#the other is from another town and i had a brief infatuation for a while this summer but I don't think I actually have a crush on him now

[madphantom]

Had a bunch of friends over and I cannot tell you how weird it is to see two dudes you've had crushes on in completely different settings interact and hug each other goodbye. That is definitely going to keep my brain busy on 2-3 business days.

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Take Me Away [2]

Pairing: private investigator!Wooyoung x courtesan!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 7.7k

Trigger Warnings: forced prostitution, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, attempted sexual assault

Summary: While working on a new case in town, Wooyoung was captivated when he stumbled upon a beauty unlike any other. Just as he began to believe that he might have found a Lady Park of his own, word got out that she was merely the newest courtesan at the town's brothel. Disheartened by this revelation, he nearly abandons his pursuit of her until he hears whispers suggesting that she may not have been there of her own will.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"So, that's what happened... My lord, I realise it might seem shameless of me to have declined the bonus before and now ask for it, but I must save her!" Wooyoung pleaded, recounting everything from the beginning: from the moment he bumped into you on the street—alright, he might have left out the part where he was infatuated like a schoolboy and moping around like a fool—to discovering the truth about your situation, and the recent visit he had paid you.

Before the general could offer reassurance, another voice interrupted from the entrance of the study, beating him to it, "Hwa, we have to help him! The poor thing must be scared out of her mind!"

All three men turned their heads to find Lady Park standing there, her eyes wide with worry as she entered the room. Seonghwa didn't hesitate to rush to his wife's side before wrapping an arm securely around her smaller frame, "What are you doing here, my love? It's late, you should be resting."

The private investigator felt his breath catch as he beheld his former dream girl. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss her. She looked even more beautiful than before, if that were possible, seemingly glowing. Perhaps that was the effect of receiving the general's affection. He had to calm his foolish heart and maintain his composure as he rose from his seat to bow respectfully to her, watching as she offered him a warm smile in response.

"I couldn't sleep when Jongho told me Wooyoung was here. I got worried and had to come see if everything was alright," the lady said, addressing her husband as she pouted at him, "Please tell me you're going to agree to his request..."

Seonghwa chuckled, gently nuzzling his nose against her head before planting a tender peck there, "I was going to agree, but you came in just in time to cut me off," He turned to face the younger man, who looked at them with a mix of admiration and gratitude, "Don't worry, Wooyoung. We'll provide all the assistance you need. If you'd like, I can send Jongho along with you on this mission."

The assistant felt his cheeks flush at the unexpected offer. He couldn't fathom sneaking into a place like a brothel, even for such an important cause. Fortunately, the investigator declined with a shake of his head, sensing his friend's apprehension, "No, sir. That won't be necessary, your financial assistance is all I require for now. This is something I must accomplish on my own."

Lady Park nodded, speaking on behalf of her husband, "Alright, but if you require anything—anything at all—please don't hesitate to ask. We'll do everything in our power to support you."

"Thank you, my lady. I'll keep that in mind; I really appreciate it," Wooyoung replied with a deep bow. If his current situation hadn't been so urgent, he might have remarked on how unusually attentive the general was to her. Seonghwa was always by her side, but there was something different in the carefulness of the way he handled her.

"If that's all, we'll be turning in for the night," the newly married man announced as he guided his wife out of the room.

The investigator nodded quickly, "Of course. I've kept you both up long enough; please don't let me stop you."

"Come, my love. You need rest."

Before leaving the room completely, the lady turned back to Wooyoung again, her expression earnest, "Promise me you'll get her out of there," the younger man nodded firmly, "I promise, my lady."

As Lady Park's words lingered in the air, Wooyoung sensed the depth of her plea. He discerned the subtle pain reflected in her eyes, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. The general's wife seemed to grasp the anguish of being trapped in a relentless nightmare all too well, to be abandoned by one's own father.

His resolve to save you had already been firm, but now, fueled by the lady's empathy, his determination surged even stronger. It wasn't just about a silly crush anymore; it became a quest to right a grave injustice and bring solace to a soul in torment.

After the couple retired to their private quarters, Wooyoung stayed behind to devise a more comprehensive plan with the ever-meticulous Jongho, who had once been his greatest asset when they were gathering evidence against the former Minister Jang. With precision, the assistant outlined all his suggestions in a neatly drafted plan, folding the parchment into a perfect rectangle before handing it to the investigator.

"Here, decide which ones suit your situation the best. Just let me know how much you require, and I'll take care of all your transactions. You should probably head to the dressmaker's shop for your disguise as soon as possible if you wish to set those plans into motion the following night."

"Thanks, Jongho. You're a real one."

"Yeah, yeah. Just go."

In no time, Wooyoung arrived at the entrance of Hongjoong's shop, cautiously stepping inside while marvelling at the colourful hanboks on display. He braced himself for a possible lecture from the older man, knowing that he was already swamped with orders, not just from Lady Park, but from noblewomen all over town. And here the investigator was, about to place an urgent special order that needed to be fulfilled before the next nightfall.

His steps halted abruptly upon hearing the familiar, annoyed sound of a throat clearing from the back of the shop, "Jung Wooyoung, you'd better have a good explanation for welcoming yourself into my shop at such an early hour," came the gruff voice.

"H-hyung, listen... I know the last thing you want is to see my face first thing in the morning, but—"

"Damn right, I don't. So, get straight to the point. There better be a valid reason for your presence, or I'll see to it that you're banned from entering my shop for good."

Arms crossed over his chest, Hongjoong listened with a raised brow as the younger man swiftly retold the tale he'd shared with the general just hours earlier. Rather than reacting as seriously as expected, the dressmaker merely grinned teasingly, "Ahh, I see you've finally moved on from your little crush on Lady Park, huh? I hate to admit this, but I guess I am feeling slightly proud of you."

Wooyoung couldn't hide his unamused expression as he pursed his lips in disbelief, "Really? That's the only thing you can think of saying after everything I just told you?"

With a scoff, the older man snatched the parchment out of the investigator's hands, "Yes, and? Don't get sassy with me now. Show me the design you need done immediately, or you can figure out how to go about this on your own."

"Okay, okay, sheesh. Here's a sketch of the design I've seen on the male servants in the brothel. Fortunately, it's not too complicated, so it should be easy for you," the younger man said, handing over the sketch as he watched Hongjoong inspect it seriously, "Got it. This should be done in a few hours. You owe me a meal after this, Jung."

The investigator saluted playfully, "Yes, sir."

Noticing the exhaustion evident in Wooyoung's eyes, the older man softened, "You haven't slept a wink, have you? You look like you're about to keel over. Go take a nap in the back; there's a bed. I'll wake you when it's ready. We can't afford for you to pass out on the job. Poor Miss Han won't stand a chance if that happens."

Though he joked, the younger man sensed the concern behind his words. He nodded gratefully, "Thanks, hyung."

Once his head hit the pillow, he slipped into a deep sleep, just as Hongjoong had predicted. Since leaving you the previous night, his mind had been consumed with endless thoughts, meticulously crafting an elaborate plan to rescue you. He examined every detail, acutely aware that even the smallest mistake could jeopardise the entire operation. Failure was not an option, especially when it concerned you. He had made a promise to get you out, and he was resolute in keeping it. But for now, he would succumb to his exhaustion, if only for a brief respite.

I'll be there soon, Miss Han.

He awoke hours later, his sleep haunted by dreams of your frightened face pleading for him to save you. The dressmaker stood at the edge of the bed, gently shaking him awake, holding out the disguise, "How's this? Is it close enough to the real thing?"

With a groggy rub of his eyes, Wooyoung pulled himself up to sit. He blinked repeatedly to clear his vision, then turned his attention to the replica of the servant uniform laid out before him. As he examined it, his eyes widened at how closely it resembled the actual outfit.

"It's perfect, hyung," he declared, nodding in approval, "They'll never suspect a thing."

"This way, Mr. Jung. She's ready for you."

Today felt different from the first day. The emotions swirling inside you were no longer tinged with dread or overwhelming fear.

Instead, anticipation coursed through you as you sat straight on the king-sized bed in the same room. Biting your lip, you waited eagerly to see him again. Since he last bid you goodbye, your thoughts had been consumed by him. The sincerity in his eyes lingered in your mind, nearly bringing tears to your own. It was hard to believe that someone cared for you so deeply, especially considering your own father's indifference. Despite this, part of you still had doubts, wondering if you would ever see him again.

Yet, here he was, keeping his promise.

"Hi, Miss Han," he greeted, almost shyly, as he waved awkwardly by the entrance. After closing the door behind him, he made his way to the table in the centre of the room, setting down the duffel bag he'd been carrying on his shoulder.

You smiled meekly, approaching him, "Hello, Mr. Jung. It's good to see you again."

His smile faltered slightly at your words. He sensed the surprise in your tone as if you hadn't expected him to return, and it hurt him to think you might not trust him fully. With determination, he nodded and reassured you, "Of course, I promised to get you out of here. You'll be seeing a lot more of me from now on."

Your eyes widened in wonder as he unfurled his bag, revealing a set that looked like an exact replica of the uniform worn by the male servants in the Mansion of Midnight, "Woah, where did you get that?" you asked, curious and astonished.

With an enthusiastic beam, he replied, "It's all part of my job. I often need to wear disguises. With this, I'll be able to move around the establishment without any issues. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Blushing furiously, you turned away immediately as he hastily moved to undress and change into the servant outfit.

Your cheeks burned as you struggled to recover from catching a glimpse of his bare back. He seemed so calm, as if undressing was the most natural thing in the world. But for you, it was a different story. Being a virgin through and through, you hadn't been near any men other than your father all your life. Even then, he wasn't home most of the time.

To be in a room alone with a man like this, and for him to get changed so casually before you, was enough to fluster you. You had barely spoken to any boys up close before this, let alone in a situation like this. The unexpected moment left you feeling both intrigued and embarrassed, unsure of how to act or what to say next.

Before you could further overthink it, Wooyoung proudly announced, "Alright, I'm done!" Startled, you turned to see him looking just like one of the many servants in the brothel, though perhaps a bit too handsome to blend in seamlessly. Nonetheless, you hoped no one would pay too much attention to him.

Stuffing his own clothes back into the bag on the table, he assured you, "You stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can. Today, I'll work on figuring out the full layout of the entire place and create a detailed map before I start investigating their operations."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and gratitude, "Don't worry, I'll be right here. Be safe out there, Mr. Jung."

With a final smile directed at you, he sneaked out the same way he entered once he was sure the coast was clear, leaving you alone in the room, your thoughts swirling with anticipation and anxiety.

After the investigator departed, you sank back onto the bed, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood over you. You scolded yourself mentally for being such a child, recognising that now was not the time for such distractions. Contemplating the situation, you understood why he seemed so unaffected. His focus was solely on his mission, leaving little room for trivial concerns like your reaction.

Feeling foolish for allowing yourself to be so affected, you resolved to move past it. What truly mattered was for his plan to succeed, and for you to finally gain freedom from this place. And to do so, you braced yourself for more moments like that.

As hours passed with you sitting alone, worrying about whether or not his disguise remained undetected, you heard footsteps approaching from outside. Your heart leapt with hope, anticipating his return, only for it to plummet when you recognised the feminine silhouette through the paper walls.

It wasn't just any female; it was Iseul.

Oh god, what is she doing here?

Her intentions became clear as she called out to Wooyoung in a seductive tone, "Mr. Jung, are you truly enjoying yourself in there? Your silence speaks volumes. I had my doubts, and now they're confirmed. A man who is enjoying himself wouldn't be able to keep his voice down; I'd know that. I told you she wouldn't be able to satisfy you. It's not too late to change your mind, you know? I'll treat you much better, trust me."

In a panic, you decided to speak up, hoping to persuade her to leave you alone, "I-Iseul unnie, everything is fine! Please don't worry about Mr. Jung. I'm sure you have plenty of clients waiting for you."

She scoffed dismissively, "Oh, please, stay out of this, rookie. I wasn't speaking to you. You'd better keep quiet if you know what's good for you. I'll leave only when he tells me to. What say you, Mr. Jung?" Your anxiety escalated as you felt her suspicions intensify with each passing moment of the private investigator's silence. This could all end if she so much as pushed the door open. Who knew what consequences awaited you and Wooyoung if you were found out?

"Mr. Jung...? Why isn't he responding? What have you done to him, Han?! If he doesn't answer by the count of three, I'm coming in, do you understand?"

As Iseul's threat escalated, Wooyoung suddenly appeared through the room window right on time, catching you off guard. Aware of the risk of being seen in his disguise while with you, he swiftly shed the servant outfit, leaving himself shirtless.

With the door starting to creak open, panic surged within you. Acting on instinct, you quickly tugged open the outer layer of your hanbok and pulled Wooyoung onto the bed with you. Without a second thought, you pressed your lips firmly against his, the only action that seemed to make sense in the heat of the moment.

Almost spontaneously, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you closer and kissing you back with fervour, doing everything in his power to make the act appear convincing to the senior courtesan.

"M-Mr. Jung...?" she croaked, her eyes widening in disbelief at the unexpectedly intimate sight before her.

Breaking away from the kiss, he turned to her with a feigned look of annoyance, protectively using his body to shield your partially undressed form, "Excuse me, but what exactly do you think you're doing in here? My silence should have been clear enough that I'm not interested in you or your services. What's so difficult to understand? Also, I'd show Miss Han more respect if I were you. If you don't leave us at once, I'll file a major complaint against you. I'm sure that wouldn't help your reputation now, would it?"

With clenched fists, Iseul stormed out of the room, her pride wounded beyond repair, "I'll get you back for this. Just you wait, Han."

Once she was gone, the two of you jumped apart, red-faced as you scrambled to put your clothes back on. Clearing your throats, you tried to push aside the awkwardness and ignore the rapid beating of your hearts. The investigator reached into his bag, retrieving a fresh parchment. He distracted himself by immediately sketching the layout of the place while it was still fresh in his mind.

Throughout the evening, he remained focused on refining the map, and you stayed close, ensuring he had everything he needed: snacks, tea, a blanket in case it got chilly—anything to make yourself useful and assist him in his task. At the same time, you both fought to recover from the fact that you'd just shared your first kiss with one another so aggressively, constantly reminding yourselves that it was all for the mission to get you out and held no deeper significance.

As you escorted the investigator to the door at the end of his session, you pondered addressing the obvious elephant in the room. It became apparent that you both felt equally bothered by it when you simultaneously began to apologise.

"Look, I'm sorry for kissing you—"

"I apologise for touching you like that—"

You blinked rapidly, clearing your throat and rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly, "I suppose there might be more of that in the future if we want to succeed. Perhaps it would be wise for us to establish now that any intimate encounters we have from this point onward will be solely for the sake of the mission and nothing more."

But what if I want more than that?

Despite conflicting thoughts, Wooyoung smiled and nodded in agreement, reminding himself that exploring his attraction to you was not the priority at the moment.

The following week, the investigator faithfully honoured his daily promise, buying up all your time and effectively warding off any other potential clients. By this point, everyone in the brothel recognised you as Mr. Jung's girl. The other girls looked on with envy, marvelling at your ability to captivate the attention of such a young, handsome patron. His generosity and apparent protectiveness, as evidenced by his exclusive attention to you, sparked admiration and jealousy among them. It was as if he feared anyone else laying claim to you.

As the days went by, you grew closer, bonding over your shared time together. You developed an admiration for his profession, understanding the meticulous planning and inherent risks involved in his work. Witnessing his passion for what he did stirred emotions within you, though you struggled to define them. Was it gratitude, the joy of friendship, or something more?

Yet, amid the newfound closeness, a nagging uncertainty lingered in the back of your mind. What would happen to your relationship once he succeeded in freeing you? Would you still remain friends, or would circumstances pull you apart? The mere thought of never seeing him again left you with a pang of sadness, leaving you to ponder the depths of your feelings and the unknown future ahead.

You were startled from your thoughts as Wooyoung once again slipped in through the room window, following his routine from the past week. This time, however, he finally met your gaze with hopeful eyes. Changing out of his servant's disguise and settling back at the table, he began, "Good news, Miss Han. After digging through shady operations for so long, I finally unearthed something big. This wouldn't just be enough to secure your freedom but could also lead to the Mansion of Midnight's downfall."

"Really? What is it?" you asked, eyes wide.

He nodded, gesturing to the chair beside him, "You might want to take a seat first."

Just when you believed you had reached the limit of your trauma, another wave crashed over you. Through him, you learned the extent of the horrors perpetrated by the establishment. He cleared his throat, "I was right. Their operations are nowhere near clean. Other than forced prostitution, they're also exploiting minors, conducting illegal side businesses involving drugging clients to prolong their stay and coercing victims into settling debts, even if it meant sacrificing their own daughters... just like you."

"How despicable..." you murmured, sinking back in your seat as the weight of the revelation settled over you.

Wooyoung reached out, gently clasping your hand on the table, "It'll be alright. I promise I'll put an end to this once and for all."

Concern etched your features as you covered his hand with yours, "But Mr. Jung, what if the authorities are on their side? They must have some powerful allies to operate for so long. What if things don't go as planned? It's too risky. What if they retaliate when they find out you've uncovered so much? Who knows what they'll do to you?"

His grin widened as he rubbed a comforting thumb over your skin, "Are you concerned about me now, my lady?"

You frowned, gripping his hand tighter, "You know better than to call me that, I'm no lady."

At some point, you had grown accustomed to his mildly annoying antics as a result of the time spent together. He eventually felt comfortable enough to reveal his true self, showcasing a playful side that oddly made your heart flutter around him even more. Amidst the constant anxiety of your situation, his optimism provided a refreshing contrast. Slowly, he had become your source of solace, the only one you could rely on in this turbulent environment.

Leaning closer teasingly, he smirked, "You are to me, and that's all that matters. But that's beside the point. It's good to know you finally care enough to worry about me too."

Pushing him away gently, you clucked your tongue, "And what if I am? You... you're all I have, Jung Wooyoung," you admitted, feeling a surge of emotion as you contemplated the potential consequences of his plan failing.

Sensing you were on the verge of tears, he turned to face you properly, his heart skipping a beat at the softness in your voice when you said his name. But he didn't let it show; if you only knew what your words had done to him and his poor heart. A selfish part of him wished to be that for you forever. To be the only one you'd depend on, the only one you'd go to when you needed a shoulder to cry on, the only one you'd share all your sorrows and happiness with.

Gently grasping your shoulders, he turned you to face him, "Hey, hey, look at me. You may be right. They might have some corrupt official backing them. But don't forget who I have on my side. I have General Park, His Majesty's most trusted warrior. Who do you think holds more power here, hm?"

He couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through him as he watched the adorable expression on your face, seeing the realisation dawn upon you as you absorbed his words. It was clear that you had momentarily forgotten about the powerful allies he possessed. This newfound confidence filled you with hope, making the idea of escaping from this place seem less like an impossible dream.

"Tomorrow is the day we're freeing you and bringing this place down. Are you ready to get out of here, my lady?" he asked, his voice filled with determination.

Returning his smile, you nodded eagerly, "I sure am, Mr. Jung."

But when tomorrow finally arrived, all your hopes and dreams came crashing down as you received the news that your usual appointment with Wooyoung had been replaced. Instead, your time had been reserved by one of the scariest clients known for his brutal force. This client, known as the Mad Dog, was infamous for leaving courtesans bruised, scarred, and unable to walk for days.

Should've known it was all going too well.

The brothel madam looked down at you with feigned pity as you trembled in fear. The staff busied themselves, fixing your hair and makeup, preparing you in an even more revealing hanbok than the usual ones you wore when meeting with the investigator.

"I'm sorry, my dear," the madam cooed rather sarcastically, "I'm not sure how the Mad Dog found out about you, especially considering how new you are. But you know what he's like; he always gets what he wants. He offered to pay twice the normal price, and who are we to say no to him? Just endure this for today. I'm sure sweet Mr. Jung will be gentle with you later on."

Without offering her a response, you fought to contain the panicked tears threatening to spill as the madam left after ensuring you stayed put. Just as the staff completed the final touches on your appearance, a smug figure materialised at the room's entrance. Looking up, you saw Iseul standing there, a smirk playing on her lips as she observed your distress.

"Congratulations, rookie," she sneered, "It's quite an accomplishment to catch the Mad Dog's eye. You've been doing so well lately, securing such a loyal client early in your career. I had to put in a good word for you." Your eyes widened in horror as you realised she had been the one to orchestrate this.

"You're welcome, Miss Han. Enjoy yourself tonight. I promise I'll take good care of Mr. Jung for you in the meantime," she added with a grin, biting her lip before slipping out the way she came.

No, please. This cannot be happening.

Seated once more on the edge of the familiar bed, tonight was different. Emotions flooded through you—fear so intense it threatened to overwhelm, and a desperate urge to jump off the building. The open window seemed to beckon, tempting you with its freedom to the afterlife. Yet, a part of you held out hope for a miracle, yearning for Wooyoung to appear through that very window and rescue you from this nightmare.

Just as you contemplated reaching for the window, your heart seized at the sound of heavy footsteps—unlike the investigator's usual light tread—approaching the room. Paralysed with fear, you could only sit and watch as the intimidating man strode in. Closing the door firmly behind him, he nodded approvingly, "I suppose I can see the appeal. You're quite the beauty, aren't you?"

His nickname, "Mad Dog," seemed fitting as you observed his nearly crazed eyes. A shiver ran down your spine as he scanned you from head to toe, making you feel exposed and violated just by his gaze alone. With his middle-aged appearance and burly build, coupled with a receding hairline and furrowed brow, he resembled a creature straight out of your worst nightmares. The mere thought of him near you turned your stomach. How could anyone possibly willingly allow him to touch them?

