue for a different cashier. 

Keeping your eyes down, you focus on the items in your cart, fighting the urge to peek up at Jungkook to see if he cared to spare a look in your direction. The man irritates you beyond belief, so why are you secretly hoping that he’s watching you? You bite your bottom lip nervously, caving into your temptation to glance back in his direction. To your surprise, you meet his eyes, instantly feeling the heat rush back to your cheeks. Is it because you’re blushing or that the gorgeous man infuriates you? 

Jungkook pins you with his dark pupils as you suffocate beneath his stare, sharing an odd mixture of electricity and rage as you peel your eyes away to meet the cashier. He does the same, both of you focusing on your transactions as your items get bagged up while you pluck your credit card out from your wallet to pay. 

You tap the small piece of plastic onto the payment terminal, hearing the soft tone that causes you to pull it back, watching the screen process your card. As you wait, you hear Jungkook thank the cashier before grabbing his items and making his way out of the store. Just as he goes to step out of the automatic doors, he flashes you another daring glare, raising his eyebrows mischievously before disappearing outside. 

With a click of your tongue, you push your wallet back into your bag, glancing at the cashier who is holding out your receipt with a friendly smile. “Have a wonderful day.” You hear them say as you mindlessly collect your bags, still hyper-focusing on the front door, watching Jungkook walk off toward the array of parked cars. 

“Thanks, you too.” You speak your words without offering them eye contact, quickly following after Jungkook as if you are paranoid that he will mess with your car or try something to get you back for all of your recent encounters. 

Thankfully, you spot his messy overgrown mullet climbing into his BMW, the tension in your muscles relaxing as you walk off toward your jeep. You curl an arm to retrieve your keys from the side pocket of your bag, hearing the slight jingle as you pull them from their confinement. Your fingers press the top button of the fob, hearing your engine ignite before another button has your trunk door opening automatically. You quickly swing into the trunk, pressing the side button as it begins closing itself. 

Just as you turn to approach the driver’s side door, Jungkook’s black BMW speeds by, blaring his car horn  which causes you to jump in fear. You clutch a hand to your chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart within your ribcage as you glare back toward Jungkook’s car that was exiting onto the main road. You growl beneath your breath, only imagining Jungkook’s wide bunny smile as he drives away in gratification. 

You climb into your SUV, simply wanting to be home so you can sink away into the comforts of your sheets. You move the gear shift back as you pull out from the parking spot, flipping on your radio as your phone automatically connects to the dashboard. You let another drawn-out sigh escape your lips as you pull out of the parking lot, turning to stop at the streetlight leading back out to the main road. 

Luckily your apartment complex is only a few blocks away, allowing you little time to dwell on your stomach pains before arriving at the intersection leading to the parking garage. You suddenly snap out of your thoughts, noticing the car in front of you was the familiar black BMW from earlier, rolling your eyes as your peer through the tinted window to spot the outline of Jungkook’s body. “Great.” You mumble under your breath, pulling in behind him as you click the fob on your sun visor to keep the garage door open behind him. 

You notice a spot by the entrance to the lobby, watching as Jungkook smoothly backs into the space to claim it as his own. You avoid eye contact with him as you drive farther down, grabbing a spot not too far beyond the entrance as your own. You take a moment to yourself before turning off the ignition, getting out of the car to collect your purchases from the back, and watching as Jungkook disappears within the building. 

Locking up your car, you keep your keys in your hand as you walk towards the main entrance, tapping over the sensor as you enter the familiar lobby. You only hope that once you get upstairs that your next-door neighbor is gone, allowing you a moment of peace without their need to be so noisy all hours of the day. 

Your shoes tap against the tile as you turn towards the elevators, pausing in your steps as you notice Jungkook is still waiting for the next available cart. You figure he would have already caught the next elevator by now, but of course, as your luck would have it, you are stuck enduring him for a little longer. You awkwardly walk up behind him, making sure to keep your distance as you lean against the wall, refusing to make eye contact with him. 

It’s suddenly uncomfortable in the lobby, both you and Jungkook clearly attempting to refrain from making any more jabs at each other. Despite the awkwardness in the air, you can’t help but flicker your gaze in his direction. He’s dressed in simple oversized clothes, concealing the delicious figure you witnessed the other day at the pool. His hair is tossed about as he keeps his gaze on the closed elevator doors, his tongue fiddling with the metal hoop piercing along his bottom lip. 

For a moment, you look him over, wondering what your interactions would have been like if you didn’t get off on the wrong foot. Would you have simply said hello and moved on? Would you have possibly become friends? Despite the variety of scenarios in your head, you settle on the fact that despite his obnoxious personality, he is in fact a very handsome individual. His features seem soft as you continue to observe him from afar, noticing the glimmer in his large eyes as the elevator tone indicates its arrival. 