With a sleazy lick of his lips, he wasted no time closing the distance between you. Panic surged through you as you realised you couldn't do this. Your eyes darted to the exit, and you made a desperate dash for it, but he was faster. He let out a guttural laugh as he ensnared you in his beefy arms, "No, let me go! I refuse!" you screamed, struggling against his grasp.

"I don't think that's up to you, doll. I've paid a hefty amount for you, this better be worth it," he growled, throwing you onto the bed and tearing open the outer layer of your hanbok as if it were paper. Tears streamed down your face as you cried, "Stay away from me!" You scrambled backwards, trying to put some distance between you, only to find yourself cornered against the headboard.

"Help! Somebody, please, help me!"

"Shout all you want, sweetheart. No one's coming to save you."

Wooyoung's blood boiled as he absorbed the brothel madam's words, "What do you mean she's with another client? I've had her reserved all week. Is this how you conduct business? It seems you're not honouring my requests very well."

She let out a teasing laugh, playfully slapping him on the arm with her decorative fan, "Oh, Mr. Jung, don't be so upset. She's not with just any ordinary client; it's a valued patron we can't afford to turn away. He's paid double your usual rate. You'll have her all to yourself again by tomorrow. In the meantime, we've selected our finest girls to compensate for today. Take your pick. And just for you, we'll even offer a discount," she said, gesturing to the lineup of courtesans batting their eyelashes seductively at him.

Ignoring the courtesans, he pressed further, "And who is this client you're speaking of? I can pay triple the amount if that's what it takes for me to have Miss Han."

The other girls exchanged jealous huffs, wondering what made you so special for the investigator to be this possessive. Iseul's grin widened as she intervened, "It's the infamous Mad Dog, Mr. Jung. I'm sure you've heard of him. Unfortunately, money won't sway his desires. He's not someone we can afford to offend. Now, how about I show you a good time today? Who knows, you might find yourself forgetting all about her after this."

His heart lurched in his chest at the revelation. After meticulously gathering information about the big clients in the Mansion of Midnight, he knew the Mad Dog was the most notorious of them all. The mere thought of that abomination laying his rough hands on you filled him with a murderous rage like never before. He had promised to keep you safe and could not allow this to happen to you.

He would never forgive himself.

With only you in mind, nothing else mattered as he pushed the brothel madam aside and stormed up the stairs to your usual room, "No, wait! Mr. Jung! You cannot do this!" they called out to him, trying to stop him, but he shoved anyone in his way aside.

His blood ran cold when he heard your familiar voice crying miserably for help. Kicking the door open, he saw red and nearly went feral at the sight before him: your outer layer of hanbok torn to shreds, the skirt of your inner layer pushed up to your thighs, and the man's head buried in your neck, seemingly trying to leave his mark, trapping your arms above your head as you struggled helplessly against him.

"Get your filthy hands off her, you bastard!" Wooyoung growled, his fury fueling a surge of strength as he pulled the Mad Dog off your delicate frame, landing a punch on his cheek hard enough to send him crashing to the ground with a groan.

As he watched you immediately curl up, shaking like a leaf, his heart broke. Hastily, he draped a blanket over you, shielding you from further exposure. Meeting your tear-filled gaze, you pleaded pitifully, "Please, take me away from here."

Pressing a kiss onto your forehead, he locked eyes with you, "I promise I will. I'm here now, you're safe with me."

Relief flooded through you as his presence reassured you that he wasn't just a figment of your imagination. For a moment, you had feared he wouldn't arrive in time to save you. You knew he would come, but the thought of him being a moment too late haunted you. If he had been, you feared losing the last shred of your innocence, making you forever tainted and unworthy in his eyes. It was then that you realised your feelings for him were undeniable. It was so much more than just gratitude or the joy of friendship.

You wanted more than to be a charity case.

You wanted him.

Wanted to be with Jung Wooyoung.

"You'll regret that, boy. Do you even know who you're dealing with? You're that loyal little customer of hers, aren't you?" the monster threatened as he struggled to push himself off the ground.

The investigator held you close as you whimpered, trying to comfort you while glaring at the Mad Dog, "I am, and you'll regret messing with my woman," he asserted. Clinging to him, your heart pounded in your chest for different reasons: for his words, desperately hoping he meant them, and for fear of his safety from the man's potential wrath.

"Stop this at once, Mr. Jung! If you persist, we'll have no option but to blacklist you from our establishment," the brothel madam warned, her eyes widening in disbelief at the scene before her.

Wooyoung's smirk widened, "I'd like to see you try. I didn't want to do this the hard way, but you've given me no choice."

The Mad Dog chuckled, "And what exactly do you plan to do, kid?"

"You'll find out." With a sharp whistle aimed out the open window, a group of what appeared to be royal guards swiftly entered through the main entrance, causing everyone to freeze as they tried to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

"Is this the woman you mentioned, Investigator Jung?" the head guard inquired, pointing to the brothel madam.

"Yes, that's her," Wooyoung confirmed.

The woman froze in panic, "Wh-what is the meaning of this?"

"You, as the owner of the Mansion of Midnight, are under arrest for forced prostitution, exploiting minors, drugging patrons, and coercing victims into settling debts through illegal means," the head guard stated monotonously.

She resisted as the guards secured her arms in a tight grip, preventing her from escaping, "No, that's not true! There is an official who can vouch for the legitimacy of my business."

"If you're referring to the local magistrate who took your bribes and covered up your illegal activities, I regret to inform you that he's already in custody, awaiting trial. He didn't protect you during his interrogation," the head guard responded before instructing his comrades, "Guards, search the premises and arrest all accomplices."

"Yes, sir!" came the unified reply.

She sagged hopelessly in the grasp of the guards behind her as the rest dispersed to halt all operations and apprehend the other culprits, "H-how...?" she stammered.

Wooyoung fixed her with a stern gaze, "It appears you've truly forgotten what I do for a living and the powerful allies I have. Perhaps you should have thought twice before accepting me as a client. That was the first misstep leading to your downfall."

As the guards dragged the brothel madam out, leaving the Mad Dog panicking in his spot, he realised he had underestimated the young man before him. He hadn't known this was the famous Investigator Jung all along. Suddenly, he regretted the threats and taunts he had hurled just moments ago.

He wasn't the only one in a state of anxiety; Iseul stood wide-eyed, shaking, and attempting to sneak away unnoticed. However, the investigator's keen eye caught her every move. With a nod in their direction, a few guards swiftly stepped forward to capture them before they could flee.

"This one's guilty of sexual assault and violence against countless women, and this one has encouraged his actions," Wooyoung declared firmly, "Perhaps they could both use a good lesson in the torture chambers. I'm sure General Park would approve."

Both Iseul and the Mad Dog pleaded for forgiveness as they were dragged out of the room, their cries fading into the distance.

Thank god, it's finally over...

Overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions you just experienced, the sudden relief was enough to render you unconscious, lying limp in Wooyoung's arms. With an exhausted sigh, he cradled your head against his neck, planting a gentle kiss on your temple and whispering, "Rest now, my lady. I won't let anyone harm you again."

As you regained consciousness, you blinked and rubbed your eyes until the unfamiliar surroundings came into focus. Panic surged through you as you shot up from the bed, causing the comforter around you to slip down and reveal the high-quality sleepwear you were dressed in. In an instant, someone entered the room from the doorway. Pulling the comforter up to your chest as a shield, you cowered in fear, "Wh-where am I and who are you?" you stammered.

The elderly woman smiled warmly down at you, "Hello, Miss Han. I hope you've had a good rest. My name is Eunsook, and I'm the head maid of General Park's estate."

Your jaw dropped as you tried to process her words, "G-General Park...? As in the strongest general in all of Joseon, the King's most trusted warrior?"

The head maid chuckled and nodded, "Yes, the one and only."

"Was it Mr. Jung who brought me here?" you croaked, to which she replied, "Indeed, Investigator Jung brought you here as soon as the situation at the Mansion of Midnight had been taken care of. Would you like to see him, my dear?"

"I... I'm sure he has more important matters to attend to than to see me. He promised to free me, and he's done that... There's no more reason for him to see me," you murmured, lowering your head. As much as you longed for him, you knew better. You didn't deserve him. Even though you were now free, you still came from a humble background and had nothing to offer him.

Your head snapped up when you heard the familiar sound of tongue clucking, and you were surprised to see Wooyoung there, shaking his head disapprovingly. It turns out he had been hiding by the entrance the whole time. However, the cheeky grin on his lips betrayed his feigned disappointment. It was clear he didn't have the heart to actually lecture you; he was prepared for this. Somehow, he knew your lack of confidence would potentially get in the way of you expressing your true feelings.

"Really? After everything I've done for you, you don't think there's a reason for us to see each other anymore?" he said teasingly, "So you have no plans to repay me, hm?"

Eunsook couldn't help but giggle into her fist at your flustered expression, clearly caught off guard by the investigator's sudden appearance. The elderly woman bowed slightly, "I should probably go check on Lady Park. I'll be leaving you two alone to talk."

With a grateful nod in her direction, he approached you and settled onto the bed, facing you directly, "Tell me, do you truly believe there's no need to repay me for all the effort I invested in rescuing you?"

Avoiding his piercing gaze, you gulped, "So, what is it that you want then? As I've said, I don't have much to offer other than—"

He gently reached for your hand resting on your lap, interrupting your words. His touch was reassuring as he stroked the back of your palm as if it were second nature, "It would be great if you could start by allowing me to court you, my lady."

You gasped, meeting his eyes immediately, "What? You cannot possibly mean that, you deserve someone so much better—"

Shaking his head, he squeezed your hand gently, "That's not what I want to hear. I want to know what you want, my lady. Do you want to be with me? If not, I can leave you be, if that's what you truly wish. Your happiness is all that matters to me."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you didn't realise tears were streaming down your cheeks until he lifted a hand to wipe them, "Tell me... what is it that you want?"

Emotions swirled within you as you felt your heart fluttering at his caring and respectful demeanour. His considerate words and actions were something you had never experienced in your life. The affection you felt for him in that moment threatened to burst from your chest.

The soft and sincere look in his eyes only deepened your emotions, causing tears to flow harder. Summoning all your courage, you dared to squeeze his hand back. What kind of fool would you be to push him away now? You couldn't bear to let him down, nor were you selfless enough to let him go.

Drawing closer to him, you chose to let your actions speak and pressed your lips softly against his, warmth enveloping your body as you felt him kissing you back with equal tenderness. He cupped your wet cheek gently, his touch offering a sense of comfort and security.

Pulling back slowly, you whispered against his lips, "You... I want you, Jung Wooyoung."

"Then it's me you shall have."

And that marked the first day of him courting you. As days turned into weeks, you settled into a new routine at the general's estate. Lady Park's kindness knew no bounds, and she graciously allowed you to stay there, knowing you had nowhere else to turn. Certainly not to that decrepit place with your despicable father.

Amidst this new life, you found solace in the companionship of the mistress. She taught you the art of embroidery, a skill that not only passed the time but also allowed you to contribute in some small way to the household. When you weren't with her, you spent your time with the investigator as you got to know each other better.

Then came the news—the Mansion of Midnight had been officially shut down. It was a relief to hear that justice had been served, and the perpetrators were facing the consequences of their actions. The girls who had been trapped there were finally free, receiving the care and support they deserved from the government.

Life seemed to be looking up in every way, but there was one thing that weighed heavily on your mind—Wooyoung's plans to introduce you to his parents.

"You worry too much, they're going to love you," were the last words from Lady Park and Eunsook before sending you off. The journey to his family estate passed in a blur, and before you knew it, you found yourself seated in the living hall of the estate. It was smaller than the general's, given that they were an average family.

Wooyoung reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss on your knuckles, "Relax, love. Everything will be okay," he reassured you. But despite the assurances from everyone, a part of you still feared how his family would perceive you.

As his parents finally greeted you, your heart raced with nervous anticipation. Throughout the meeting, it was evident that you were finding it difficult to be yourself, tiptoeing around cautiously despite the elderly couple's friendly demeanour. Deep down, you imagined all sorts of possibilities, fearing their kindness might be a facade meant to separate you both once you left.

Sensing your nerves and doubts, his mother gently set down her teacup and offered you a warm and motherly smile, "Miss Han, I hope my son hasn't been bothering you too much with his antics. I know he can be a handful, but we can see he's serious about you. When the time comes for him to propose, I hope you'll consider giving him a chance." His father chuckled and nodded in agreement as you stared at them in shock.

Reaching out to pat your hand, she continued, "We understand your concerns, but we want you to know that your past doesn't matter to us. Our priority is our son's happiness, and if that means being with you, then we're more than happy with it."

The remainder of the day unfolded smoothly as you dined with Wooyoung's parents before he escorted you back to the general's estate that evening. Lingering by the entrance, he seemed reluctant to part ways just yet. Your intertwined hands swung back and forth as he playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you, "I told you everything would be fine, didn't I? Would it hurt to believe me?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "How can I when all you do is trick me over and over for fun? Do you even love me?"

Feigning offence, he dramatically gasped, placing a hand over his heart, "Excuse me, I'll have you know that while I may joke about many things, my love for you is genuine."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he embraced you, pulling you close, "Stop teasing and say it back already," he urged.

Just as you were on the verge of relenting, a loud clearing of the throat startled you both. Seonghwa stood by the gates, arms crossed over his chest, looking unamused, "Must you two do this right in front of my house?"

His cool demeanour vanished as soon as his wife appeared beside him, giving him a playful smack on the back of his head, "Leave them alone, you idiot!" she chided, before dragging him back into the estate, calling out, "Please continue!"

Laughter filled the air between you as you watched the couple go. After the moment passed, Wooyoung bit his lip, "There's a festival in town tomorrow, and I know you've been eager to go. Shall I pick you up at the same time tomorrow?"

Nodding shyly, you replied, "Yes, same time. I'll see you, Woo."

"See you, love." With a final peck on your lips, he pulled away. Before his hand could fully slip away, you held on, "Wait, I love you too."

With a cheeky grin, he teased, "I know."

"Ugh, you ruined the moment," you said with a playful sigh. Turning to leave, you couldn't help but smile as he whined behind you. Laughing, you added, "Go home, Woo. Don't be late tomorrow." He may be a fool, but he's the fool who saved your life. He's your fool, and you couldn't wait to have more moments like this with him.

Y'all, I'm sorry if this seemed rushed or anything. I sincerely hope this meets expectations! It's not easy trying to fit everything in a two-shot, but I really didn't want to drag it any longer than it has to be because I'm aware I have 6 more spinoffs to complete HAHA

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/5): @itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline @green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive @vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho @vic0921 @foxinnie8 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid @sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @pay13 @kpop17 @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings @chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories @anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @kamabokogonpachro @chngbnwf @dollce-exe @jan-l @lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim @scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa @ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[lebrookestore]

the one; l.ty

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader

Themes: exes! au, best friends to nothing, exes to nothing, college! ish au because they’re graduating, the angst is a very subtle type but its still pretty heavy

Warnings: unrequited love, heavy angst, mentions of kissing and food (ice cream)

Wc: 1.6k

Playlist: the 1 by taylor swift, closure by taylor swift, 2 kids by taemin, dancing after death by Matt Maeson

Authors note: this is a deleted scene from my fic, favorite crime! (which you should go read. please lmao but also because it will give this story even more context) i have altered it so it sort of works as a oneshot? Anyways, I hope you like it<3

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

~

When you’re younger, you’re told to live your life to the fullest, to enjoy your youth. You’re seen as naive and and wide eyed at the world around you. When you’re younger you’re allowed to make those stupid mistakes and mess up, because people look past them.

But some mistakes, everyone but yourself can look past. These type of mistakes could haunt you for the rest of your life with every little thing you do. The what ifs.

And when you’re young, even though you have so much of your life left to enjoy, you can’t ever go back and fix them. They were permanent, like a life long promise, or a tattoo inked into your skin. You would never be able to escape them, even if you moved on.

At age twenty one, standing in front of your full length mirror donning your graduation cape, you had already made one of these mistakes, and it weighed you down everyday, simply because the reminder of it all was just a window away.

You glanced through your window, seeing him there, doing the same thing as you were, trying to adjust his tie. If you hadn’t been so stupid, then the two of you would have been getting ready together, you would be the one tying his tie and he would be the one teasing you about how your your cap was too big for you.

You let a smile brief your lips, before looking away. Even though you were no longer staring at him, you knew exactly what he was, the image burned into your mind. Bleached blond hair still messy no matter how much he tried to tame it, his bright eyes that seemed to hold the universe and that intoxicating smile.

Your biggest mistake was falling in love with the boy who never loved you back.

And how you had fallen, hook, line and sinker for him. Taeyong was the object of your affections, your best friend- well former best friend. That was where your mistake came in.

You foolishly let it happen, a relationship of sorts with him. At first, it was everything you had ever wanted, but that slowly started turning into a nightmare you wanted to wake up from. Sometimes you still wonder if you’re in a nightmare.

The two of you worked so well together, because you had known each other since you were four. He knew all your flaws, had seen you at your worst and at your best. You would have never thought he would be the cause of one of your worst moments.

But Taeyong, he wasn’t in love with you, but rather, was infatuated. Infatuated with the idea of love and loving you. Once he figured that out, he did the right thing and told you, effectively breaking up with you.

You lost your best friend and lover all at once. It was painful being around him, because you were still in love with him. He had been your everything, and now you had nothing at all. He slipped through your fingers like sand on a beach.

You hadn’t talked to him since that night he told you the truth. You made an effort to not look at him through your window, because it would just break your heart more. You had never known what it was to be heartsick until you experienced it yourself, and extremely violently.

He didn’t push it either, giving you your space. And while this helped you heal, it also felt so wrong. From spending almost every moment together, to spending no time at all, your lives had completely changed.

For some, love was a breeze, it gave them a fuzzy warm feeling that they wanted to hold onto forever. For you, love hurt like a bitch.

You couldn’t help but think about what could have been, if he had actually loved you. Or if you never indulged in what you wanted and just stayed friends. Sometimes- no, all the time, you wished that had happened instead. You were fine with loving him quietly.

Another part of you, the more selfish part, wished he never realized he didn't love you. You would have been fine living that way, but that was only thinking about yourself. You deserved to know, and he deserves that freedom.

What if?

Falling into love is easy, especially with someone like Taeyong. He was the most beautiful guy you had ever seen, with the kindest heart you could think of. You had fallen when you were merely seventeen, still in high school.

No, it was the falling out of love part that was harder. After loving someone for as long as you had loved him, you couldn't imagine ever loving anyone else. The sheer thought of it didn't make sense to you.

So what if you were still with him, what if you never lost him. What if he was still your best friend through thick and thin?

Snapping out of your thoughts, you made one last adjustment to your graduation cap and sighed, scanning yourself over in the mirror. Deeming yourself presentable, you walked out of your apartment, jogging down the stairs of the building and reaching the ground level.

You were hitching a ride with your friend Ryunjin, who was arguably the world's worst driver but you didn't really have a choice. If you did, you would be going with Taeyong, but well, that wasn't going time happen.

You yourself couldn't drive, simply because you were too scared of accidently killing someone. Taeyong had even tried to teach you how to drive when the two of you were dating, but it was discovered that you were probably even worse than Ryunjin.

A few traumatized minutes of the drive to campus later, you found yourself lost in a sea of students that were also graduating with you. Thankfully you had a few friends, but it was still pretty overwhelming.

The ceremony itself was a blur, of you were being completely honest. You saw your friends get called up on stage and receive their scrolls. Ryunjin flashes an awkward peace sign at the principal because she shook his hand, Ten did a happy dance after, and Renjun pretended to click a picture.

You saw Taeyong go up there and receive his scroll, a bright smile on his face, a smile you so loved. You clapped for him, a proud, yet bittersweet smile gracing your features.

And soon it was you up there, and after you had gotten your scroll and take your picture, it had literally turned blurry. You didn’t realize you were tearing up until a wave of emotions crashed over you. You had finally graduated, you were out of this place after four years.

You hated change, despised it even. Now you were thrust out into the world, gone was the familiarity of attending classes and parties with your friends. First you lost your best friend, now you’d probably lose most of your other friends. It wasn’t as if all of you were going to stay in the town, you had first hand experience of this when your friend Yeji graduated the year before and moved away.

You were so young, so naive and yet it felt as if you couldn’t hold on to a single moment long enough. How were you supposed to enjoy your youth then? You were slowly loosing everything.

Sucking in a deep breath, you composed yourself, a laugh escaping you when Ryunjin practically threw herself onto you in a hug of celebration. You quickly wiped your tears so no one saw them, smiling. 

Turning around to talk to another friend, your eyes met Taeyong’s. He was much further away from you, but you knew it was him, you’d always know him. He didn’t break the contact, a small smile appearing on his lips as me mouthed something.

‘I’m proud of you’

You mustered up the best smile you could, repeating the same things silently so that only he would know it. Pressing your lips together pacified, you once again accepted that it was over. You had accepted it so many times, but you had to keep reminding yourself.

With one last look in his direction, you raised your hand up, curling your fingers into a fist before bringing it down to your chest, right over your heart. His smile only grew as he gave you an affectionate wave. Best friends after all, you knew each other like the back of your hands.

And then everyone tossed their caps into the air, as cheers resounded through the hall. Laughter and chattering filled the area, and you knew it would be alright in the end. 

You accepted the fact that Taeyong would haunt all your what-ifs, even as you tried to move on. All the kisses at midnight and late night talks out on your adjoining roofs, the long drives and ice cream dates- it was a thing of the past.

And yes, it still hurt when you recalled all the beautiful things that had happened with your time with him, the way the two of you were so beautiful.

It simply wasn’t meant to be, even if you were still in love with him. Heck, you were sure you’d always be in love with Taeyong, a part of your heart would be reserved for him and him only, but it was time to let go. You weren’t okay right now, but you’d learn to be okay. 

Still, it would have been fun if he had been the one.

fin.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Lee Bodecker Western AU Drabble

Part of the Tell Me Your Mine, Darling Universe

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: prostitution/sex work, mentions of f masturbation, alcohol, cursing

A/N: I’m playing around with the idea of expanding this one shot I wrote a while ago, maybe making it a new series, or maybe just more one shots in the same AU. Trying to decide 😅 let me know what you guys think!

You don’t even need to turn around to know when he just walked in. You can feel the shift in the room before everything simmers to a quiet lull. Hushed whispers replace what was just seconds before boisterous talking that echoed throughout the whole saloon. It’s like time freezes for a brief moment, and soon enough people retreat back to their own affairs, but it’s never the same after he arrives.

It’s almost like a little dance- not that you could get him to dance ever. But it is like a dance, the way you both navigate around one another. It’s always the same steps, but executed a little differently each night he wanders in. He’ll order himself a drink, you’ll talk and flirt, letting him take up all your time. Because you know at last call, he’s the only one who's going up with you.

Tonight, though, it feels different. There’s a heavy feeling in the air, and he doesn’t lead off like he usually does. Tonight, he doesn’t approach you. He doesn’t even look your way- you can feel that he didn’t. Instead, he takes a seat at the other end of the bar. He orders, and everyone in the joint turns back to their own conversations. The only one affected by this subtle change in routine is you.

You can’t tell if he’s upset with you, or if this is a game he’s playing to see if you approach him, or maybe he just came in for a drink- as unlikely as that may be. Some customers do just come in for the atmosphere, the drinks and maybe a game of cards. But not Lee. Lee for the longest time now has only ever come back here for you, and he made it apparent those were his intentions every damn time.

You’re approached by another man, an out of towner, who doesn’t know you’re considered to be the Sheriff’s girl. You hesitate, because you expect Lee to follow closely behind, and scare him off just as he always does. But he doesn’t swoop in and pull you away. You ignore the way it makes your chest ache. You shouldn’t care. You don’t let yourself care. Instead, you push all thoughts of him away as best you can and bat your eyelashes at who might actually be the man paying to go upstairs tonight.

He’s plenty handsome, maybe a little too scrawny. And his dark eyes are nothing in comparison to a particular pair of blue eyes you’ve grown rather fond of. He talks to you about his work, a map surveyor from up north, and his plans to travel the whole country for work. This detail about him is the only thing that peaks your interest. You ask him to tell you about everything he’s seen and ask him what it was all like. You’re infatuated with the life he leads, and you get so wrapped up in his stories, for a little while you forget about Lee and his games.

That was the first time you had met Jud Harrison, and it was not the last. You’d soon learn that Jud’s transportation to his next job had fallen through, and he’d be in town a little longer than he anticipated. He ended up becoming a regular, and Jud also became your first husband.

You were so in love with his lifestyle, that you foolishly equated it with who he was as well. You had fallen in love quickly with the idea that Jud was your ticket out of town you’d been waiting for your whole life. He proposed after being in town for no longer than a month, and knowing you’d never see an opportunity like this for love and travel again, you jumped in with two feet.

You never learned that Lee had met Jud earlier that very first week when he came into the Sheriff’s station looking for recommendations on where he could find lodging. Lee had planted the idea in Jud’s head to go to the saloon in town, after learning Jud was a map surveyor. He knew you, fuck, if he didn’t know you so goddamn well it would’ve hurt less seeing how quickly you and Jud hit it off. He was young, and a good looking fella, and Lee saw in him, the same thing you saw. A chance to finally escape.

It wasn’t until you were married that you learned Jud had no intentions of bringing his wife along on his travels. He brought you to New York, back to his home, and then left again shortly after you were married. For a while, you loved New York, and you loved city life. You had photos of the city on your vanity back home- or back at the saloon, but it didn’t do the city justice. However, the novelty of it all faded, and it was the loneliest time in your life.

You found yourself missing the saloon, well, not the uncomfortable beds and the unsavory customers, but you missed the people. You missed the atmosphere and the music, and the regulars and the other girls. You felt more loved there than this empty home in the city. You never would admit it, but you found yourself aching for the Sheriff.

You thought about him at night, in your new bedroom, alone in the dark. You pictured his face, and tried to remember the sound of his voice. You’d pretend he was there with you, and you play back in your mind nights spent with him instead of your husband. It was your secret and you would never tell a soul. During the long spans of loneliness, you’d spend your nights with your hand between your parted thighs and Lee’s name on your lips.

Taglist:

@demirunner @letsfly-andbe-free @msgodofmischief @iamlee1 @buckistan @littlemissthistle @oitommothetease @kcmarvel333@lostgirllulu @swiftieandthewintersoldier @swndmans @thehuntresswolf @maryelizabeth13 @Bodeckersdiamonddoll @whatinthestyles @hogwartsahist0ry @every-whenwaywardwifey @mandiiblanche @every-when @charmed-asylum  @alyssadelashmit @kcmarvel333 @missyellowbirdie @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

[skei-seems]

Professor Reid

(PART 1)

Summary: Reader kicks off first semester of university with a team project that requires a trip to another city. Her professor, Spencer Reid, is to accompany the team, but the journey takes an interesting turn when he offers to show her a pub in the city one night.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (female) reader

Category: Smut [NSFW]

Warnings: Smut, Age Gap, Swearing

A/N: Please send me some feedback on this or requests, I would love to hear your thoughts. Also, do you guys prefer first person x reader or second person pov? Part 2 linked below ;)

-------

      You could always see something coming from a mile away, it was a peculiar skill of yours to be able to plan out every possible outcome of any situation (especially the worst ones) in order to satisfy your anxiety. University was a new ground, it was unfamiliar and untrodden, and that’s what made it dangerous - the unforeseeable future.

      As soon as you started criminal psychology class, you knew it would be your favourite. Perhaps it was because of the interesting analogy strategies, or the way the minds of the psychos worked, but mainly it was because of the gorgeous golden-locked professor. His intelligent hands gestured each time he spoke and the way they often ran through his hair to fix it, his big brown eyes scanning the room which sometimes met your gaze, and the nerdy button up shirts he wore was enough to set your lust for him on fire. The development of crushes on people that would never be interested in you was a frequent occurrence, and the probability of something happening between you was far from reality - you knew that - and that was where the satisfaction lay in it. Knowing nothing can or will happen, the infatuation was innocent and improbable. 

      “Okay class, I have an announcement to make,” the voice that sent goosebumps over your skin each time it sounded, boomed through the large classroom. You focused from a distance on his sharp eyes, before he looked down at a piece of paper in his hands. “There will be a trip to another university to join a team which will conduct a research project together,”  some ‘ooh’s’ and ‘aah’s’ sounded there, ”but unfortunately I cannot take all of you.” Disappointment flooded through the room now, but a little jolt of excitement went through your body. A trip, to another town, with the hot professor. He continued, “I have selected five students based on how well they did in the last examination, the names of whom I read now please meet with me after class.”

      Your heart sped up in your chest, you were even afraid the thumping could be heard by your surrounding classmates as he read off the names, and stopped when yours was the last. Part of you wished you could be as calm as the others when class ended and they slowly made their way to his desk, but the other part of you wanted to lather up every bit of excitement that coursed through your body as you approached the tall smart-looking man.

      As he briefed the group on what you need to prepare and the plans for the trip, you calmed down and made some notes, but a strand of hair had fallen into his face which distracted you. When he finished the briefing and made sure everyone was okay with spending their first week of holiday doing a school trip, everyone made to leave. You pocketed your phone, looked around when you heard him say “Bye guys, see you on the weekend!” and made eye contact, he smiled awkwardly and averted his gaze to the others walking out the door. Your heart immediately started racing in your chest and only calmed once you got home, and you could not get those beautiful brown eyes out of your head.

---

      It was the day of the trip. You would be driving together in a bus and stay at a hotel; you had free time in the mornings and evenings, project participation during the day and one free days to tour the city with your guide, professor Reid. Apparently if you did well, you would be allowed a night of celebration at the end in a very fancy club, which did not really seem like a reward to you, clubs were loud and full of sweaty drunk strangers.

      The drive was long and seemingly endless with not much to do, and you were slightly amused to see that both you and the professor had brought a book to entertain yourselves with for the trip. When you arrived, the whole group set out to their rooms (each with a roommate) except for the professor, who made sure you knew where it was and that each had his number to call in case of emergency. He gave everyone the rest of the afternoon off to do your own activities, but you weren't allowed to go off alone, and had to be back at the hotel by 10.

      You spent most of your free time reading or putting together work for the project, and by the third day the others had quickly formed a bond and gone off without you to have fun. It was about six thirty when you heard a knock on the door. Wondering who it was, you opened it to the gorgeous blonde professor.

“Hi Y/N, the others have all gone with the other university’s team to a restaurant and I’ve allowed them a later curfew, don’t you want to join them?” He asked, with a slight concern (probably because you were always alone). His brows were knit into a neat frown and you could imagine them being like that for a whole other reason, almost buckling your knees.

      “Um,” you stumbled, thrown off by his sudden appearance and question, and thought for a moment. “To be honest I don’t really feel like being in that big group after spending the whole day with them.”

At this, he looked down and smiled, almost in a knowing way. “Well, if you want to get out, I’m going to meet some of my old university friends at a place that’s really nice,” then he sheepishly added, “and probably better than the restaurant your classmates chose.”

You bit your lip, he was asking you to come with him, without any other student present. “Your old university friends?” 

“Yeah, this was where I studied before I moved and joined the FBI to become a profiler.” 

Before you could answer, he added, “I just, couldn’t help but notice you haven’t gone out at all with the others. It wouldn’t sit right with me if you spend another night all by yourself.” 

His words sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin. It made you look away with embarrassment that your introverted habits had not gone unnoticed. “Okay,” you said with forced sureness, and shyly looked at him again, “could I maybe just change real quick?”

      He studied you a little and nodded. “Meet me at the foyer in fifteen minutes. You won’t regret it.” He seemed pleased with himself at convincing you to come out of your shell, and it sent electric sparks through your body that he made an effort for you, and only you.

      Fifteen minutes later you walked up to the foyer. It turns out he had made the decision to change as well, going for a white buttoned up shirt, black fitting trousers and a pair of high top converse. You could not take your eyes off the man, and your stomach somersaulted at his rolled up sleeves that exposed his veiny forearms and watched wrist. As you came closer, he turned around and let his smouldering brown eyes travel down your body.

       You flushed with warmth and redness as he took in your change of appearance, you wore black skinny jeans, a top that exposed your chest a little more than you would allow at school, and your go-to white sneakers. 

“I was almost afraid you decided to stand me up,” he joked and shuffled his feet as the scent of your elegant rosey perfume engulfed him.

      “Almost,” You chuckled, this informal stance was relaxing.  You made your way down a couple of blocks while the professor talked a bit about the city, and finally entered a retro-looking pub. As you observed the place, you could feel his eyes on you. You realised for the first that he was your grounding now, since there was no one else in the room you knew, an intimate feeling arose at this thought and you moved a little closer to him.

“This is where I spent many a night drinking with my friends,” he said - with pride - while leading you to an empty table. You could hardly picture this smart and always-composed man being drunk, but it was a humoured picture nonetheless. He had to lean in for you to hear him over the music and talking of the people inside, and you could feel his hot minty breath sending tingles across your skin. 

“I like it,” you replied. The bar was old wood, the walls were lined with all kinds of posters and signs that made up the aesthetic, accompanied by a small stage area with a landing dance floor. 

“It’s my favourite, ahh-” he looked up at someone behind you and got up, “here they are.” Your heart skipped a beat, you were always nervous when meeting new people.

“SPENCE, my man!” exclaimed a tall curly haired fellow as they ‘bro-hugged’. A second, more buff and bearded man followed with “Long time no see!” He looked a little older but the two seemed to make sense as a friendship.

      After they exchanged greetings, they realized your presence. Assuming they were out of earshot from a couple of feet away, the curly haired guy complimented professor Reid on his ‘date’ and made a gesture to suggest nice ‘boobs.’  You had to hide your smile when the professor went crimson and explained that you were his student, but you could feel your legs aching a little at the sight of him being flustered. He glanced at you nervously and ran a hand through his loose curls.

      Finally, the men joined the table and introduced themselves, sharing stories of when they were your age. The professor seemed so different like this, so warm and relaxed, as compared to his usual formal state. You exchanged glances and a couple of smiles through the drinks and conversations, and you couldn’t push away the thought that maybe you were forming a connection. You focused on the way he sometimes licked his lips or put his fingers to his mouth, and imagined sucking on them, squeezing your thighs at the thought. Maybe you would be different after the trip, but you were snapped back to reality when the two of his friends decided to call it a night.

As the two were saying their goodbyes and making their way to the door. You checked your phone and shocked, exclaimed “It’s only ten o’clock!” 

This earned a beautiful laugh from your professor. “I suppose that’s late when you’re my age. But we don’t have to leave. Wanna play a game of pool?”

Relief flooded unto you, you did not want this to be over, no one else had seen the professor like this and - despite your nervousness - you were having fun. The pub had grown fuller than when you first came in. Noticing a couple of lustful glances to your body, and to avoid being crumpled or lost between passing bodies, Spencer lightly put a hand on your lower back as he guided you in front of him over to the pool tables. The touch was barely, and so subtle, but it created a sense of dominince over you and made the area where his fingers connected with the fabric of your shirt tingle and spread to your lower belly. 

He was pretty good at the game, hitting with careful preciseness and studying the table for a while before taking each of his turns. Focusing like him was a rather difficult task when you kept watching his veiny hands wrap around the pool stick and grip it tightly before he bent over to shoot. It was a little funny that he took it with such seriousness, but this forced you to do the same, and soon there was an atmosphere of strong competitiveness evident between you two. It came down the last couple of balls, when you decided to throw in a bet. 

“If I win what do I get?” You confidently challenged, the alcohol had given your voice a certain assertiveness it lacked when you were sober, but this could also be a bad thing - the alcohol talking for you.

“If you win I buy the next round of drinks, if I win you pay for the round.” He said without thinking too hard about it, then returned his focus back to the game.

A couple moments later professor Reid won, and you reluctantly pulled out your wallet from your bag and made your way to the bar. The look on his face was triumph, but it had been a little exciting for the duration of the game that he considered you his equal, as competition. While you waited for the two glasses of Jack and Coke, a hand groped you from behind. You jumped out of the stranger’s grasp and tried to put as much distance between the two of you, but the line was cramped and it didn’t help much. 

A sloppy looking man smirked at you, “How bout I get you a drink, darling.”

“How bout you leave her alone.” A firm voice said behind you, and you felt a warm hand sneak around your waist.

The guy looked annoyed but retreated from the bar. You turned around, a little thrown off from the interaction. “Thank you for saving me, professor.” You said, looking into his chocolate eyes staring off at the guy, now darkened with a little - anger? protectiveness? or was it dominance? Either way, it excited you. 

“But I can handle myself”

He cocked his head and eyed you smugly. “Just stick closer to me from now.” He smiled with reassurance, not taking his hand off your waist, and the creep left your mind. All you wanted now was him.

You took your drinks and went back to the pool tables, all of them were occupied. Two friendly biker-looking guys offered to play in teams with you, though. You took on the challenge and played, but you were focusing on a different game. The alcohol had flushed out any thoughts or worry about the age difference or the fact that he was your professor, you were’t sure how, but you were going to get him one way or another. The game progressed slowly, and you got the opportunity to bend down in front of the professor. Behind you, you heard the biker next to him say “dude, if you don’t hit that, I will,” and felt a subtle, but not too soft landing on your ass. A yelp escaped your mouth, more out of surprise than anything, but you shot the ball in and turned around. Spencer looked embarrassed, and pulled you away a little and apologised. 

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, sir,” you insisted, then adding, “I kinda liked it.”

His mouth formed into an ‘O’ shaped, and with his eyebrows raised he let out a chuckle, but you could see something change in his eyes as he glanced at your lips.

You were pulled out of your daze when you heard it - the song. The song you had to dance to no matter what, so you grabbed your drink and downed the last of it. “Come on, professor,” you pulled him by his hand.

“What’s happening?” he asked, looking a little amused.

“We have to dance to this song, it’s illegal not to.”

      He laughed and followed you. The world was spinning a little and the alcohol had made your body warm, you would have to get out for fresh air sooner than later or you’d start sweating. Not knowing what was going through your or the professors mind, whatever it was, you hoped it was the same thing.

Once on the dance floor, the two of you easily fit in the crowd’s rhythm. He knew the lyrics just as well as you, and you jumped and moved around each other mouthing the words. A layer of sweat had started to make his shirt cling to him, and his hair was a little dampened, god he looked good. As the chorus ended, he stopped momentarily to unbutton his shirt a little for some air. His exposed chest was a huge turn on and you moved a little closer to him, but someone pushed through the crowd and squashed you right into each other. 

      This was the closest you had ever been, your bodies were completely pressed against each other and his cologne was overwhelming your senses. With your hand on his chest you looked up at him, resuming to the rhythm of the song, but the two of you remained close. He made no move to push you away, he just seemed deeply in though. With a last muster of confidence, you turned around and pushed your lower half onto his and felt him harden against you. Glad for the blaring music at that moment, you moaned loudly. For a moment he did nothing, then his hands shyly placed themselves on your hips.

Maybe it was wrong, maybe you should move away and pretend it hadn’t happened, but he pulled you closer by the waist and kept you rooted to the spot. So there was a dominant part in him, this pushed away the doubts you had momentarily and you continued to rub against his hard groin. The song changed to a slower, more sexy one. He hung his head so it was next to yours, and you could feel his sticky curls tangle with your hair. His hands were on your waist, guiding you and every now and then moving higher to just below your breasts. You slid down against him slowly, then slowly pushed your butt up back against his hardness. Just the thought of what the two of you looked like at that moment could send you over the edge.

      Unable to resist seeing what he looked like, you turned around and flung your arms around his neck, his hair was wet and messy, some parts sticking to his forehead, and his chest was rising and falling at a fast pace. What made you stop was how he was staring you right in the eye through his locks, like there was no one else in the room, you pondered whether or not to kiss him but it was hot, it was so hot in the room.

You pulled free from what seemed like your wildest fantasy come true and made way to the exist and out into the open air. Professor Reid had followed you outside into the dark lamp-lit street. He mirrored your out-of-breath and at-a-loss-for-words state. “Let’s get back to the hotel, shall we?” he offered after a while, not looking at you and already walking in the direction of the hotel.

      You weren't sure if he meant that in the sense of sleeping together or just going back to your separate rooms, but the reality of it had sobered you up a little and you were feeling a little nervous now. He seemed.. angry? or what he frustrated? Things seemed so obvious back on the dance floor but now they seemed cloudy and unclear.

When you finally made your way back to the hotel the nervousness had almost eaten you up, and you were shaking. You and Spencer hadn’t said a word the entire way back, and the silence hadn’t helped your anxiety. He stopped suddenly and you walked into him, not realising you had already arrived in from of your hotel room. 

“Do you have your key card?” he finally spoke up, his voice was coarse and full of restraint.

      You nodded, turned and swiped the card to open the door. Stepping half inside you peeked around, your roommate wasn’t home yet. When you turned back to face Spencer, he was staring at you with such intensity it seemed to sear holes in you. Boldly, you took a step toward him. He immediately grabbed you by the waist and kissed you forcefully. Inside, he slammed you against the door to close it and swiped his tongue over your lips, then inside your mouth to explore. His hands were all over your body and yours tangled in his long, messy curls. When you felt his soft lips connect with the sensitive area of your neck, you moaned.

“Professor,” you squeaked. Your voice was full of need and earned a rough groan from him.

      He picked you up and set you on the counter in the small kitchen. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said, looking into your eyes, grabbing the back of your neck and reattaching your lips. His words were sending a rush to your core; you needed more friction. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, his hardness now rubbing right against your beating core. He groaned and slowly grinded against you, making you want more. His tall lean figure against yours was too much to handle, it was overpowering and you couldn’t stop the soft whimpers escaping your mouth.

As his large hand massaged your breast and he continued to rock his hips against yours gradually at a faster pace, your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. 

He was in the middle of pulling off your shirt when a loud knock on the door made you freeze. He pulled away, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Who is it?” You called, your voice (and legs) shaking.

It turned out to be your roommate. The two of you swiftly fixed yourselves up and you opened the door. With the explained that you and the professor were just working on something more for tomorrow’s project session, he bid you goodnight and left hurriedly.

----

      The next day you awoke not sure of how to go about things, or if you should just pretend that nothing had happened at all. But all that was not possible at all, you realised, when you saw him that morning. All the events of the previous night rushed at once into your mind and you bit your lip, it wasn’t over. He cleared his throat and shoved a hand into his pocket while addressing the group, his eye contact with you being only brief, yet strong.

During lunch break you wanted to speak with him, and found him in the cafeteria’s far end. Before coming around the corner, you stopped. He was on the phone.

“I know I know, Sweetness, I love you.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, he had a girlfriend. How could you be a wedge between his relationship, you had messed up real bad, but then again, he was the one who kissed you...

     You avoided him for the rest of the day, and the next even though he asked to see you twice. Finally you received a text “Can we talk, please?” Yet you still ignored him, and even forced yourself to spend your free time with the group. It wasn’t too difficult avoiding him, but on the last day it was announced that since the group did so well, they would be celebrating at the great club in town - accompanied by the teachers of course. 

      You groaned. Slowly, anger had started to rise up to you. He was the one who had known he had a girlfriend, not you. He could have stopped it at any moment, but he didn’t. It was infuriating. Revenge may be the best plot. So you put on the sexiest clothes you could find, and met up with the group.

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

To be continued...  PART TWO AVAILABLE HERE: https://skei-seems.tumblr.com/post/642815872752353280/professor-reid-part-2

[masonscig]

bittersweet

part two

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 3.2k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | so i wanted to write like 2 more parts to this, but honestly... i feel like this turned out great. also yes, i probably should’ve made this a lot shorter, but the prompt got away from me as per usual. not proofread because i’m tired :/ this is for day seven of hot in wayhaven, aftercare!