You watch him walk into the space, hesitating before following after him, your eyes meet as you join him. The eye contact instantly reminds you why you didn’t like each other, his judgmental glare matching yours as you scoff at his presence. You watch him press the number seven, the tension only growing between the pair of you as the doors threaten to close. “Seven, right?” 

“Yeah.” You’re surprised that he remembers, your throat suddenly feels immensely dry as your voice cracks, wishing you could face-palm yourself as embarrassment attacks you once more. The corner of Jungkook’s mouth pulls into a smirk as he peers back at you. You feel your breathing pick up as you get lost in his surprisingly soft stare. You catch yourself staring at each other,  Jungkook equally surprised by the way you both seem to be hypnotized by each other. 

The elevator tone pulls Jungkook back from his thoughts as he clears his throat. His fingers hover over the call panel, your curiosity peaking as you watch to see which floor he will press for himself. “On second thought, I’ll take the stairs.” His voice pulls your attention as he awkwardly slips out of the elevator, recalling that not twenty minutes ago you were bantering with each other at the pharmacy. He wasn’t ready to handle an awkward elevator ride up with you confined in a small space. 

“What?” You blink off your surprise as Jungkook glances back at you, grinning coyly as he moves towards the stairs. 

“You already attacked one innocent person today. I don’t want to take my chances.” He teases, leaving you smacking your lips in disbelief.

“Seriously?” He would rather walk up the stairs instead of trusting that you can behave yourself in a short elevator ride. You pop out your hip and place your hand against your waist, shaking your head as a bright airy chuckle escapes his lips. 

He pushes open the door, getting one last word in before disappearing inside the stairwell. “Never trust a bitch on her period.” 

With that, the elevator door closes leaving you alone to ponder what just transpired. He did not just seriously ditch you for the stairs, and call you a bitch again? You stomp your foot in frustration just as a child would, letting your annoyance manifest as you feel the elevator start to move. You try to calm yourself down with a few soothing breaths, knowing your hormones are all out of whack and it was best to ignore Jungkook while focusing on getting home. 

-----

The soft vibrations of your next-door neighbor's music pulse through the connecting wall of your bedroom as you mindlessly scroll through the various platforms of social media on your phone. Your bedroom television is playing through episodes of your favorite sitcom to try and drown out the noise from next door, testing your patience as you indulge in bites of the candy bar you purchased earlier. Your eyes flicker up at the clock on your phone, groaning once realizing that it was already nine o’clock and your neighbor seems nowhere near calling it a night.

You kick your legs in front of you out of frustration, tossing your phone to the side before slamming your hands down on the plush duvet as you let a drawn-out groan escape your lips. You feel your muscles become increasingly tense as the slow thumping morphs into a strong pattern of electronic beats. You roll your eyes, bringing your candy back to your lips as you sink your teeth down into the sweet fix, the taste soothing you as you teeter on the edge of your sanity. 

Your eyes shift toward the television screen, hoping that by focusing on the sitcom, your mind might grow used to the background noise and drown out the insufferable sounds. You let the chocolate delight melt against your tongue as you savor your indulgent snack, tuning out your neighbor's music as much as possible, knowing you will need to try to sleep soon after your exhaustion from the day. 

A comforting warmth radiates against your stomach as you adjust the heating pad that is nestled against your lap, thankful that the pain relievers are beginning to kick in. You hear a soft hum from beside you, hearing your cell phone vibrate against your comforter as you slowly lift the device to your face. Your eyes instantly settle on the name of your best friend, your lips gently pulling into a smile as you tap your screen to accept her call. 

“Hey, Roxanne.” You mumble into the phone, feeling exhaustion weighing on your limbs as you sit back against your pillows. 

“Y/n? What are you doing?” You hear your best friend's energetic voice over the phone as she questions the slow melodic thumping unfortunately being heard through the phone. 

You let out a sarcastic laugh before reaching for another bite of your chocolate bar. “I’m at home, why?” 

“Girl, it’s a Friday night. You should be out partying with us.” Roxanne has a judgmental tone to her voice as you roll your eyes, knowing the last thing you want to do is to be out at clubs in a mini dress while your stomach is cramping uncontrollably. 

“I’m perfectly happy sitting my ass in bed for tonight.” You tease, attempting to give Roxanne a bit of sass to lighten your mood. 

You hear a lighthearted chuckle on the opposite end of the telephone, causing the tension in your body to relax as you melt back into your mattress. “So how’s the new apartment?” She hums through the phone as you shift your position in bed. 

,“It’s great.” You bite your lip as you process your words wondering if they are your reality or a lie that you’ve been trying to tell yourself. You glance around your room, settling in the fact that you do love your apartment. It’s modern and new with an amazing view of the courtyard from your balcony. The complex itself has amenities you could only wish to afford on your own and the lifestyle you’ve created for yourself is exactly what you hoped for. So why were you questioning the authenticity of your answer?