•─────────────────•

Things have been weird since that night.

She just kind of went back to treating him exactly the same as she had before. She held him at arms’ length like she did with everyone she was wary of letting in.

He was sure that this time he’d made progress.

For the few months leading up till he almost throat fucked her in her dimly lit apartment, she’d been warming up to him.

He managed a few genuine smiles and laughs despite trying less hard to do so. He caught her watching him across the room during meetings, trainings, briefings… anytime they weren’t alone, he caught her staring at least once.

She’d even started asking about him. Any time he was late to a meeting, she bugged Mason with a punch to the shoulder or a scuff of her shoe against the toe of his own.

Didn’t matter how much progress he’d made if it’d just been ruined by one big fuck up on both of their ends.

This particular night, Felix is mulling over the events leading up to when she left, still trying to figure out where things went wrong.

He paces around the room once, twice, before plopping into his giant bean bag chair.

Before he can really settle in there, he’s restless again, jumping to his feet to cross the room once again, climbing into the hammock in the corner.

This isn’t right, either, he huffs to himself, rolling awkwardly out of the hammock and to the middle of the room, flinging himself onto his bed.

He picks up the Gameboy on his nightstand, tap-tap-tapping away on full volume until he hears a single loud thud against the wall across from him.

Abandoning his game of Galaga, he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at Mason’s feeble attempts to silence him. Tossing the Gameboy to the foot of his bed, he opts instead to grab his tamagotchi, feeding his pet till he’s bored again.

He has lots of things. And these things keep him occupied and hold his attention for a while.

But none of them keep his attention long enough to satiate his wandering mind.

Flor’s been his main focus for a while, but it’s particularly bad this week since she’s taken a vacation for the first time since he’s met her.

It’s not even that she’s a hard worker – she’s just on such bad terms with the captain that she never bothered asking for days off when she knew she wouldn’t get them even if she had plans to get outta town.

Her being on vacation doesn’t bother him at all – it’s the way he’s got unfinished business and he can’t do anything about it.

He can’t seem to think of anything else without her creeping into the back of his mind one way or the other.

He twists off of the bed and walks to his dresser, where his phone’s charging on its surface.

He’s confused. He misses her, he’s angry at her, he wants her –

To say he’s confused is an understatement, really.

He’s been patient, he’s been kind, he’s been understanding – and for her to ignore him for the entire summer?

He’d been counting down the days till they got back to normal. He’s in the hundreds now, and there’s no end in sight.

There’s two endings if he decides to fix it tonight – he’s either getting treated better, or he moves on from her.

The latter option is a painful thought, one he doesn’t give himself time to digest before he taps the number at the top of his favorites.

The phone rings once, twice, and his finger hovers over the end call button. He’s so close to chickening out – this is an awful idea –

“What? Huh?” Flor asks, voice raspy and twinged with sleep. She yawns around her greeting, and he can picture her running a hand through her thick dyed hair. “Who is this?”

Does she really not even have his number saved?

“Uh, it’s Felix. I, um, this is a check in call,” he lies, tensing immediately.

Why’s that his knee jerk reaction? Two seconds into the call and he’s already making excuses instead of standing up for himself.

He really can’t help it, though. She’s so intimidating.

“It’s four thirty in the fucking morning,” she groans. “If you and your little team aren’t gonna respect my sleeping schedule consider any calls from this point on fucking rejected.”

“No, no, I, uh –”

He has no excuses. He can’t lie again… and she already sounds upset, and it’d make the rest of the call even more unpleasant.

“I lied. It’s not a check up,” he sits up in bed, nervously fiddling with the tamagotchi.

“Well then what is it?” She spits, clearly cranky and sleep deprived.

“I have some things I need to say to you, and… I, uh, I don’t know if you’ll like it,” he twists the keychain around his finger, but tosses his little friend to the end of his bed alongside his Gameboy. He needs to focus.

She’s silent. He knows he’s on limited time. 

“I… miss you.”

She goes silent, the static of the phone crackling because of both of their poor signals.

“Thanks.”

The one word response has him silently screaming at himself – he flings himself back on the bed, kicking his legs and flailing.

I miss you. Thanks.

The most embarrassing response he could’ve ever gotten.

“I was gonna say more than that. I’m just… gathering the courage,” he says, takes a deep breath, anchors himself.

“I don’t like how you’ve been treating me, Flor, honestly, and I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh, I do,” she responds, a deadpan question, nearly mocking.

“Yeah, you do,” Felix bites back immediately, surprised even at himself with how forceful he’s being. “You almost fucked me at the beginning of summer, and now you’re not talking to me? I thought we were, I don’t know, friends at least? I know I’m not your Tina and I never will be, but I want to be there for you.”

“I’m not…” she trails off, and there’s a swishing sound like she’s shifting in bed. “Trying to avoid you, alright? It just seems like that, I guess.”

He can’t stop his hand from clenching into a tight fist, can’t stop it from shaking with rage, can’t stop the venom bubbling up his throat and dripping off his tongue.

“Don’t… tell me how to feel, Flor. I’m upset, so don’t try to downplay it, okay? I know you’re trying to avoid me, and that’s fine, I guess, as long as you, I dunno, let me move on.”

“Move on?” She asks, her tone (surprisingly) cushioned with sincerity.

“Yeah, I, uh,” he stands, striding across the room to the window, and back to the door, pacing (He’s wondering if she’s pacing too). “I like you a lot, but I have to protect myself, too, y’know? If you don’t want me around, you’ve gotta tell me so that I can stop, uh, investing too much of myself into… this.”

“Felix…” she sighs, and quiets. “I know you’re looking for answers, but I don’t have them. I don’t know.”

“So, what, that’s it then?”

“I… yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

Flor sounds unsure, but he’s not gonna press her further. It hurts, but he has to move on or she’ll consume him in a fiery blaze.

He’s let the flames lick at him, but when it comes down to it, he can’t handle the inferno. He’s walking away before he gets burned, when all he wants to do is be engulfed by her.

It’s easier this way, in theory, but saying goodbye is harder than he’s ever anticipated.

“Bye, Flor. Sweet dreams.”

He disconnects before she can say another word, and he crumples onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

He’s losing another person he cares about, and just like last time, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Tears are falling freely now, and he angrily wipes them away with a rough backhand.

It’s not her fault. It’s not your fault. You’re just not compatible.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he’s drifting off to sleep. He’ll deal with Rebecca and Unit Bravo in the morning.

––––

Flor clutches the phone in her hand, her jaw tight.

She didn’t get the last word, and she sure as hell didn’t get to say what she wanted to say.

Felix was hurting and she couldn’t even manage kindness for one goddamn moment.

No one asks to be emotionally detached – it's just easier that way, for Flor, at least.

Wading through the mess of her apartment, she steps into the bare kitchen. Pours herself a cup of water. Chugs it to clear her head.

When that doesn’t do the trick, she takes a hefty shot of tequila. Bad idea, but the burn gives her a sense of clarity she doesn’t have when she’s completely sober.

You’ve been dragging your fucking feet for years now. Get the hell over it. Go to him. Be with him.

Every instinct she has is dragging her towards the front door where her car keys hang. Another bad idea, as per usual.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she shoots him a quick text. Come over. Please. We need to talk in person.

It’s not the wisest idea for her to face her problems head on, but the tiny, reasonable part of Flor’s mind is telling her she needs to fight for him instead of letting him slip through her fingers.

––––

He doesn’t see the text till an hour and a half after she’s sent it.

It’s just past six in the morning. The sun’s just barely creeping its way into his room, golden streaks across his wood floor.

He assumes she just wants the last word and that’s why she sent it – but an even louder part of him entertains the “what ifs” that are bouncing around his mind.

What if she wants to apologize? What if she wants to hear how I feel? And tell me where her head’s at? 

After going back and forth for a few minutes, impulse wins, and he’s tossing on a vibrant graphic tee and shorts before he sprints out the door. 

Nate’s the only one up, reading the newspaper and filling out the crossword puzzles in the soft lighting of the kitchen, and he shoots Felix a knowing look of encouragement.

Unit Bravo knows how infatuated Felix is with Flor, and they constantly flit between telling him to let her go and chasing after her.

Today’s a good day in that regard – Nate’s given his wordless blessing with nothing but a soft smile.

He’s at her place in ten minutes flat, staring up at the apartment like it’s a creaky, spooky haunted house.

His courage is thinning the closer he steps to her front door. His bones are gelatin, and his brain is equally as mushy.

It’s not an ideal state, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this. Get the courage again like this.

Rapping his knuckles against the stained door, he waits. He rocks back on his heels, taps his feet, does anything he can to get the jitters out of his system.

When the door finally does open, his heart leaps at the sight of her.

Her hair’s a mess. Her leftover eyeliner is smudged all around her eyes. Her dark eyes are lined with red from lack of sleep. She looks exhausted.

“You came.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and steps into her apartment when she gestures for him to come in.

She shuts the door behind him, and this time instead of shoving him up against the door to kiss him, she takes his hand.

Laces her fingers through his own, tugs him toward her couch.

He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, and from the looks of it, neither does she.

“What’s up?” He asks, simply, feeling like an idiot almost instantly for making things that casual.

“I’m…” she trails off, nearly black irises softening when she looks at him. He could live in those midnight pools.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He raises both brows in surprise, and his gaze flits to their hands. She’s death gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her jaw set.

“Uh –”

“I’m getting to the why. I just don’t know how to say it –”

She grunts, shifting on the couch. “I’m not a nice person. You know that.”

“You’re nice in your own way,” he offers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

“God, Felix, I’m a mean bitter bitch. Don’t sugar coat it,” she laughs. “I don’t really wanna be this way, but it’s easier than getting… invested in people.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“It’s just easier to shut people out than to have expectations for them,” she starts, shrugging. “And having them expect things from you, too.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you don’t want us to have expectations for each other?” He asks.

“I’m gonna say this as bluntly and straight forward as I can, because I don’t think I can do anything else,” she answers after taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I like you. I’m attracted to you. I want you in my life,” she holds his eyes, speaking as earnestly as she can manage. “But I need you to be patient with me. I don’t know how to do… this. I don’t know how to get close to people anymore. Last time I did it was fucking toxic and I told myself never again.”

“Bobby,” he murmurs, and she nods.

“If you want me, too, we’ll both have to compromise,” she continues, stiffening a little like she’s bracing for impact. “I have to get used to the way you do things, and you’ll have to get used to the way I am, too. But I promise you, Felix, I’m gonna try.”

“Try what?” His voice is a little shaky, and she’s coming towards him, slowly closing the gap between them.

“I’m gonna try to love you, if you’ll try to love me,” she whispers, her jaw set again.

That’s all he needed to hear.

He closes his eyes and kisses her sweetly, softly, letting go of her hands so he can cup her face.

She’s so precious to him, so he cradles her face like the gem she is.

“Flor…” Her name’s a quiet promise as it falls from his lips.

I promise as long as you’re trying, I’ll try, too.

She clutches his hips as she kisses him, moaning sweetly into his mouth.

He doesn’t know when she starts slowly tugging his clothes off, but soon enough, they’re skin to skin, and he can’t tell where his body ends and hers begins.

She’s different this time, he notices. She’s more timid. Maybe she’s never been taken care of like this before.

As he bows his head between her legs, he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be her favorite or not.

She’s slack jawed and grasping at his head, squeezing her tattooed thighs around his face.

God, she’s beautiful, all spread out for him – she’s a gift of brown skin (and a pretty pink pussy).

She writhes and pants with each stroke of his tongue, his name broken and garbled on her lips.

When she tugs his head upwards to press sloppy kisses on his mouth, he knows she wants more.

“Flor…” he trails off, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck. “Do you really wanna do this?”

“Only if you want to, doll.”

God, he can barely breathe. A proposition and a pet name. To most, that’s nothing. But to him, it’s the entire world.

She anchors herself on top of him and settles onto his cock, keeping direct eye contact while she stretches around him.

His eyes are fluttering shut, rolling back, and his head is threatening to loll to the side – she grabs his cheeks between her hand and tugs him back up, her half lidded eyes lustful and determined.

“I want to see you… watch me, and I’ll watch you,” she pants as she flexes her hips, his tip the only part inside of her, but she flexes again, taking all of him (every delicious inch).

“Fuck,” he curses, and she grins, bouncing against him.

He fists his hands at her hips, running a hand up her stomach to rest at the barbed wire tattoos lining her under boob. He can’t figure out what part of her he wants to touch so he opts for it all, squeezing, nipping, kissing every piece of skin his hands and mouth can cover.

“You feel so fucking good around me, doll – fuck me just like that,” she grunts as he bucks up into her.

He’s never been one to have a filthy mouth, but boy does he fucking love it.

The sun’s fully engulfing her living room at this point, the golden glow warming both of their exposed skin already, glistening in the Wayhaven sunrise.

She’s so pretty like this. She’s in her element like this, too. Confident.

The nervous, rigid version of herself was long gone.

She’s opening up to him. Albeit emotionally and physically, she’s trying. She’s blooming for him.

Flor means flower right? She’s finally in season, and it’s worth the wait.

––––

In the heat of it all, they’ve kicked all her clean laundry to the floor, but she grabbed a thin blanket from the top to cover them.

She’s cuddled up to him on the small couch, her head resting on his sweat slicked chest.

They’d been at it for a while when they both finally came. He didn’t expect her to want to cuddle, but they did.

“We probably need to clean up, huh?” she murmurs, soft kisses against his skin.

“Lemme take care of it,” he grins, crawling over her before she can protest.

He’s back in a flash with a damp towel and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking the bottle from him. When she tries to grab the damp towel, he holds it away from her.

“Can I clean you up?” He asks timidly.

Flor shrugs, mouth still on the bottle. “Okay.”

He bends to his knees and pulls the blanket away, dragging the cloth gently along her thighs, cleaning up the mess he’s made.

He folds the towel and rubs her stomach and thighs again, before kissing her knee. “You���re so pretty.”

Before he can stand up, she grabs his arm and tugs him back down for a long kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shiny, soft. Midnight pools, and he’s submerged in them.

“I’ve never been fucked by someone who cares about me like you do.”

He grins and pulls her in for a kiss again.

“Well, get used to the feeling.”

He wants every messy, unpolished part of Flor he can get, from her crass humor to her sailor’s mouth.

This is the farthest they’ve ever taken things, yeah, but he’s willing to go further and further with her, as long as she’ll have him.

[sapphirelycoris]

𝑨 𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 & 𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕: 𝑰

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Suggestive lines, pining (like a lot because Enji's a simp), enemies to lovers style writing, weird 19th century type dialogue but I think it's still readable. Please tell me if I missed any.

Ship: Enji Todoroki x female reader (she/her)

Word count:  2,707

Music: Pride & Prejudice Music & Ambiance

Author's note: I know some of the character's relationships with others are kind of weird but I casted them according to personality. For example, Ryuko reminds me of Charlotte Lucas and Nejire reminds me of her little sister, Maria. I just kind of threw names around haha... A NSFW and continuation soon to come. God, it's been a while since I posted anything on this blog.

Written/created for: @pleasantanathema's Through Ink and Quill | A Classics Collab

Summary: A Pride and Prejudice inspired piece, featuring Enji Todoroki as the male love interest. Loosely following the plot of the actual novel with a few twists on the actual story's dialogue, characters, & events. When you meet Mr. Enji Todoroki, he was the last man in the world you'd ever want to be around. However, as your paths cross more and more, you see that your first impression of him was inaccurate.

"The world works in mysterious ways. He doesn’t know what happened and when it began. Suddenly, Enji cannot stop longing to be in the same room with you. To go one more moment without you seemed like a sin or some unbearable divine punishment for his greatest flaw: pride."

𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑙𝑦. 𝐴 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑣𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠; 𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑠. -𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒 𝐴𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛

The world works in mysterious ways. He doesn’t know what happened and when it began. Suddenly, Enji cannot stop longing to be in the same room with you. He dreamed about the sight of your eyes, glancing at him with mild contempt. You occupied his thoughts, both innocent and indecent… He was going to go mad if you didn’t share the same affections that he did. He didn’t want you. Not at all. He needed you by his side. To go one more moment without you seemed like a sin or some unbearable divine punishment for his greatest flaw: pride.

When he blatantly insulted you at the first gathering he attended and saw you laugh about it with Ryuko, for once, he felt uneasy. The same woman he had slighted was now the one who controlled him. He noticed the way you looked embarrassed at your family’s antics. It disgusted him that he was obsessing over someone with that kind of background.

It certainly shocked Enji when you stood him up at Sir Yorio’s gathering. How dare you! For him to stoop down and offer to dance with you, only for you to reject him, was truly offensive. A woman far below his social status, refusing to stand up with him. The nerve. 

Every single snarky quip that left your lips swam around in his mind. Your sharp tongue was attractive. The moment he saw you with mud on your dress, walking from your home to Toshinori’s country estate, he was taken aback. For some reason, he couldn’t get rid of that image. The sun hit your face perfectly, creating an enchanting glow that accompanied your delightful countenance. 

“Ms. (L/N).” Your name rolled off his lips so naturally. 

The regrettable moment you had to leave Toshinori’s estate, he helped you into the carriage which would take you home. Something transpired, far beyond his comprehension. Your hand fit so perfectly in his, he couldn’t help but want it to stay there forever. The missing piece to a puzzling man such as himself finally found its way to its rightful spot. It seemed you wished for the same thing. His grip was secure, he felt safe, and you were trapped, staring into the most beautiful cerulean eyes. At the same time, Enji could drown in your eyes forever. The confused look you gave him was endearing when he refused to let go. 

His actions also startled him. Why was he so stuck on you? He flexed his hand, imagining that yours never left as he watched the carriage shrink, moving further from the manor and into the distance. When was the next time he would be allowed to see you? What was it going to take to cure this infatuation?

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next time he saw you, was under more unfortunate circumstances. He was riding downtown with Toshinori when he spotted your little party. Unlike his friend, Enji looked unhappy when he saw who you were talking with. You briefly exchanged eye contact with him before he had a clear look of disdain displayed on his face. 

Keigo’s eyes followed yours. He tipped his hat, but Enji made no attempt to return the friendly gesture. He hurried away on his horse without saying a word. The encounter was certainly unusual. Keigo looked discomforted by the interaction. You wondered what could have transpired between the two men that caused such tension. 

That night, at your aunt’s home, you sat down and heard what Keigo had to say about his reunion with Enji. He told his side of the story. He painted Enji as the villain in his narrative. Seeing as how you already found the man so disagreeable, you couldn’t help but believe Keigo’s words. He was much more forthcoming than his old friend; he didn’t seem capable of telling a lie. This new story caused you to see Enji in a new light, only deepening your dislike for the man. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Toshinori was a man of his word and held the ball that he promised your sisters. Enji was less unenthusiastic than he usually was. Knowing that he’d get to see you there was the night’s one redeeming feature. He was excited at the thought of getting to lay his eyes on you once more, and it sickened him.

Many of the officers were attending the ball. While linking arms with Toshinori and walking around the ballroom, you searched for Keigo among the redcoats the officers wore. Instead of finding him, you found a pair of familiar blue eyes that looked at you with well-hidden passion and yearning. Enji wanted to tear you away from Toshinori’s arms and have you all to himself. He had many selfish desires, and he usually got what he wanted, but you were the exception. 

Women fawned over him, trying to get a taste of his money. Even Rei tried being overly friendly with him. He cared little for them; he wasn’t looking to fall in love. He was not in search of a wife. Enji was quite content with the life he had. Everything he wanted was in his grasp. But you? You were so close yet so far. There was an uncomfortable amount of emotional space between you and he wanted to close it. Being in the same room wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted to touch you, feel your skin, claim those alluring lips for himself. He wanted to see your whole being without any pesky fabric in the way. If only he could rip that dress off of your body after forcefully pulling you into a vacant bedroom. 

He made his way over to you, but an officer blocked his view. He informed you that Keigo would not be in attendance. Part of it was because of an assignment he had to do, but he also wanted to avoid a certain man… Your younger sisters drug the officer away, leaving you alone in the middle of a crowded room. 

Fortunately, you spotted Ryuko, who was standing alone in the corner. You went to inform her of everything that had happened lately. An unwelcome guest interrupted you. 

“Ryuko, may I introduce you to my cousin, Mr. Tobita?” While remaining civil, you introduced them to each other. He took your hand and led you to dance. As it turns out, the man can’t dance. He went the wrong way, bumping into another lady. It was embarrassing, to say the least. 

Enji watched in amusement as he saw you struggle to keep a smile. You made eye contact with him again, almost sending him a look of desperation. Dancing with him would be better than your current situation. He simply smirked and waltzed around the room, observing everyone. 

While you were busy venting to Ryuko, the very man you were talking about came up to you. The two of you exchanged glances and bowed. “If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?” Enji’s odd invitation made your eyes widen slightly.

There was no way out of it. You tried coming up with an excuse, but nothing came to mind. He smiled slyly as you fumbled over your words. “I- well I hadn’t... yes. Thank you…” With no escape, you were trapped. He walked off, and you lingered behind for a minute.

“You’d be a fool if you didn’t take him up on his offer. It’s a great compliment that he singled you out.” Ryuko commented. 

“The last time he singled me out was to slander me. Hateful man…” you hissed before going to follow him. 

As the music started to play, you studied Enji’s face. It was the first time you’d ever really taken the time to analyze all of his features. You hated to admit it, but he was handsome. Unusually handsome. 

Finally, your hand had made its way back into his. Even if it was only for a brief moment, that feeling would stick with him until the end of the night. The two of you danced around with your words, conversing back and forth when the time was appropriate. You simply couldn’t bear the silence. 

Couples pranced around the dance floor elegantly, stepping where they needed to. You two moved in sync, never letting your eyes wander. There was a burning passion for the man that you couldn’t get rid of. Whether it was burning hatred, lust, or love, you couldn’t tell. Hostility and tension seemed to be all that came out of your encounters with him. The sexual tension was the one thing that kept you from completely despising Enji and you hated it. 

In an attempt to rile him up, you remarked on Keigo and the last time Enji saw you. “The last time I was in town, I was forming a new acquaintance.” A sly grin spread across your face as the words came out. 

“Mr. Takami’s friendly personality is what allows him to make friends so easily. Though his ability to keep them is debatable.” 

“How unfortunate he must be, to lose your friendship, a loss I am sure he will regret for the rest of his life.” You mocked in an airy and hushed tone. Before Enji could snap back, Mr. Toyomitsu came over to hint at a marriage between your sister and Toshinori. The two of you glanced at the smiling pair before dancing again. “Didn’t you say that you rarely ever forgave? That your hatred, once set in stone, was set indefinitely? Surely a man such as yourself is careful when breeding such hatred.” 

“Of course I am.” Enji scoffed. 

“And I presume you do not let prejudice blind you?” 

“No. What is the purpose of these questions, if I may ask?” He grumbled, disliking your inquiries. 

“Simply a means to figure out your constitution.” You laughed, “Trying to get a good idea of your character.”

“And your findings?” 

“None. I have heard of you on different accounts by different people with different views of you. You shall remain a mystery until I comprehend you.” 

With the dance ending, Enji remained silent. Once the music faded, he supported your hand as you lightly held it over his. “I request that you do not attempt to perceive my character right now. It would do us no favors if you judged wrong.” He claimed as you left the dance floor.

“I may not get another opportunity, so I might as well try while I have the chance.” 

Enji placed himself right next to you and leaned to whisper in your ear. He lowered his voice, making sure only you could hear. “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.” His finger brushed against your arm as he walked away. All the heat in your body rushed to that spot. You wanted his warmth against your skin, you didn’t want him to go. 

And yet, you were standing alone in the corner of a crowded room, fixated on the man who you swore to never like. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Much had happened over a short amount of time. You had rejected Mr. Tobita’s marriage proposal and got an earful from your mother. Keigo got engaged to a rich young lady, and Ryuko had gotten engaged to Mr. Tobita. Enji and Toshinori’s party had left his estate, and your sister was disheartened. Everyone had such high expectations for her and Toshinori, only for him to up and leave. 

Now, you were on your own adventure. You, Sir Yorio, and Nejire were going to visit her and Mr. Tobita. They lived in a small house on Lady Chiyo’s property. Greenery grew on the stone, adding to the natural feel of the house. It was a quaint little grey structure with a clear blue sky in the background.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Ryuko and her husband rushed out the door to greet you. They showed you to your rooms while Mr. Tobita kept on about Lady Chiyo’s house and how grand it was. It seemed he was more in love with Chiyo than his own wife.

“Are you happy here?” You asked Ryuko as you watched the other three walk around the garden.

“I am quite content with my situation. I barely see him during the day. He sits in his book room, walks to Lady Chiyo’s every day, and-”

“And you prefer to sit in your own wing of the house.” You finished. Whether it was what she was going to say or not, you stated your mind. Ryuko smiled wistfully, “Yes.” 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

While you and Ryuko were walking through the woods, along with Nejire, Mr. Tobita came running after you. He was clearly out of breath but told you his news, anyway. Enji and his cousin, Kugo, had arrived. He urged you to make your way back to the house, since they wanted to visit with them.

“Pleasure to finally meet you Ms. (L/N).” Kugo smiled.

“Oh? ‘Finally’, sir?” 

“My cousin speaks of you often.” He informed.

“Ah…” You sighed, looking over at Enji who met your gaze, only hungrier. 

Enji’s eyes never left you, though. There was a protective aura emitting from him. Just in case Kugo spoke or acted out of line, he was ready to come to your aid at any moment. He rested his knuckles against his mouth. Instead of addressing anyone else in the room, he was intently watching and listening to your conversation. 

“Pray tell, why is Mr. Todoroki staring at me?” You asked Kugo, having enough of being watched over like you were some kind of prey, “Have I done or said something he finds offensive?” 

The man stood up from the sofa and meandered over to the table you were seated at. He had no control of his own actions. It was quite an impulsive move, and now he didn’t know what to say. “How is your family?” He choked out. 

“Well.” You replied, “My sister has been in town for quite some time. Have you happened to see her?” 

“No.” Enji lied, “Unfortunately not.” 

“As you can tell, Mr. Todoroki and I are not very close.” 

“Really? I find that hard to believe.” Kugo exclaimed.

“Truly? I believe in first impressions, however, Mr. Todoroki’s good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.” Your words caused him to turn around, and he saw your smiling face, making a joke of him. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The grounds of Lady Chiyo’s property were breathtaking. When the weather allowed, you took advantage of the sprawling greenery and went out for as many walks as you could. Without a cloud in the sky, an endless sea of blue, and shining sun, you wasted no time in getting outside. It was much more productive and enjoyable than sitting in the house.

A beautiful little trail, hidden by the estate’s magnificent trees, was the path you found yourself walking along. You looked up to admire how tall the trees had grown. They stood proud and provided you with shade. The birds sang a lovely little tune, supplying you with a unique sound that rivaled that of the best musicians. 

Enji came trotting through the path from the side. He halted his horse once he saw you. No painting could do you justice, even one made by the best painter in the world could compare to your beauty in person. The sight of you admiring the picture in front of you made his heart pound. Though you said nothing, he believed that you, taking the time to simply look at him, was the greatest compliment he would ever receive. 

And for those few precious minutes, he drank in your appearance. He was hopelessly in love with you. Being in your presence was the best part of his day. He found himself looking forward to seeing you. He always prayed for you to cross paths with him. Even if he simply caught a glimpse of you, suddenly it brightened his entire day. 

Unfortunately, he had other things to do. Enji spurred his horse forward and trotted away. Your presence in his life was much bigger than he expected when he first met you. And somehow… he didn’t mind it. He hated yet loved the feeling of being in love.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 5 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader (accidentally) blows off a text from Spencer for another guy. Later, Spencer takes her for a second date.   A/N: By the way, when you get to the adorable dance scene, the two songs that inspired me most were “Stardust” by Lyambiko and “We Might as Well Dance” by Madeleine Peyroux (Try not to read into the lyrics, I dare you). Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW 18+) Content Warning: Unprotected sex, dirty talk, jealousy, degradation, penetrative sex Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

I had never envisioned that my life would end up quite like this. That wasn't to say that it was disappointing or regrettable, although in that moment it felt like I had miscalculated a number of things. There was no other way to describe a Saturday night spent laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling of my friend's apartment as if I could manipulate myself into believing it was Spencer's.

It wasn't anyone's fault that it couldn't be his, instead. The stupid, gorgeous bastard wasn't ignoring me; he was just out of town for the weekend.

Truthfully, I should have been a little more considerate. It wasn't his fault he had to work. But I also couldn't help but be disappointed that he was always working. I hadn't seen him in almost two weeks and it was killing me. The last time I'd seen him was the morning after our first 'date,' and it was a brief enough interaction that I had already run out of ways to overthink it.

Spencer had gotten a restful night of sleep that night. Despite his little impromptu confession, he slept as though he'd never been more peaceful in his life. I had not. I'd had the pleasure of staying up for hours, playing his words through my head on loop and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened.

It didn't amount to anything though. The morning came, and he had long forgotten the words half mumbled through a sleepy daze. I'd told him that he had been mumbling in his sleep, and he asked me if he'd said anything embarrassing. I told him no. He hadn't pressed any further, simply stating that he must've been dreaming.

I almost thought it had been a challenge; a way to test if I'd gotten too close. But then I realized that I was probably just an idiot, and I was wanting it to mean more than it actually did.

So much for having run out of ways to overthink it.

Regardless, his aloofness had returned my heart to the broken, hurting mess it had been before he uttered the words that forever altered my universe.

That wasn't his fault, either. I was the one who'd set myself up for failure by ever imagining that we could be something more. I'd known he wasn't the most emotionally available suitor since the moment I met him. At least, not for me. I'd never actually seen him anyone else.

I didn't really want to think about that, though. I really didn't want to think about that.

"Hey, get your lazy ass up so I can sit down."

The order drew me from my reverie  — rather unpleasantly, might I add. Because when I turned to face my friend standing in front of me, I came face to face with his crotch.

"Dude, I don't want any of that in my face," I laughed to the unfortunately familiar sight. "Back up before I punch you in the dick."

Somewhat surprisingly, he obeyed. He took a step back and waited patiently for me to sit up and scoot over to give him room beside me on the couch. Completely unsuprisingly, however, he did not take advantage of any of the space available. He chose to sit close enough to touch me.

"Some women would do anything to have that privilege," he lied through his teeth.

"Who are these women? And how can I help them avoid this tragic fate?"

He smiled back, having already grown used to me rebuffing all of his advances years before. We had known each other for what felt like forever, but he still tried every chance he'd gotten. That moment was no exception, and it took him very little time to stretch his arm behind me on the couch. I leaned forward, glancing back at the arm that I would continue to avoid despite his best efforts.

I narrowed my eyes in a challenge when he did nothing to remedy the situation. He did not take the humble way out, so my only other option was to do the humbling for him.

"There are three whole couches in this room and you pick the seat directly next to me?"

"You're warm and it's 50 degrees in here," he joked while lifting his other hand to poke me on the nose.

I recoiled in disgust, grabbing the pillow beside me and hitting him in the face with it as hard as humanly possible.

"Then turn up the heat or grab a blanket, jackass," I grumbled, "I'm not giving you my precious body heat."

Once again, he conceded immediately. He held his hands in defeat and scooted just a few inches further away from me. I watched him for a second until he got far enough away, and then returned my attention to my phone, which I had been religiously checking for any news about the vastly more interesting man in my life.

"What are you looking at?"

"My friend. He's supposed to have landed a couple hours ago..."

Seeing that I had no new messages, though, I slumped over onto myself and rested my elbow on my knee. Continuing to ignore the boy trying to get my attention, I favored the one that was possibly ignoring me and endlessly scrolled through our previous conversations.

"Is that the cop? Your boyfriend?" he teased.

"He's not a cop," I corrected with a roll of the eyes.

Although not keen about the thought of the two of them meeting, I did wonder what kind of rant Spencer would've gone into to describe the different types of law enforcement agents. He would learn so much about government job descriptions. But that wasn't the part of the sentence that my friend had stressed, and I felt compelled to answer.

Didn't mean I had to be loud or excited about it, though.

"And he's not my boyfriend," I mumbled into my palm. I hated how pathetic it felt; how forlorn I could be over a man not giving me enough attention. He was still just a man.

A very cute, sweet, and drop-dead gorgeous one. But a man, nonetheless. Destined to be disappointing. During my daydreams and hopeful, lovesick thoughts, my friend had come to another, different conclusion about the type of man Spencer was.

"He carries a gun and can arrest people. He's a cop."

"Whatever," I said with a heavy sigh. Wasn't worth it to fight, so I admitted to my childish infatuation with an equally pitiful, "Yeah, it's Spencer. I was hoping he'd want to see me."

I turned the volume on my phone before finally setting it down, but continued to eye the screen until it went dark.

"It's not like you to chase after a dude," he so helpfully commented.

To his credit, he was right. It wasn't like me. But Spencer wasn't like other guys I'd met, and while it was true that Spencer was ten years older than me, I could tell that age wasn't the only thing setting him apart. It wasn't even necessarily something about him in particular, although he certainly was extraordinary.

It was more like... the way he looked at me. The way I never felt like anything even remotely close to lackluster. He looked at me like the stares shone through my eyes, and the blindness was worth witnessing the unfiltered eclipse.

"I'm not chasing him. We just like spending time with each other," I explained before sitting up straighter and placing a gentle hand to my chest in feigned pride. "I'm a very interesting person."

But then he responded with the last question I wanted to hear, or even think about potentially considering in that moment. The one that had been weighing on my mind no matter how hard I tried to suppress it.

"So... why isn't he your boyfriend, then?"

I hadn't wanted to hear it because I didn't have an answer. And no matter how hard I inspected my cuticles, they likewise produced no excuse worth saying.

The man to my right was twisting his body as he settled into the seat. He kept his chest open to me in some display of fragile masculinity that was very easy to ignore.

"Is he like, ashamed of you or something?" he suggested.

That was less easy to ignore.

"No..." I wanted it to sound more certain than it did. As it stood, it was downright pathetic. Especially compared to his much more confident reply of, "Then what's his excuse?"

I sighed again, that time pulling my legs up on the couch in my unending quest to find some semblance of comfort while being interrogated on the most irritating subject of all time.

"He doesn't need an excuse. We both agreed it's better to just be friends."

He moved closer to me again, and I didn't have the energy to tell him to stop. Not like he would have listened, anyway. Egotistical prick with absolutely nothing to substantiate his inflated sense of self.

"You deserve better than that, (y/n)."

While his words were soft in volume, everything else about him remained gruff and uninviting. Nothing at all like the way Spencer could shift and turn into something completely different. My friend could act like his feigned tenderness was meaningful, but I knew that he liked the thought of me more than who I actually was.

"Yeah, right. With who? You?" I droned, wishing that my words could actually be laced with venom. Maybe then he'd have abandoned this foolhardy quest to win my affections.

"I mean I'm not gonna turn you down if you're offering," he joked.

It was that lightness that was his main redeeming feature; the reason I could keep him around even when his fingers tapped against my opposite shoulder. I laughed at both the sensation and suggestion, refusing by lifting his arm off my shoulders before excusing myself from the couch altogether.

"Piss off. I'm running down to the basement. You want anything?"

"Just for you to come back quick," was his immediate, not-at-all charming reply.

"You're a fucking idiot," was mine.

It wasn't until I was already on my way back up after grabbing a blanket and a drink that I had actually managed to forget about my phone for at least a few minutes.

Then, the terror came. The worry that Spencer had called me, and I'd failed to answer. The possibility that he might've hit my number on a list and already moved on to the next. It had only been like five minutes but still. He talked so damn fast, he could've torn through 5 phone calls in that time.

A little faster, I made my way back to the living room, shouting from down the hall, "Hey, did I leave my phone up here?"

He didn't answer immediately, but then eventually slurred, "Uhh. Yep. Sure did."

When I rounded the corner, I found the gremlin going through my phone. As I already started to plan the new pass code now that he'd gone and figured it out, I ran over, half-tackling him on the couch as I screeched, "Give it back, you dick!"

It was no use. He held it just outside my reach, laughing at the way I scrambled over him to try and grab it.

"Not unless you promise not to check it until after the movie."

Sighing with resignation, I plopped down next to him, my arms crossed and eyes rolled as I convinced myself it was unlikely Spencer would text me within the next hour and a half if he hadn't already.

It was pretty late. Maybe he had already gone to bed and just forgotten to let me know he got home. Besides, I owed my friend as much for managing to get me to forget to check it for this long, no?

"Fine. I promise," I groaned.

I tried not to let the thought ruin my night. The next two hours were like they usually were. He kept trying to cuddle with me, and I kept pushing him away until I eventually didn't. I gave into the general familiarity with the guy I'd known for basically half of all my memories, stopping every few seconds to wonder if I should have felt guilty.

Then I felt guilty for having asked myself at all.

Once the credits began to roll, I held my hand out with zero hesitation. I (im)patiently for him to deposit my phone, which he did, to his credit. However, what I found struck me to my core. My hands immediately began to shake hard enough that the LED blurred in my vision.

"Uhhh, what the fuck is this?"

"What?"

I held up my phone, displaying a text message that had been sent from my phone a couple hours earlier. On the screen, clear as day, me and him from earlier in the day. A painfully domestic snapshot of the two of us running errands together.

The picture shown, though, was one that I swore I'd deleted from my phone. It was him with his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest while I laughed. It wasn't a bad picture, but the context was entirely absent. For example, the fact that I'd almost bruised his chest hitting him right after the photo was taken.

"Why did you send this picture?!" I yelled, desperately swiping at the time stamp. "Two hours ago?!"

He was much too quiet for what was happening. In my haste, I hadn't even notice the accompanying text above the picture, which read 'Sorry man, she's all mine tonight.' Spencer didn't reply.

"Why didn't you tell me that he texted me?!"

My frustration had peaked, and I stood up, pacing somewhat unproductively as I tried to collect my things.

"Because I knew you'd try to leave, and I haven't seen you in fucking ages," he whined, as if I was overreacting.

But I wasn't. This contrived bullshit was entirely his fault, and entirely fucking ridiculous.

"Are you fucking kidding me, dude?" I shouted, finally finding my bag and shoving my stuff inside of it angrily. I didn't even finish, with a few loose coins angrily clambering to the floor as the soundtrack to my farewell.

"Well, now I'm definitely leaving, so kiss my ass!"

Before I could actually leave, I held up my middle finger in the furthest thing from a joke.

"Wait, (y/n), it was a joke!" he called back but didn't try to follow me.

He'd known it wouldn't work. I was too mad.

"You're not fucking funny!"

I slammed the door to my car loud enough to wake the neighbors, but I couldn't care even a little bit. My hands were shaking so hard, that it was a struggle just to click my phone. But I did, fervently pressing Spencer's name until the stupid, traitorous phone could figure out what I wanted it to do.

It rang for 15 whole seconds before I grieved the reality that he wasn't going to pick up. I sighed, lowering my phone to hang up before he could ignore the call or I was given the choice to leave a voicemail. It had been my own fault, anyway.

But just before I hit the button, I heard a tired, crackly voice coming from the other side of the line.

"(Y/n)?"

Oh my god, he picked up.

Then, all at once, the words poured out of me.

"Spencer? I'm so sorry I didn't text you back! Please ignore my friend. He's a fucking idiot."

I could tell from the silence that Spencer was replaying them in his head to try to make sense of the frantic, slurred speech in his own sleepy state. Once he had gotten the gist of my panic, he started to laugh through a yawn.

"It's fine. You looked like you were having fun."

I couldn't tell if it was jealousy in his voice or something else. Either way, it felt terrible. My insecurities crept through my throat and came out with dramatic overcompensation.

"Yeah right. He held my phone hostage. I was waiting to hear from you and he got jealous or something."

There was an awkward silence on the other side of the phone, and so I continued with only a little tremor in my voice, "I'm glad to see that you got home alright."

Another few seconds of silence followed, but then it was the Spencer I was used to again.

"Yeah. It's less fun without you here, though."

That wasn't supposed to be as romantic as it seemed, I reminded myself. He was just flirting. Typical fuckboy nonsense, uttered to get a rise out of me one way or another. He didn't actually mean to imply that he'd already considered what it might be like for me to have joined him.

Right?

"I can still come if you want," I rushed, looking down at the clock in my car for the first time and grimacing at the revelation that the 'something else' in his tone had, in fact, been exhaustion.

"Although... I'm just now realizing its 2am and I definitely woke you up..."

"Typical," he joked, "you being out late, trying to make me jealous with age-appropriate boys."

My laugh bounced back at me from the walls of the car, and I covered my mouth once I remembered that I was still in a public area.

It was weird to me how whenever I talked to Spencer, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. I'd never felt that way with another person before. Those cheesy romcoms were all starting to make sense, and I hated how powerless that made me feel.

"I was not! Trust me, if I wanted to make you jealous, I could do much better," I humbly stated. It was only a little bit of a threat. "I just don't know why he did that. And of course, that picture, which I had deleted, by the way. He seriously had to get it from another folder. He just likes to torture me, I guess."

Spencer cleared his throat from the other side of the phone, readjusting before he clearly enunciated, "He likes you."

The statement wasn't shocking. Anyone who'd spent more than five minutes with the two of us knew that he probably liked me. I'd even considered exploring it at one point before smacking myself in the face and reminding myself of my standards.

But still, to have Spencer know that felt a little bit weird. After all, most 20-something boys would do anything to torture their friends. Even the girl ones. Especially the girl ones.

Then something else began to brew in my chest; a twisted sort of pleasure derived from the sharpness that had formed on Spencer's tongue. The jealousy creeping through the crackling static and wrapping its talons around my heart.

"... I don't know," I absently said.

He sensed the hesitancy in my voice, and asked back with a strange inflection, "Do you like him?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, closing my eyes as I dropped my head back against the headrest. I didn't want to answer that question honestly. I felt like nothing I said could be right. So, I just chose the closest thing to the truth.

"No, not really."

We were back in one of those awkward silences. The kind where we both wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I turned my car on when the stale, stagnant air became too suffocating. The sound alerted him to enough information for him to speak again.

"Are you heading home?"

I switched my phone to the other hand, trying to delay giving my answer by sounding busy. I didn't really have a reason, I just hadn't wanted to hang up yet.I wanted to stall him and selfishly keep him around just a little bit longer.

"Yeah, I guess."

Super smooth. I could still salvage it though.

"...Unless you've changed your mind and would like a personal space heater in bed with you."

Spencer's laughter would have been offensive if it wasn't so adorable.

"Yeah right, your feet are freezing. I don't even know how you still have toes."

That checked out, and also gave me an escape from the terrifying prospect of ending the call.

"I'll wear socks!" I offered with the utmost enthusiasm, "I actually own thigh highs, you know. If you're into that, Professor."

It had been a few weeks since our tryst, but I had hardly ever stopped thinking about it. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I'd traced the marks he'd left behind with an ungodly powerful nostalgia.

His laughter turned to frustrated groans as he mumbled, "Are you trying to torture me?"

Once our ruckus died back down, the silence was more serious than strange. I felt the urge to apologize again. I needed him to hear the sincerity behind what were so often empty words.

"I'm really sorry I missed your message, Spencer."