The reverberations through your wall reminds you of not only your next door neighbor, but Jungkook, who seems to lurk about the complex and run into you whenever it is most inconvenient for you. The thought of him causes you to grumble, taking your noisy neighbor over his smug ass comments any day. 

“That’s good. So when are you inviting me over?” Roxanne teases, causing you to roll your eyes playfully. 

“Want to come over tomorrow?” You quickly add, knowing any company would be the exact distraction you need. 

You grin at her confirmation, suddenly feeling excited for tomorrow as her voice echoes over the telephone. “Let’s invite Lisa as well. We can make it a girls night!” You ponder the thought for a moment, imagining all three of you drinking wine and watching movies together as you gossip about the latest drama in your lives. 

“Sounds perfect.” You beam, feeling eager to fall asleep so that the evening could arrive sooner. 

Just as you’re finishing your conversation, you hear a series of low groans echoing through your bedroom walls. You pause in your conversation, listening in carefully as the deep sound only becomes louder and seemingly more strained. Your cheeks instantly flush crimson at the realization of the noise, hearing the breathy moans coming from your next-door neighbor. 

At least now you know that your neighbor is a male, or at least that’s what you’re assuming. Heck, for all you know, maybe your neighbor has a guy over and they are banging it out on the opposite side of your bedroom wall. You can only imagine how loud they actually are being since your walls aren’t that thin.

“What the hell are you listening to?” You hear Roxanne comment before bringing your attention back to your phone. “Y/n? Are you with someone right now?” 

Her serious tone instantly causes you to become flustered, embarrassment taking over your limbs as you swallow back the growing knot in your throat. “Oh my God, no!” You quickly defend, sending your fist slamming into your bedroom wall in hopes the sudden jolt would cause your neighbor to stop whatever unholy actions from occurring in their bedroom. “It’s coming from my neighbors, I swear.” You add in a panicked state. “I swear they are loud as fuck.” 

Roxanne only laughs at your discomfort, her usual brazen demeanor living for the drama. “Oh…kinky.” You practically face palm at her comment as the grunts continue, causing your embarrassment to morph into annoyance. 

You suddenly hear the music increase in volume which only sends you into a rage. Of course no other neighbor would complain about them given they had a corner lot. The only person stuck listening to their insufferable nonsense was you, and you were about done. “Listen, I’ll text you. I gotta take care of something.” 

Before Roxanne can respond, your finger taps the end call button, tossing your phone to the side as you peel your covers from over your limbs to crawl out of bed. You are in a loose band t-shirt and a pair of comfy leggings, however, you don’t seem to think twice about your appearance as you storm out of your bedroom towards your front door. You’ve about had it with the insistent music and you were ready to speak your mind. All you want is one night of peace and quiet, something your neighbor seems to not understand. 

Once you reach the door leading out into the hallway, you yank it open, steam practically seeping from your nostrils as your fist meets the door of your neighbor’s lot. You bang you fist loudly a few times, knowing the only way your neighbor would hear it is if you were obnoxious about it. You pause for a moment, hearing the music get turned down a bit as you send another series of knocks against the material of the door. 

“Hello?!” You question sarcastically, fully knowing someone was home. You don’t care if you ruined their evening of sex or whatever they were up too. You were fed up with the noise and you fully plan on giving them a piece of your mind. “Hello?!” You speak again, your voice becoming increasingly louder. 

You hear the lock mechanism engage as your eyes study the seam of the door frame. You’re eager to discover the face behind all of the commotion, ready to give whomever your neighbor is an earful after so many disturbances. 

As the door squeaks open, you feel your jaw drop open at the sight that greets you on the opposite side. Your eyes instantly devour the image of a wonderful toned abdomen with a chiseled waist, completely bare of clothing as sweat glistens off the tanned skin. You feel your throat tighten at the arousing sight, a pair of basketball shorts hanging loosely off his hips with a pair of Calvin Klein boxers peeking from the waistband. 

Your pupils rake up the man’s body until you come across the familiar glimmer of the hoop gently hanging on his bottom lip, the usual fluffy mess of hair pulled back in a man bun as you pause upon Jungkook’s large doe eyes. “Fuck.” You can’t hold back the reaction, watching as it helplessly jumps from your lips before gently tucking your bottom lip within your teeth.

 You notice the irritation on his face as he leans his tattooed arm against the top of the doorframe, leaning forward to hover his face closer to yours. “I didn’t have you pinned for a stalker. How the hell did you find my apartment?” He groans, eyeing you up and down as you instinctually cross your arms over your chest to close yourself off from him. 

Your mind whirls from the discovery, internally screaming at the fact that of all the people in this apartment complex, Jungkook was your neighbor. You smile sarcastically as you release one of your arms from around your chest, waving your hand in a dramatic gesture as you pop out your hip. “I’m your neighbor…” You admit, watching his facial features morph from amusement to dread. 

Jungkook lets his hand drop from the top of the doorframe, stepping back to process your words as he groans in frustration. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”