My voice was quiet, unsure, and scared. I didn't want to lose him, and I knew an extreme on either side of the emotional spectrum would let him slip away so easily.

It was exhausting being emotionally lukewarm, but some part of me wanted to believe that it would be worth it with him. That patience was all it would take to show him why he had nothing to be afraid of.

But where I showed mercy, he showed himself to lack it in any sense of the word.

"It's fine, (y/n). I'm not your boyfriend. If I really want the company, I can find it."

That wasn't why I was sorry, and what he'd said only made it worse. The ugly, resentful part of myself was convinced that was why he'd said it at all.

We both knew I didn't want him to find it with someone else. That was the entire reason I was sorry I missed it. If I missed his call, nothing was stopping him from making another one. I hadn't ever asked if there were other girls in his life, but I definitely didn't want to find out like that.

"I missed you the past couple weeks. I still do."

The genuineness in my voice scared me. I hated being vulnerable; especially when he was already so apprehensive about me. I wished I knew why he was. But at that moment, he was being his usual playful self, not willing to give me any hint of an answer in exchange for my candor.

No, just: "You're so good at whining."

I pouted like he would be able to see it.

"I just want some cuddles. Is that too much to ask?"

"Go ask your boyfriend, I'm sure he would be more than happy to oblige," he quipped.

"He's not as good at it as you are," I deflected, playing off the suddenly obvious jealousy in his tone. Before I could rub my quick wit in his face, however, Spencer raised a white flag that I'd never seen coming.

"Fine. I'll wait up."

That was when I realized that he had been more jealous than I'd thought, and I still had a startling amount of power to play with.

But I was still unable to comprehend it, and with a graceless gasp, I chirped, "Wait really? I can come over?"

An unsure laugh and an almost audible shrug later, he responded, "Sure, I figure it'll get me to bed faster somehow, as opposed to staying on this call."

I didn't hesitate to start to pull my car out of the spot, happily singing into the phone, "Okay! I'm on my way! Bye Spencer!"

"See you soon."

—————————————————

As I was old enough to be able to tell time, and aware enough to recognize that it was incredibly too late to be knocking on an apartment door, I tried to do so softly. I halfway succeeded, stifling the noise enough that he could still hear it, but his neighbors wouldn't. They would remain unaware of the girl bouncing on her toes outside of his door, squealing the second she heard shuffling feet on the other side.

Jesus Christ, I sound like a teenager, the more sensible side of me noted.

I might've felt shame, had he not opened the door in that very moment to reveal himself, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and pajamas on that were big enough they his half his hands.

He was... in a word, adorable.

"Hey sleepyhead," I cooed.

Spencer remained silent, but offered his arm in a halfhearted invitation for a hug. The blanket hung like a wing that I very much wanted to wrap myself in, and he was all too happy to allow. I actually giggled as I lunged towards him. I wrapped both arms around him and breathed in the clean scent of laundry detergent and soap.

"I'm sleepy, too," I said with a relieved sigh. The air was quickly replaced with that which smelled of him. So, too, the silence filled with a soft chuckle as he pulled me close to him and rested his chin on the top of my head.

Like a man from a fairy tale, he started to sway, slowly turning us around until we were headed in the right direction. The right one, of course being the one that would lead to us falling in bed together again.

"Alright, little girl, you can come crawl into bed with me tonight."

The words were like music to my ears, and I felt like I was floating. I was glowing, my skin flushed with warmth like a wood fire on a cold Winter night, and my eyes fell half lidded from some mixture of tired and pleased.

"Thank you, sir," I slurred through a smile. It grew wider as he took my hands, prying me away from him to lead me back to his room with more purpose.

Once we finally padded over, I dropped my overnight bag on the floor and began to strip off my shirt. He eyed the bag on the floor with a feeling I could almost place.

"Were you planning on staying with him?"

I felt a pain through my chest as he asked, because I knew the answer. I had been, but only because I'd done it so many times before. Our mutual friend wasn't in the house, so I knew I could use his bed. But saying I was planning on staying there alone sounded even more suspicious.

"Yeah. I've stayed there before. Always in a different room. We've been friends a long time."

There was something about the way he looked at me that made my stomach flip in a delicious way. A feeling that could only be described as dangerous and exhilarating. But then it was gone, replaced by the apathy he usually tried to display. I continued to strip, nonetheless, slowly peeling my leggings down and stepping out of them. I could feel his eyes on me.

I twisted by body in the hope that the movement would distract him from the conversation I hadn't really wanted to have. Jealousy, while a fun tool for the consenting, had a tendency to grow old quickly. It was a beast that did not like to be controlled; especially when taken by surprise.

But he had no reason to be jealous. I had all but begged him to come over, and I was currently naked in his bedroom. I didn't even look up at him before sliding under the covers. I was too scared for what I might find, and opted for enjoying the lingering body heat and smell of Spencer on the sheet, instead.

"I don't want to know how good you are when you're trying," he warned.

I looked up at him with guilty eyes, recognizing this was his gentle way of telling me he was jealous. But he'd said it himself... He wasn't my boyfriend.

"Come here," I pleaded while running my arms along the empty space where he belonged. "I'll show you why you shouldn't be jealous."

Spencer licked his lips as he looked at my exposed chest, pulling off his pajamas and slinking under the covers with me. Facing each other, my hands quickly found his erection, pumping it softly as he immediately rewarded me with a soft moan.

"I missed this," I whispered, closing the gap between our faces.

He responded in kind, taking his time to lay a lazy kiss against my mouth while he groaned, "I missed your hands. Among other parts."

As he spoke, his hand was traveling down my side to my center. My breathing picked up as he got closer, but he diverted, running his fingers up and down my arms that continued to work his length. The soft whimper that escaped my mouth entertained him, and he brought his hand back down.

"Say please, (y/n)."

I couldn't talk though. I was biting down on my lip to stop myself from telling him I fucking hated him for teasing me. With big puppy dog eyes, I watched him while I chewed on my bottom lip.

"Stop biting on that lip or I'll do it for you. I don't care how cute you are."

His hand now ghosted over exactly where I wanted them, and he used the very tip of his finger to collect the wetness forming there. My hands stopped as he made contact, my grip tightening for a second.

"Say please."

He wanted me to beg for him to touch me, but I didn't want his hand. It was almost 3 AM and I was exhausted and needed him. All of him, immediately. Badly enough that

"Fuck me, sir," the words spilled out of my mouth. "Please, fuck me."

A content humming came from him as he brought a hand to my hair. But the pleased sound lulled me into a false sense of security, which was shattered seconds later when he pulled my head back to look him in the eyes.

From there, I could see that look in his eyes again. That dark, possessive stare that made me long for the shadows to consume me if it meant more time with him.

"I p-promise," I stuttered as one of his fingers teased at my folds.

He raised his eyebrows as he waited for me to finish my thought.

With a cruel, sadistic smile, I continued, "I promise I won't think of anyone else."

That playful characteristic snark that has originally driven him to me had returned, and he pretended to be disappointed. He liked it, though. He wouldn't admit it, but the way I read the secret, hidden thoughts in his mind like he could read one of his book clearly drove him insane.

He guided me by his hold on my hair, lifting me off the pillow and not taking a minute to consider the repercussions before growling in my ear, "Turn around."

I obeyed, happily pressing up against his crotch as I settled into my position as his little spoon. I noticed a distinct lack of a pause this time, and gears began to click together as I felt him rub the bare head of his cock in the slickness pooling around my thighs.

"I have some questions for you, little girl."

He was pissed.

"When was the last time you got tested?"

I could hardly think straight as I realized where this was going. I tried to gather my thoughts and enough control to stutter back, "L-last week. I-I haven't... haven't slept with anyone else. Not since you."

My answer earned me a tender kiss on the neck, but it wasn't enough. I was trying to still my hips from knocking back against him. I couldn't completely stop myself, though, and I knew it made him feel even more confident about his decision.

"Good. Me neither," he replied.

I sighed with relief, happy to at least answer that question. I'd barely had any time to recover, though, before he continued, "Is there any way you could get pregnant right now?"

I shook my head no. He stopped my head with one hand on my chin from behind.

"Use your words."

"No!" I half shouted, realizing I just sounded like a brat. "No, no I can't. I'm on birth control. I won't get pregnant. Promise. You can..."

My breath matched pace with my heart, and I swore I was already lightheaded. Still, I forced the last few words through the heavy panting to earn my next, far more enticing prize. The magic words he had been waiting for:

"You can do whatever you want to me."

When he released my hair, my head fell forward just for a second, because soon my entire back arched in response to the way he began to push inside of me.

"Good," was all he'd said.

With that, he fully sheathed himself inside of me, and I cried out as I felt the way he stretched me. His hand swiftly covered my mouth before he began to pound into me from behind. One of my hands tried to keep me in place on the bed, while the other flew up to his hand over my mouth, holding it without trying to remove it.

I was calling his name underneath him, and he responded by making shorter, deeper thrusts.

Through it all, he chuckled in my ear, "It's always funny how fast you stop acting like a brat after I put it in you."

My eyes rolled back at his words, breath shuddering against his hand. He slid all the way out of me, and then applied enough force to push me up in the bed.

"Have you ever had someone finish inside you before?" he asked too sweetly for the provocative words. He moved his hand from my mouth and dragged it to move the hair that had fallen in front of my face.

I went to shake my head but remembered his instruction. Instead, I cried, "N-no."

"Good," he responded again, and my toes curled at the pride he felt in claiming this body as his own. He took my hand in his, pulling it down to feel the small bump forming in my abdomen each time he slammed into me. The next time it appeared, he halted, holding me in position against him. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that the next time anyone even thinks about touching you, all they'll taste on you is me."

He pulled out slowly before pounding into me again. With more violence in his motions and venom on his tongue, he spat, "and if you want them you can explain to them how you begged for me to come inside your tight little cunt."

I was in a state of shock, unable to comprehend how he was capable of making such cruel, licentious words. Each one made my body shake, and he kept himself inside me longer with each motion to extend the feeling. I ached at the way he filled me, desperately clinging to my own stomach where I could feel him.

"Good luck thinking about anyone else while I run down your thighs," he said before punctuating it with a firm, unforgiving, "you fucking bitch."

With that, he finally moved his hand, but it was not a merciful action. His fingers rubbed in the mess of our bodies, then dragged the wetness back to my clit, pressing harder than he ever had before. My head was still swimming from his language, and I thankfully didn't have to use my words. He was very capable of figuring out my body language himself.

I could feel the way the heat coiled in my stomach, the tension building as his mouth ran along my neck. Once he attached himself to one spot, driving into me at a brutal pace, I felt the energy shift and begin to blossom. Feeling the way my muscles quivered around him, he stopped his kisses, groaning loudly in my ear.

"Fuck, little girl," he continued to moan, his thrusts faltering as I tried to coax his orgasm out of him. It seemed to be what he was waiting for. Unable to contain the shrill cry that tore from my chest as his arousal filled me, I tried to pull away from him. But I couldn't, his hands holding me down and his hips rocking as deep as they could possibly move inside of me.

Exhausted, I tried to move away from him once his movements stilled. However, in another surprising move he slid out just to slam back into me again.

I whimpered from the overstimulation, doubling forward as he gave a few more deep, rough thrusts before pulling out entirely.

I had no idea how, but Spencer immediately got out of bed. He left me a sweaty, desperate mess on his bed. Thankfully, he tossed me a towel to help me clean up so I wouldn't have to sleep in the puddle dripping slowly down my legs. Shaky but satisfied, I somehow managed to make it to the bathroom and clean up.

When I returned, he was still awake. He was silent, sitting up in the bed with his eyes closed and contemplative. As I shut the door, he finally noticed my presence. He turned to look at me with an awkward smile until he pat my spot on the bed.

"Come here, little girl."

A little too excited, I shuffled over with a bounce in my step. Not satisfied with simply lying next to him, I curled into his side, wrapping my arm around his waist and nuzzling my face to his chest. From there, I listened to the way his heartbeat seemed to slow down with my touch. How his muscles relaxed under me, like he had been anxiously awaiting my return the same way I had been waiting to return to him.

"You're not really a bitch," he mumbled in a quiet, sleepy voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, tilting my head up to glance at him from my position on his chest.

"I mean, I am a little bit. But I know what you mean."

He wrapped a tight arm around me, using his hand to run softly through my hair. Leaning down, he gave the top of my head a small peck. I smiled against his skin, loving the way it felt to be surrounded by him. To be safe and cared for despite all else.

"Thank you for coming here with me tonight," he said in a low volume, like the words might spook me. "You're a very special girl. I hope you know that."

I didn't know how to respond, so I stayed frozen in place. I waited to hear the rest of what he wanted to say. People have always said we're most honest at night. I wanted it to be true, to give more meaning to loaded words.

"I'm really glad I met you," was what he said.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the words that felt like a balm on my aching soul. Unable to come up with a response that wasn't terrifying, though, I sat up and crawled to him. It was my turn to return a tender kiss, this time to his lips. As we pulled apart, he still looked at me like the answers to the universe were written on my skin.

I went to kiss him again, but he stopped me with a hand on my face.

"Don't..." he instructed, breaking my heart with just one command.

But I saw the fear reflected in our eyes, the kind that was deeper than a simple rejection. It was not the fear that we might not love one another. It was the fear that we very well might one day.

Spencer said none of that, though. He left me to forever wonder if it was just me who felt it. Instead, he surrendered with a simpler, safer explanation.

"If you kiss me like that again, I won't be able to stop myself."

I didn't ask what he was stopping himself from doing. No matter how badly I wanted to. Instead, I ran the back of my fingers against his cheek and whispered in the space between us, "Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again."

My desired outcome came true, but not quite how I wanted. He didn't kiss me deep or passionately. He kissed me soft, like my lips were made of glass. He kissed me like he was protecting me from the terrors of his mind.

"Go to sleep, little girl," he instructed gently, coaxing me back to my position on his chest as we both sunk down to lay flat on the bed. "Picard can wait."

Laying there, next to what I was convinced was an actual human angel, I gave myself permission to drift off into sleep, hoping that my dreams could be half as good as reality.

That didn't happen.

I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up, but it was still dark outside, so it couldn't have been too long after we'd fallen asleep. Spencer had turned away from me at some point. That wasn't strange or entirely surprising, but I noticed a strange sound from his side of the bed that made my hair stand on edge and my stomach churn.

It was... crying.

"Spencer?" I asked as quiet as I could. When he didn't respond, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder in the hope that it would be an easier transition to the waking word.

But his body still jerked under my touch, and he sat up much too quickly before grabbing his face in both hands. It wasn't until then that he noticed, drawing his hands back slowly and inspecting the wetness he found on his fingertips.

"Hey, Spencer, are you okay?"

He didn't answer.

Suddenly extremely worried, I brought both of my hands to his arms and pulled him closer to me.

He still didn't answer.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

So many red flags were burning through my brain, and I didn't know what to do with the information in front of me. I just wanted to help him.

"I... I must have been. I'm sorry," he said when he finally spoke. He wiped at his tears like he could erase what I had already seen. Moving his hands away, careful to keep my touch as non-threatening as possible, I wiped his still falling tears away with my thumb.

"Why are you sorry, Spencer?"

"I... don't know."

It was an honest, but terrifying answer. A quickly completed checklist of a horror I was deeply familiar with. A reality that I wouldn't wish it on anyone in the world. Especially not him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he replied with a force so strong I thought the word was physically painful for him to say.

"Okay," I reassured him, "We don't have to."

He wasn't laying back down. He wasn't moving at all. It was like he was somewhere else entirely.

I moved closer to him, placing a hand on his back to gently rub circles and another on his lap. I offered the only thing I could think to help him in that moment.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

His eyes were fixated on my hand on his lap, his breathing slowly regulating the longer we sat like this.

Still, he halfway refused, "It's okay."

Raising my hand again, I ran it through his hair before guiding him to look at me with a tentative smile.

"You're not a burden, Spencer. I want to."

The tears were falling again, albeit slower and with his mouth curved ever so slightly. I tried to give him the calmest reassurance I could. A soft glow in my eyes that burned with the affection and comfort I desperately  wanted to provide.

"Come here, love," I said as I motioned to me.

Spencer dutifully followed. Soon his head was on my chest, my hand curling his hair around my fingers. He hugged my waist like I was the only thing keeping him here.

And I laid there with him, trying not to think about the way his tears wet my skin. Hoping that, for now, it would be enough for him to get some sleep.

A mop of curly brown hair was the first thing I saw when I woke up to the shine of the sun through the curtains. I smiled, but only until I remembered why he was on my chest.

It was obvious that he had barely slept, his muscles continuing to persistently twitch in their paranoid state. When I went to pet his head again, he stirred under me, pulling himself closer to me the same way he had before.

I didn't want to think about what had happened, but I knew I had to. Normal people don't wake up crying from a nightmare, and they certainly don't get painfully defensive when it happens.

I hadn't known practically anything about his life before. What he had been through, or whether he'd told anyone at all. I hadn't even known if he'd anyone to tell.

I was painfully reminded that he was not the superhero I made him out to be in my head. He was just a man, trying his hardest to do more good in the world than all the evil combined. That was an impossible task, though. He was doomed to fail.

His ears must have been burning, because the longer I thought about it, the more he woke up. Eventually he was entirely alert, sitting up and removing himself from the position we'd assumed for the past several hours.

I was surprised to remember what it felt like to be able to breathe without the weight of him on top of me. I was even more surprised to feel my chest felt heavier in his absence.

"Good morning," I mumbled, watching as he effortlessly got out of bed and began to get ready.

He seemed embarrassed, but he really shouldn't have been.

"Did you get any sleep?"I asked.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair before he turned back to me, a smile on his face like nothing was wrong.

"No," he sighed, "This brat woke me up at 2 AM and insisted I sleep with her."

It was nice to know he was still capable of joking but concerning to see that he was so good at compartmentalizing. I laughed along with him, nonetheless, sliding out of the bed to join him in getting dressed.

"What a bitch," I said with a smirk.

As hard as it was to pretend like the night before hadn't happened, I knew that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Heaven knew it would have been much worse to burn the bridge then. At least if I built the trust now, he might be willing to talk about it later.

"You know, I wasn't actually going to tell you to come over last night," Spencer announced.

The 360 of the conversation took me by surprise, and I blinked rapidly to try and reorient myself.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm glad you did. But I was actually going to ask you if you're free tonight."

Spencer was nothing if not an emotional rollercoaster demanding passengers before 10AM. Ready to roll bright and fuckin' early.

"Yeah, I am. If you're still wondering," I answered in place of the multitude of questions I hadn't been ready to ask yet. Questions like, why was he wondering? Why did he need to schedule this? Was this another 'not-a-date' date?

"I wanted to take you somewhere," he mentioned casually, finally fully dressed while I still struggled to put on my clothes.

"Where?"

"It's a surprise," he said with raised eyebrows, like he was so very proud of himself.

I'd let him have that one, but only because he was so damn cute.

"Fine. That means I have to go home to get cleaned up first, then."

He seemed only a little disappointed by that, but overall acquiesced. I was a little sad about it, too, but remained confident in the old adage that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Besides, I wanted to look cute for my surprise.

We hadn't talked much before I left. I could tell he was still struggling with coming to terms with what he'd accidentally revealed to me in the middle of the night.

Honestly, it was a good thing I left. The desire to talk about it was overwhelming, and some things are better left unsaid...

For now, I promised myself. Just for now.

—————————————————

Spencer came to pick me up without a hitch. When I climbed into his car, I fully expected him to not tell me where we were going. I was right; he didn't. Of course, after about 30 minutes I recognized the route we were going. When I'd graciously pointed it out to him with increasingly less subtle suggestions, he still refused to give me a single hint.

That was, until we pulled into Observatory parking lot.

"I've never been here before!" I squeaked. My excitement had been obvious enough with the embarrassing crack, and Spencer's interest in my enthusiasm only grew.

He was looking at me with that soft, slightly saccharine smile.

"I figured. You aren't nerdy enough to go by yourself," he chuckled. The genuineness behind the sound made the already excited butterflies in my stomach begin to swarm.

"Hey, I can be cultured too, you know," I still corrected with the worst posh accent you've ever heard.

With a teasing smile on his face, the stupid man chose to look away rather than to admit his honest reaction to the statement.

Asshole, I thought, only to be proven wrong seconds later.  Forever a gentleman, Spencer joined me on my side of the car and took utmost care and attention to help me out from my seat.

It felt strange, to adorn his arm like something beautiful as we gazed at the stars together. I tried not to think about it, but wondered just how far he was willing to risk being seen with me in an undoubtedly romantic setting.

"Isn't this place usually closed to the public? I know they have limited general admission days," I asked, despite already knowing the answer. I just wanted to see if my hunch was correct.

"Yeah, I might have called in a favor or two."

Fuck, was my first thought. The next twelve thoughts, however, were all reiterations of 'Don't get your hopes up.'

My grip on his arm tightened, but he didn't seem to mind. I'd guessed that his nonchalance was entirely due to the private nature of the excursion, but I wasn't going to ask, and I certainly wouldn't complain. I was happy enough that he'd brought me, even if he wasn't ready to admit why. I could be patient. Sometimes.

Once inside, Spencer knew exactly where to go. I watched in awe at how many people knew who he was, and how much they looked up to him. While I had also always been impressed by him, it'd become easy to forget just how impressive he was when all the time we'd spent together was so far away from the rest of the world.

But Spencer's quiet humility certainly wasn't an issue that night. He spent nearly two hours walking me through what ended up being essentially all the stars in the sky. Much like the museum, it consisted of me adoring both the content of his words and the man himself.

He told me the story of the vain Queen Cassiopeia and her doting husband Cepheus, still holding each other in the stars millennia later. He spoke enthusiastically and with no sense of pacing. Half the time my eyes left the telescope, turning instead to marvel at the way he moved his hands and fidgeted with his hair as his voice tumbled out of him like it couldn't be contained.

It was just the two of us in the room when he finished, the dim lights and quiet ambiance catching up with me as I stared at him with all the reverence in the universe above us. He eventually finished his thoughts on Perseus and Andromeda, and I could tell by the look on his face that their love story meant something to him.

"You're quite the romantic, Dr. Reid."

He seemed surprised by the sentiment, like it was something he'd never heard before, and now he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. So, he simply laughed awkwardly and moved closer to peer into the telescope.

Whether it was because he felt a stronger connection to the extraterrestrial, or because he simply didn't want me to see that he was blushing, I didn't mind either way. A few less seconds under the scrutiny of his gaze would do my heart well.

"Not sure many people would use that word," he said under his breath when he worked up the courage to speak.

"Well, I did," I replied much more confidently.

He was smiling but trying to hide it the same as the pink hue to his cheeks.

"You said you were 14 when you went to college, right?" I said with narrow eyes, trying to read him from under the large machine.

"Yeah," he responded with an equal dose of caution, "... why?"

"Probably didn't go to prom then, huh?"

His answer was obvious from the way his entire body jumped. Knocking his head on the telescope as he rushed to give an answer, all his mouth would produced was a long, dumb, "Uhhh."

I knew he was about to try to run away. Before he could, I stopped him. With both hands on his arm, I kept him close. Eventually, his muscles gave in and accepted my embrace.

"Come on; dance with me," I begged.

He looked around the room for an excuse. There was no one there, just the two of us on arguably the most heartwarming date I've ever been on in my life.

"There's no music," he scrambled, eventually admitting, "aaand I can't dance."

Ignoring the pitter-pattering of a childish, lovesick heart, I laughed.

"I can teach you, Dr. Reid."

We both knew he wasn't getting out of this one. As I hopped down from the stool, I revealed my secret weapon from my pocket. I pulled up a playlist that I knew would suit him and the setting, and I held out my hand in an invitation that couldn't be refused.

"I have all the world of music at my fingertips. Now I just need you. "

Spencer groaned, but behind it all I saw an undeniable happiness. When he put his hand in mine, it too felt like warmth and safety. I took it with an even brighter grin, immediately bringing him closer to sway slowly to the music coming from my phone now seated on the stool.

The acoustics of the room let the music flow through, and within moments we had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. My cheek rested against his chest and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You lied to me, Dr. Reid. You definitely know how to dance."

"Okay, but does it really count if you've only ever done it with your mom?" he asked.

I threw my head back as I laughed, and he joined me. The two of us shamelessly filled the large room with a warmth not entirely unlike a far away star.

"Don't laugh at me!" he pouted, but I think he actually enjoyed the sound.

"I'm sorry," I whined, "you're just so fucking cute I don't know how to handle it."

Finally able to stifle the joyous sounds, I looked up at him with even more fascination than I'd showed the stars. I'm not sure what I had expected, but it wasn't what I'd found. Because Spencer's eyes were like mirrors facing the sun; reflecting the passions I spewed so carelessly right back at me.

"There are over a million words in the English language, and I still can't think of a single combination to explain how I feel about you."

Just like that, he'd stolen my breath and my sense. My smile fell into a look of smitten shock, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince my heart to fall back into its rhythm.

"I-I'm surprised you don't know the exact number," I said with an awkward chuckle.

"Well, some estimate that it's 1,025,109, but new words are created constantly, and it would depend on what actually counts as a new word. Not to mention the different dialects, words that have fallen out of common use, or words that may be used for entirely different purposes despite being the same."

I raised my eyebrows, not at all surprised that he had an answer, but excited to hear it, nonetheless.

"But it doesn't matter," he whispered, impervious to just how much he was breaking my heart. "Because no matter the number, I know it won't be enough."

My eyes lit up like the stars we had just spent hours staring at, and I wondered if he could tell. He must have. Because his hand on my hip pulled me closer, and our hands intertwined as our pace slowed to a stop. Our breath was unsteady as he came closer to me, pausing just before our lips touched.

We shared the oxygen between us, daring the other to do what we both know we shouldn't.

So I did, leaning up to kiss him as my hand slid up his arm and around his neck. His hesitation melted into the embrace, our tongues gently sharing space in an entirely new way.

I thought to the millions of stars in the sky, realizing that I shared Spencer's skepticism of an unknown number. Because no matter how many stars there were, I knew there would never be enough to outshine that moment between the two of us.

It was not a hurried or excited kiss. It was an amorous, amazing promise of a kiss. It was the kind of kiss that they wrote about in Corinthians. It was patient and kind. It was not proud nor self-seeking. Spencer's free hand held my face against his; the way they wrote that love always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres.

Did he feel the way he was kissing me? Because I had.

I felt it like a storm, the breeze blowing the air from my lungs and breaking down the walls around me. I held onto him and this moment, scared of what this meant for us. How could I pretend like we were just friends when I shook for days at his touch?

That was why I was the one to end the kiss, looking down away from him as I did. A soft, defeated chuckle as I took a deep breath. When our eyes met again, I lowered my arms to his chest, listening to the soft tunes still floating through the room.

"We should go home now," I whispered.

He was reading my reactions; I could feel it. And in doing so, he had lowered his own walls too far. I could see them behind his eyes.

My voice shook as I continued, "... before you do something else to try and make me fall in love with you."

Spencer didn't look scared as he replied with a cheeky little grin, "Why, is it working?"

I almost passed out at the way his eyes softened at my goofy smile.

"I'm kidding," he immediately followed.

I rolled my eyes at the absolute bullshit of a lie. I tried to play it off like it was nothing, but my heart felt like it would fall out of my chest. I tried not to think about it too hard as we made our way back to the car.

As he helped me in, I realized that we were really going to continue acting like none of that just happened. I tried to think of how that kiss we shared could be written off, but I couldn't. That was not the kind of kiss between friends. It was not the kind of kiss between strangers.

It was a kiss of the kind we both implicitly promised not to talk about.

Once the trip home had begun, I gathered the courage to tread lightly.

"So, what was the fantasy for tonight?" I innocently asked.

A little confused, he glanced over at me, careful not to take his eyes off the road.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've found each time we're together there's some sexual component," I chuckled. "This is pretty far from home, and you seemed very into it. I was just wondering what inspired this trip."

I was trying to avoid obviously ogling his reactions by shifting my eyes from him every few seconds. I had leaned against the door, surprised by just how tired I really was. He was doing that thing where he weighed his words again.

Eventually, he shrugged. That softness returning to his features from before, he began, "To be honest, (y/n)..."

Please, don't break my heart, I begged to that beautiful man.

Actually turning his head entirely to me, he spoke through a delicate smile, "I just wanted to look at the stars with you."

Goddammit.

The stars returned to my eyes, and I could see them reflected in his. My heart sped up to prepare for the panic as I realized that it was definitely too late for us. Because his efforts were working. They had been working all along, and I never tried to stop them.

As I drifted off to sleep in the comfortable silence of our company, I couldn't ignore the obvious:

I think I'm in love with Spencer Reid and I think he's starting to love me, too.

But we couldn't just love each other in isolation, and I wasn't sure he was ready to make that leap with me. In fact, I knew he wasn't. I still knew basically nothing about him, and he knew virtually nothing about me. How could it be then, that our souls felt so at home with each other?

Which would hurt more? Finding out he didn't love me, or that he did... and just wishes he didn't?

—————————————————

| Part 6 |

[seacottons]

steel heart: — [ soulmate au ]

pairing: kang yeosang x reader

wc: 5k

genre: trash

notes: some swearing. set in wave-era. the early 90s? this was supposed be a long, slow-burn kinda fic, but in my defense i suck ass at strangers-to-lovers, so. yes. not proofread bc idc.

summary: yeosang took joy in pickpocketing all of the naive tourists in town, until he realized he stole his soulmate’s wallet.

The pads of your fingers gently brushed along the row of cat food cans, your orbs flickering to each one as you squinted in concentration. Picking a can up, you observed it curiously and failed to notice a shadow loom over your figure from behind. A hand grasping a can above your head startled you, and you swiftly turned to glare at the person invading your personal bubble.

The stranger paid you no mind as he walked away, can in one hand and skateboard in the other. You scoffed, opting to silently glare holes into his back before turning around to continue your search, vehemently spitting out, "Rude jerk."

After filling your cart with all the necessities, you made yourself over to the checkout. You fished for your wallet from your bag, brows furrowing in confusion whilst failing to locate it. You were absolutely certain you didn't leave it at home.

Your felt your stomach practically drop at the memory of the man, head snapping up to glance around your surroundings frantically. Was he still here? Had he taken it? Had you accidentally dropped it somewhere in the store?

With an embarrassed smile, you hastily explained your situation to the unamused cashier and excused yourself to take a look around the store. Half an hour ticked by, and you're sure you've looked through every aisle about three times each, but your wallet was nowhere to be seen.

And to think your new life here was sailing smoothly.

Trudging back home begrudgingly, you made a silent note about the man's appearance. It didn't help that you only caught a glimpse of his backside, but you only had chestnut brown hair and a skateboard to work with. It wasn't much, but it was something at least.

"Don't give me that look," you scolded your cat gently, "I'll bring you tuna another day."

The gray feline gave you a blank stare before curling against the windowsill.

In all the days he's lived, Yeosang thinks today is most likely his worst. He pays no mind to the scrambling and angry Seonghwa, who is trudging around the house with an apron and gloves, grumbling (read: yelling) to himself about how the place looks like 'a disgusting man-cave that even a pig would be ashamed of'. Sure, the coffee table and kitchen were always littered with half-drunk, chipped coffee mugs, used tissues, torn magazines, San's cat treats, and random phone chargers, but in all honesty, it wasn't that bad.

Also, Yeosang had a major headache, and Seonghwa's nagging really didn't do anyone any favor. And quite frankly, he didn't give a rat's ass; He had other important matters to attend to.

"Wow," a loud laugh rings throughout the large living room, "You've royally fucked up this time, haven't you?"

"Who fucked up?" Mingi asks from the kitchen. He carefully stirs a pot of noodles while his blue haired companion stares impatiently from over his shoulder. If the lack of hygiene didn't kill them, it'll be the sodium instead. That, or San's crumb-filled, backwash water bottles.

"Yeosang fucked up," Wooyoung replies in amusement at his friend's dismay. The brunette picks his head up and gives the laughing boy a menacing look.

"Shut up," he grumbles, a hand running through his locks in frustration, "They don't need to know."

"What don't we need to know?"

As if on cue, a redhead plops down onto the sofa beside Wooyoung and a snickering San. There's some suspicion in the tone of his voice, and Yeosang doesn't like it. Hongjoong peers at the two in question, his eyes then studying the look of betrayal on Yeosang's features.

The brunette bristles angrily from his spot, "Don't say it-"

"Yeosang apparently stole a wallet," Jongho mumbles quietly from his spot on the floor. He squints in concentration at the word puzzle below him, not paying the older boys any mind.

Hongjoong quirks a brow, not quite understanding, "Okay? But doesn't he do that daily? What's the problem?"

Yeosang shifts his annoyed glare to the giggling San.

"Apparently, the wallet belongs to his soulmate," San smiles deviously, quickly snatching the brown leather item from the coffee table to showcase to Hongjoong, "See? Same birthmark and all."

Hongjoong's eyes widen as he assesses the identification card within the wallet, his jaw going slack.

Mingi noisily slurps his noodles while entering the living room, Yunho trailing behind him not too long after, "Oh, wow. Yeosang really did fuck up this time," he says with a mouthful of noodles. He and the blue haired male share a look of amusement, before both erupting into fits of laughter.

The brunette dropped his head once more into the safety of his arms, shoulders slumping in defeat at the sound of the other boys' laughter, "Why me?"

Another week and another paycheck later, you finally had enough for a recent trip to the market. You peered down at your work attire, grimacing at the embarrassing sight of red sauce stains. It'll be a quick run, so maybe nobody will take notice.

Grabbing a few cans of cat food and other items, you grimaced at the heavy weight of the hand cart straining your muscles. You sighed gently, turning to walk into another aisle when a blur of man invaded your vision. A heavy weight sent you flying to the floor, the items in your cart spilling and rolling down the aisle as the stranger groaned atop of your frame.

"Shit, I'm sorry-"

Your mind took a few extra seconds to process just exactly what occurred, and when you blearily took note of the flipped skateboard to your left and the mop of brown hair invading your vision.

A pair of wide eyed brown eyes met your own, and you silently gaped at the handsome stranger sprawled on top of you. You gaze at him as if you truly saw the sun for the first time, utterly captivated by the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. Swallowing thickly at the close proximity and the soft puffs of his breath fanning your burning face, you study his features intently, "Oh, wow.. you're.."

You really don't think you've ever seen a man as handsome-

You suddenly gasped.

"You!"

The man hastily sat up, eyes wide and mouth agape as he wordlessly took in your disheveled appearance. Before he had the chance to open his mouth for an apology, you fisted the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to assert dominance, "You took my wallet, didn't you?"

Instead of replying, he casually brushed the hair from your face and leaned forward to gaze at your left eye, his own widening at the sudden sight. You hastily slapped his hand away with a scoff of disbelief, "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Your birthmark.."

He suddenly snapped out of his train of thought, eyeing you in mild amusement while digging into his back pocket for an item. When you caught sight of the familiar brown leather of your wallet, you released a gasp of disbelief, giving him an accusatory look of anger, "I knew it!"

"I was looking for you actually- to return it," he curtly started, brows quirking up as you quickly snatched it from his hands. He gives you a brief glance, a glint of amusement in his eyes, before he stands and offers you a hand, to which you stubbornly ignore. You hurriedly stand and save the small crumb of dignity you have left. You quickly study the inside of your wallet, brows knitting in confusion at the untouched money.

"Cut the bullshit," you scoffed, dusting your uniform and shooting him an unamused stare, "You stole it—" you blinked down at the skateboard before returning your hard stare at the male, "Who even rides that thing inside- I- nevermind."

You ignored his attempt at helping you pick up your items off the floor, defensively snatching the canned goods from his hands, "I don't need your help! You've done more than enough!"

"I'm Yeosang," he hesitantly offered his hand. He towered over your frame with an awkward smile.

"Yeah? And I don't care," you grumbled, turning away to saunter off to the cashier. The smile instantly vanished from his features, and he reached over to grasp your elbow.

"Wait-" he calls after you, "Give me a minute to explain!" He tugs you back, and you nearly stumble against his chest.

In all fairness, you've just found the thief who stole your wallet, and you quite frankly don't think he deserves any form of respect whatsoever.

You attempt to wrench your arm from his grasp, but he only tightens his grip with a determined expression on his flushed face.

"You have five seconds to let go of me, or else."

The fumes of Hongjoong's nail polish in the air and an obnoxious splutter of laughter greeted him once he stepped foot inside the large home. Why did he ever agree to live with seven other monsters?

His brow twitched in annoyance.

Three heads from the living room turned to gaze questioningly at the frustrated brunette.

"What the hell happened to you?" wheezed an amused Wooyoung from the sofa. Yeosang wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face and-

"I take it things didn't go well for lover boy," San grinned from the floor, hands occupied with running along his cat's fur.

"Got his ass handed to him by his soulmate, you think?" Jongho added casually whilst adjusting his posture and clicking away at the remote. The other two snorted with amused laughter.

"Aren't soulmates supposed to be infatuated with each other at first sight?"

"I don't know, San. Maybe Yeosang's case is special."

"I mean, he did steal-"

"Can you three please just shut up," he seethes, rummaging through the freezer for a bag of frozen vegetables. He simply walks past Yunho's confused form in the hallway, grumbling about how he doesn't want to talk about it.

You thought you had seen the last of that pest, but the very next day, you practically choked at the sight of the male walking into the coastal cafe you worked at.

"What are you doing here!?"

"Y/n, wait-" he grimaced, hands raising up defensively, "Give me a minute to explain."

He even had the audacity to dodge your question.

"How do you know my-" you gave him a puzzled look, before your expression darkened, "Oh. Right. You stole my wallet, of course you snooped through my ID."

He gave you an awkward smile, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "I forgive you for giving me a black eye."

He notices your dumbfounded look.

"Huh. I don't recall ever apologizing to you," you begin, "And I never told you where I work, either. You've been stalking me, haven't you?"

"No. You were wearing the uniform of this place yesterday actually," he points a matter-of-factly. Clearing his throat, he peered around, thankful at the lack of customers this early in the morning, "I uh.. I think- I think you're my soulmate."

You pause your ministrations.

"Come again?"

Rolling his eyes, he sighs, shoulder slumping as he repeats himself whilst pointing to his left eye, "I think we're soulmates. You and I share the same birthmark and-"

A loud laugh escaped your lips, "You are most definitely not my soulmate. Birthmark or not," you turned to assemble utensils and napkins, fully disregarding his presence, "I'm not interested in thieves. Now if you'll leave me alone, I have some work to do."

"But you felt a connection too, didn't you? Yesterday, in the market-" he drawled in amusement, leaning over the countertop in a teasing manner, "I know you feel it when you look at me."

"The only thing I feel when I look at you is a mind-splitting headache," you grumble while adjusting the radio station to your liking.

A minute of silence passes. His face scrunches in distaste.

"What on earth is that insufferable noise?"

"That's called rock music." You roll your eyes, "Now leave me alone."

You take sudden interest in the dirty speckle you find on one spoon, and maybe if you stare hard enough at it, he'll disregard you and leave.

Your head perks at the sound of a chair dragging against the floor.

"Serve me."

"What the hell did you just say?" you spluttered belligerently, turning around with a look of pure disbelief. Your eye twitched at the sight of him taking a seat so casually on one of the booth chairs. "You think you're so funny, don't you?"

"I honestly don't, but—" He studied you with humor in his eyes, his fingers drumming along the wooden countertop, "my friends say that I am."

"I don't know who you think you are, but you-"

"A customer."

"Oh, piss off," you give up and turn to continue wrapping pairs of utensils together, "I'm not serving you."

"Is everything alright there, y/n?" called the tiny, elderly lady from the back, "Do we have a customer already?" Your head turns to eye the small, gray-haired woman exiting the kitchen, "Oh! A handsome fellow. What would you like to drink, young lad?"

Your eyes widen and your heart nearly drops to the floor.

Your orbs turn to slits as Yeosang gives you a sleazy smile, "Coffee for now, actually."

The poor napkin crumples into a wrinkly mess in your fist.

Oh, this bastard. This slimeball. You'll make him pay.

"Y/n! Take the man's order and start brewing the coffee!"

"Yes, Mrs. Lee!" You turned back to give the brunette a sour look, "The faster you order, the faster you'll leave. So what the hell do you want?"

The next day was much busier than the last.

You're particularly disturbed by the way two males stare at you like deer in headlights every time you pass by their table. They're young looking, maybe around your age. Kind of handsome, too- but they really don't know how to be discreet in the slightest.

Tired of the staring, you pause suddenly, giving them a look of concern as they suddenly dart their eyes and find extreme interest in the salt and pepper shakers in between them, "Is everything alright here?"

For a moment, they stay quiet.

"You're fine," the black haired one replies with a delirious smile, his head resting in his palm. He startles as the blonde elbows him in the side with a harsh whisper of Wooyoung!, and he jumps upright, back stiff and voice growing louder, "Uh! I- uh, I mean- it's fine! Everything is fine!"

"Okay.." you slowly draw out with furrowed brows.

The blonde grimaces in embarrassment, shielding his face with his hand as he looks off to the side in shame, "Can you at least try not to embarrass us?"

"In my defense, Yeosang never said his soulmate was that hot in person!? I could've used a warning, y'know?"

The bell on the door jingles and immediately catches your attention. You walk to the front with a smile only for it to instantly fall at the sight of the familiar mop of brown hair.

"Not you.." you sigh, your head in your hand as you stare in dismay out the window, "Why does the universe hate me?"

"Why are you complaining?" He quipped back with a playful bite, "Weren't you the one staring at me all day yesterday?"

"I was making sure you weren't going to steal anything," you narrowed your eyes at his growing smirk. He leans over the flaky, wooden podium and simpers at the sight of your panic stricken face, "Stop, you look like a creep."

"I know a liar when I see one," he sighed with a shake of his head. Reaching over to pluck out a stray fuzz of dust from your hair, he shoots you a determined frown, "The only thing I'm ever going to steal from here is your heart."

"I- that's kind of gross. Flirting is against the law on these premises," you stutter out, brows furrowing and nose flaring. You refuse to give in to his flirtatious remarks. You're also thankful the podium conceals your wobbly legs.

"Who the hell made that stupid rule?"

"Me. Now what do you want?"

"Such welcoming service skills you have there," he mumbles sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"Let me guess. You want chicken and a soda, right?"

Across the room, the two boys shared a quick look before one leaned over to whisper in the other's ear. They both nod in unison, before throwing you knowing grins and snorting as they munched quietly on their food.

"Correct," he says with a steady cold voice, "And a body-bag if you have any, please."

Before you processed his words, he sauntered off to the table of the two boys, their complexions paling at the sudden angry demeanor of the brunette. His hands quickly reach forward to tug both of their ears as he quietly berates them.

"I told you not to come here!" he ignores the way Wooyoung laughs and whines in protest as he's practically pulled off his seat by his ear.

"We're not doing anything! We're just eating!"

"Eating my ass, you're-"

"Oh, gross. I'm not gonna do that. Maybe you should ask y/n-"

You and other patrons stop to gaze at the commotion at the back of the cafe, and you roll your eyes at the disturbance, before walking back over to another table to collect the money and bill.

A few minutes pass and kitchen bell rings. You look back to see the fried chicken plate steaming on the countertop, along with a large glass of bubbling soda.

The duo discreetly peek up to stare at your form, only to startle at the unwavering glare from Yeosang.

"Fried chicken and a large coke?"

"Mhm," Yeosang meets your eyes, and you internally pester yourself at the sensation of your cheeks and ears flaming. How absolutely dare he make your stomach churn like this, "Thanks, y/n."

"Say, y/n. Are you new to these parts? I wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours if I saw one," mused the black haired male. Yeosang threw a hard stare at the younger, and the latter shrunk a bit in his seat, the same mischievous smile unwavering on his features.

"I moved here about a month ago," you stated simply. A moment ticks by and the trio argue in a hushed manner.

"Well, we'll take our leave now!"

"Good luck, Yeosang!" the blonde called out suddenly, throwing a thumbs up in the air whilst hastily making their way out of the cafe, the little bell signaling their departure.

His eyes glance at you momentarily, before he clears his throat and looks away.

Your eyes narrow suddenly at the brown haired man.

"You're paying for their lunch, right?"

He chokes on a bite of his chicken.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Yeosang says hurriedly, fingers stumbling as he attempts to tie his laces.

"Where?" presses Wooyoung with a large smile.

Yeosang doesn't reply and instead throws open the coat cabinet to look around for his ripped, acid-wash jacket.

"Guys! Yeosang's treating us at y/n's cafe!"

Excited jeers come from some of the rooms, and Yeosang can only stare in utter horror and disbelief at his best friend.

Today was definitely going to be the worst day of his life.

A week passes by, and you suddenly catch yourself feeling almost disappointed that Yeosang hadn't come to visit you.

You want to slap yourself for having such thoughts, and take out your frustrations by wiping one of the tables aggressively.

And the bastard was spot on about that stupid feeling you got in the pit of your stomach at the mere thought of him.

But, you were keen on wanting nothing to do with him.

Not after the trouble he put you through.

Soulmate or not.

Besides, he was technically a criminal. Sort of.

He had a charming smile though. And really pretty lips.

And maybe you found him to be the most handsome man you've-

"He's not handsome!" You blurted to your reflection on the wet table. A table of customers feet away pause their conversation and give you a look of bewilderment.

"Uh," a voice pipes from a few feet away, "Table for eight, please?"

Your heart suddenly leaps at the familiar voice and thw corners of your lips perk up in happi-

Pausing, you internally scold yourself for being unable to conceal your excitement.

This stupid attraction you had towards him left your mind scrambling for coherent thoughts- and curse that feeling of your stomach doing back flips. You fight the urge to punch your gut to rid yourself of that disturbing sensation.

You internally groan, not even bothering to turn around to know who had just spoken. You stand up straight, clearing your throat and awkwardly folding the wet towel in your hands. Yeosang stood at the entrance, an unamused expression on his face as the other seven behind him nosily peered over each other's shoulders to spare you a curious glance.

"Uh," you begin, looking back at the empty tables, "You can sit right here. I'll go grab some menus."

As the eight men made their way to the table, you overheard one laugh loudly to the others, "Wooyoung was right! Y/n is pretty cu-"

A jerk underneath the table and loud yelp caught your attention, and you instantly threw Yeosang a look as the other boys timidly settled in their seats. He caught your gaze and rolled his eyes.

Oh, the nerve he had.

And to think you actually missed his presence.

You learned that the seven other boys were a loud bunch, often saying something to fluster and piss off the brunette. Especially when you were in earshot. And, sweet heavens, they can eat.

Your arms were practically sore from the amount of times you walked back and forth carrying their orders.

You watched as Yeosang finished with his meal and leaned against the adjacent wall, arms crossed in annoyance and face turned to the side to stare out of the window. Your eyes study the others before flickering back at him, and you can’t help but feel a small, knowing tug of want in your chest. You instantly straighten up at the thought, shaking your head in dismissal, before walking over to collect some of the empty plates.

"Would any of you like some dessert?"

A blue haired man wiggled his brows.

"Yeosang wants some, isn't that right-"

Another kick and another glare.

"Actually, we'll just have four cheesecakes if you don't mind."

Ah. Finally. A decent, well-mannered being really does exist.

You can immediately discern that the red-headed man, despite being the smallest, held a leader-like aura to himself, given how the other boys suddenly fell quiet when he spoke. They look amongst each other and nod in agreement.

When the boys wrapped up and fought amongst each other about the payment, your shift neared its end. You nodded with a polite smile as they filed out the door with boisterous cries of 'thank you, y/n'!

"Sorry," a voices suddenly says, and you give the brunette a quizzical look, "If they were too loud.. or embarrassing."

"That's okay," you shook your head and shrugged lightly, "It wasn't a big deal. I'm used to loud customers."

"Right. So, uh.." he pursed his lips, words dying out in his throat as he glances around the cafe with nervous eyes, "Thanks- ah, for the food. See you soon!"

Before you had the chance to reply, the bell chimed and you were left alone in the cafe.

"You have a cat!?"

Your nearly jump out of your skin at the loud remark in your ear, and you immediately spin around threateningly.

Hovering behind you were those same two boys from the other week. You mentally make a note to find an ENT doctor soon. And perhaps a cardiologist.

"Yeah-" you squint in confusion as the black haired male leans forward to study your features. You gently push his face away with an uncomfortable grimace, "What are you doing?"

"You really do have the same birthmark as Yeosang, I can't believe it."

"Yeah, neither can I," you hum sarcastically, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a cat to feed."

"What's your cat's name?" The blonde practically bounces in his step as he follows you into another aisle. You want to ask why he's filming the rows of snacks with a small video camera, but you decide to save yourself the headache and not bring it up.

You peer back at the duo with a look of disbelief, "Why are you following me?"

"You're interesting."

"Right."

"We should really have a cat play-date. Is your cat a boy or a girl?"

You sigh as you place a bag of chips into your cart, deciding to amuse them for a brief moment, "Pepper is a male."

"Great! Byeol needs a man," the blonde, San- you think, nods in excitement.

"What kind of a friend are you? Set up your friend before you set up your cat," scoffs Wooyoung with an amused snort. His hands grab at the large bags of barbecue flavored chips, and you contemplate giving the back of his head a whack when he sets them into your cart.

They continue to follow you through the aisles, and while a small part of you wants to tell them off, another part of you can't help but laugh in amusement and endearment at their antics and bickering.

Once you've finished shopping, you bid them a farewell, handing Wooyoung his chips and strolling over to the cashier. Your head suddenly perks up at the commotion over by the fruit section, and you only can stare in bewilderment at the ruckus the other boys create whilst shopping for necessities. A store employee stares nervously as one of the boys juggles a bundle of bananas and oranges, while another nearly stumbles back from the other two dancing aggressively in the aisles. You wonder if this was a regular occurrence, and judging by the way the manager walks by without a care in the world, you conclude it indeed is.

You step outside afterwards, placing the bags into your bicycle's basket, before mounting it and debating whether to look back into the market at the rowdy bunch.

Your eyes catch Yeosang staring at you, and bite your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. He's riding that damned thing again, and he pauses for the briefest moment to give you a wave.

You find yourself mindlessly waving back, and you abruptly stop once you realize your actions. You hastily throw your arm down to your side and attempt to glare in his direction, but he's already looked away with a large smile plastered on his features.

Most days working at the cafe were fine. People ate, some lingered longer to catch up with friends and play round of card games, and others came to take advantage of the happy hour specials.

But then there were some days you wanted to throw all your dignity in the nearest disposable bin, and wrestle down obnoxious patrons.

You huffed in anger at the sight of an empty table.

What kind of grown up decides to dine and ditch?

Isn't that what... children do?

It's when you stack their empty plates in your hands and turn towards the kitchen do you spot Yeosang walking towards you.

"Now is not the time," you start, hoping your annoyance isn't that obvious.

He silently hands you a wallet.

You quirk a brow, setting the plates down onto the table, "That's not mine?"

"Open it," he says with a roll of his eyes.

You swear if he does that again, you'll roll his head.

You furrow your brows and snatch it out of his hands. Your eyes widen at the picture of the very same man who left without paying, and you instantly shifted your attention to the brunette, "You did not just.."

"I'm sure all that cash is triple the amount his lunch costs," he replies with a wink, "It's no big deal."

"I can't," you swallow, shaking your head and handing him back the wallet, "I can't take this. It's considered stealing."

He gives you an unimpressed look.

"So?" he reaches over to flick your forehead, earning him a glare, "Stop being such a goody two shoes. He stole your service, so you steal his money. It's only fair, right?"

"I'll just take the amount he owes.." you speak unsurely, brows knitting in contemplation. He hands you a few bills, and you nod, "Yeah. This is just enough to-"

"And a tip."

He shoves the remaining money into your apron and your hand flies to smack his arm in shock, "No! I said-"

"Yeah, well I said you deserve a tip!"

"It's not my money!" you scold him.

"I stole it, so it's considered mine now, and I want to tip you! Stop being so stubborn, and just accept it!"

It's when you stop struggling do you notice the extreme proximity of the disgruntled male. He's so unbelievably close that you can make out the borders of the birthmark that mirrors your own. You don't waver as you stare back him with widened eyes.

"Y'know, you're kind of cute when you're mad," he begins sheepishly, eyes narrowing in thought as he inspects your features, "Uh. Since you're new to town, maybe I can show you around whenever you're free?"

Stepping back, you brush out the wrinkles of your apron and straighten your back.

"I'm not going on a date with you," you counter simply. You turn your face to glare out the window, but he stares knowingly at your burning face.

"Whoa, hold on," he smiles in amusement, "Date? Who said anything about it being a date?" You flush at his words, eyes narrowing. He laughs at your lack of amusement, "It's not a date, okay? Just think of it as a.. friendly welcoming gift. And an apology for, y'know. The whole stealing your wallet thing. Besides, my friends want to come anyway."

You cross your arms defensively and ponder for a while.

"Fine, but I expect an ice cream cone as a welcoming gift as well," you try and ignore that absurd feeling of butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach. You want to roll your eyes as his features suddenly brighten at your agreement, but you don't. Unable to breathe within the awkward atmosphere, you turn to clear the remaining utensils and plates off the table, "So, uh. I'm free tomorrow, I think. I guess you need my number, right?"

"Oh, no need. I already saved it." You swivel around to see him quirking his brow at your phone.

Oh, he didn't.

You instantly slap your hands onto your back pockets, your heart nearly dropping at the lack of the device, "Y'know, you really should put a passcode on this thing. Also, nice background picture you got there."

This obnoxious little-

He laughs out loud as you swipe the phone angrily from his hold and snap the dry towel onto his chest in retaliation, "Stop pickpocketing me!"

"I can't! Not until I have your heart," he leaves with an amused wave of his hand and a soft laugh, "Besides, you make it too easy. See you tomorrow!"

"Who was that?" asks Mrs. Lee as she waddles out of the kitchen with a large tray of pastries. Her eyes are wide behind her wide-brimmed glasses, and she attempts to tip-toe over the countertop to catch a glimpse of the retreating figure outside.

You contemplate your next words for a moment and bite your cheek to keep a smile at bay, "My stupid soulmate."

[wrenhyperfixates]

Of All the Places

Chapter 9

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: A morning with you and a talk with John make it clear to Loki what he has to do. And, perhaps letting the right people in on his secret wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Chapter Warnings: some very fluffy bits and tons of pining A/N: From here on out, it’s going to get pretty plot heavy, so be prepared. Feel free to let me know what you think :) Updates every Friday.

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @marvelousdaydreams​ @parkastoria​ @lokistan​

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine 

Loki regained control of consciousness slowly, each sense returning to him one at a time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly without having been injured. The last thing to register in his brain was your weight on his chest. You were on top of him even more than you had been last night, but he did not mind in the slightest. Instead, he smiled softly at your sleeping form, listening to the sound of your deep breathing. His eyes fell to your lips, parted ever so slightly, and he was overcome with desire to kiss you awake. He shook his head a little at the ridiculous idea.

He intended to sneak away and leave you to rest, but you foiled his plans by snuggling closer to him in your sleep, pinning him where he was. Looking down at your peaceful form, he caught a whiff your scent. It made him feel safe, a sensation he’d not been familiar with in a long time.

“Loki,” you whispered in your sleep.

“Yes?” he prompted, his heart beating a wild rhythm.

“Cold.”

“Ah, I see.”

It was silly to be disappointed. He shouldn’t have expected much else, after all, but it was not so uncommon for someone to make a confession in their sleep. He pulled the blankets tighter around you. For good measure, he said an enchantment to warm you up and ward off the cold radiating from his body. You released a sigh of joy and cuddled closer still.

Loki supposed he could go back to sleep, he very much would have liked to in fact, but now that he was up, his mind was racing. Now that he was sure of what he wanted, he’d need a plan to get it. To get you. The only problem existed in the form of his incompetence toward mortal courting procedures. He was vaguely aware that it was usually referred to as dating nowadays, but that didn’t exist on Asgard, so the word held very little meaning to him. A twinge of sadness shot through his heart as he realized Thor would probably know, considering his infatuation with that mortal woman, Jane Foster. Someone that he had been kept away from because of Loki. Now that he had you, his own mortal to love and cherish, he felt it an indescribable evil that he’d done such a thing.

“G’morning,” you mumbled in a groggy voice, too recently out of sleep to be embarrassed by your position just yet. You looked up at Loki and rubbed your eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a long, long time.”

“Yeah, hard work will do that to a person.”

“Perhaps,” he said, trailing one hand gently down your arm as the other came to rest on the small of your back. “Or perhaps it was something else.”

“Oh! Well, um, you know,” you fumbled for a coherent sentence, his words suddenly brining you to your senses. “It was probably the work thing. Building a barn, all that dancing. It takes a lot of a guy.”

You nervously laughed and made like you were going to roll off of him, but his arm didn’t budge, holding you in place.

“Well, for whatever reason, I am still rather tired. I would not mind a lazy morning.”

His beautiful grin convinced you to stay, and he couldn’t resist humming a little Asgardian tune as you absentmindedly played with his hair. It was a song Frigga had sung to him when he was just a child, before the malice had rooted itself in his heart. It always reminded him of a simpler, more innocent time. Here, with you, he felt that same feeling he did then.

“That’s really pretty,” you said once he was finished. “What song is it?”

“Something from deep in my memory. I am afraid that is all I can say.”

“Oh, well that’s good that things are coming to you in bits and pieces. Your brother, that book, this song—you’ll remember everything before you know it.”

“And yet, nothing could compare to this.”

“Yeah, this town is pretty charming.”

“I suppose you do not remember the last conversation we had about this,” he tsked. “It is not the town that I am referring to.”

Your eyes went wide as you looked at him. No matter how many times he said something like that, you wouldn’t get over it. Often, he couldn’t believe he said them, either, for a whole slew of reasons. For one, falling in love with a mortal was the last thing he’d ever imagined for his life. Though, now that he knew more about humans, he found it far more believable. And for another, he just didn’t have all that much confidence that anyone could love him like that. Why say such things if the feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated? That was the thing, though. With you, he dared hope they might be.

You opened your mouth to say something, but were cut off by the creaking of the barn doors. A loud meow came from Taffy as she made her way up to where you were, but you knew the cat wouldn’t have been able to open the doors. You and Loki looked at each for a brief second, both mortified and nervous to be found in such an intimate, vulnerable way. As a voice sounded from down below, you hastily broke apart, and Loki immediately missed your warmth.

“Are you out here?” Mama shouted, calling your name.

“Up here,” you said, leaning over the edge. “Loki’s here, too, in case you were worried.”

“Well, of course I was worried, but not ’bout him. Do you know how close I came to a heart attack when you weren’t in your bed this morning?”

“You are aware I’m not five anymore, right Mama?”

“Yeah, well, with your judgement,” she said, eyeing up Loki as he appeared beside you, “you sure seem like you are sometimes. Now hurry along before you miss breakfast.”

Well, the truce was nice while it lasted, but Loki guessed that whatever points he’d won with her from saving Matt were canceled out by his evening with you. Apparently she wasn’t too keen on the idea of you two cozying up with each other. Not that he meant that in a weird way or anything, but last night had been pretty intimate. And that wasn’t even mentioning this morning.

Shooting Loki an apologetic smile for Mama’s comment, you scurried down the ladder as not to upset the woman more. The raven haired god sighed and followed you, casting one last longing glance at the pile of blankets and pillows where you were snuggled together just moments ago.

“Listen here, boy,” Mama menaced in a low tone, putting up a hand to stop him. She checked over her shoulder to make sure you were already out of the barn before continuing. “I won’t be losing another one of my babies to an untrustworthy stranger.”

“I believe I already told you, I would never hurt them, never hurt any of you,” he almost pleaded. “That is not my intention.”

“Just because you don’t mean to hurt someone, doesn’t mean you won’t.”

She stalked out before Loki could get another word in, not that he really knew what to say. She was right, after all, especially when it came to him. How many people, how many families, had he destroyed in his path of life? He’d certainly ruined his own.

The God of Mischief sat down on a hay bale, burying his head in his hands. He felt distraught beyond words, torn between his head and his heart. His mind was screaming to let you be, but his heart—oh, his poor crippled heart!—was begging to never be away from you. And, in the end, wouldn’t leaving lead to pain for you, too? Whether you loved him back or not, he knew you cared in some way.

“Loki, you alright out here?” John called from the barn doors. “Mama said you were coming along, but you-know-who was starting to panic that you’d fainted or something.”

The trickster god smiled at your concern for his well being. It only strengthened his conviction that you wouldn’t totally scorn him if he were to tell you how he truly feels. Still, the thought of actually doing that was so daunting that he hid his face again.

“I am fine,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “Just fine, thank you.”

“You’re not,” John replied as he sat next to Loki. “We’re friends, right man? You can talk to me, too, you know.”

“It would be quite a lot to unpack, I am afraid,” he admitted with a wry laugh.

“I’ve got time.”

“I...” he began, unsure of how much he could say without revealing the truth. “The whole time I have been here, I have felt that I should leave. But now I do not know how I could do that without hurting those I care about. I also cannot fathom staying here forever without telling my true feelings to...” he trailed off, not quite ready to admit it out loud just yet, but when John said your name, Loki confirmed it with a nod. “For the first time in a while, I do not know what my next move should be.”

“Well, for starters, be completely honest with me, God of Mischief and Lies.”

“Pardon?” Loki deadpanned, his mouth dry.

“I know, Loki. But before you run off, I haven’t told anyone.”

“When? Why?” Loki questioned, at a loss for words.

“Remember when I went into the city the other day to get supplies after the tornado?” Loki nodded. He would have gone, too, but there was still too much damage around the farm from the twister for both of them to take off. “I found out then. Some small newspaper ran a story on it, and I put the pieces together.”

“And as for the why?”

“Because you’d literally just saved my son not forty-eight hours before. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. So I don’t care what they say, I don’t think you’re all that bad. Or bad at all, really. Don’t worry, you’re secret’s safe with me.”

Loki nodded slowly, comprehending the information he’d just been given. John really was a friend to Loki, but he was something more, too. He was almost what a brother should be, in Loki’s mind at least. He was like how Thor used to be when they were children. There was one time, before he’d received any kind of training, when Loki’s spell had backfired on him. It had hurt, both emotionally and physically, but he was too fearful of being reprimanded to tell his parents. Thor had sat with him then, much like John was doing now.

“I cannot even begin to thank you,” he finally said. “And I truly promise that I will do everything in my power to protect this family, not hurt it.”

“I believe you, but you have to promise one thing.”

“And that would be?”

“Tell them how you truly feel.”

It was a fairly reasonable request, all things considered. And John had insisted multiple times that you felt the same way about him. So perhaps this story wouldn’t have such a tragic finish after all. Then again, did villains get happy endings? Or maybe Loki wasn’t the villain. It’d been a bit since he hadn’t thought himself one, but in light of everything that had happened over the last month or so, he was starting to see things in a more favorable way.

“Alright,” he agreed. “I will do it, but you must give me time to plan.”

“Deal. And I hope you know, you’re going to have to tell them the truth sooner rather than later. About all this.”

“I do know. And it will be sooner. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt them.”

“It’s like I said before, Loki, I believe you.”

After thanking him again, they headed to the house, those three words ringing in Loki’s ears. I believe you. It had been a long time since anyone had believed Loki. Maybe he could believe John and accept that you liked him too. Maybe. But he wouldn’t have to guess for long; he knew he’d be finding out very, very soon.

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

My Girl

Title: My Girl

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1600

Square Filled: Childhood Friends

Summary: There are rumors going around the neighborhood that Dean was coming back home to Lawrence for a visit. Needing clarification of said rumors, you made your way to the Winchester house. When you arrived, your question was quickly answered and then some.

Warnings: Fluff, Eavesdropping, Angst if you squint, and just really cheesy stuff (that I can’t get enough of.)

Written for @spndeanbingo​

Disclaimer: Not my gif, and all mistakes are mine!

A/N: I don’t know why this one was so hard to write! It was so weird, but I’ve done it and I tried my best to make this super fluffy because I wanted to. All my other trials were really angsty and dark and I just couldn’t stand it. Anyways, I hope you like your fics super cheesy, because that’s what you’re getting. Cheese with an extra side of more cheese! Hahaha. Happy Reading!

There were rumors going around town that Dean was coming back to Lawrence for a visit. Wanting answers, you headed to the Winchester household on your day off, but definitely not empty handed. Out of the goodness of your heart, you also decided to bring over a homemade cherry pie, fresh out the oven. Also, you specifically remember John saying, at church, how much he’s been craving one. What better way to kill two birds with one stone?

You stepped up to the front door, hitting your knuckles against the painted wood. After taking a step back, it took a few seconds before the door opened.

“Surprise, I made cherry pie—” You chirped, raising the pie in front of you. but lost your voice as you saw Dean standing in front of you. “Dean!” You screamed with excitement, jumping into his arms, nearly dropping the pie, but thankfully Mary was near enough to catch it in time.

The older woman laughed as she watched you and her son greet each other. Dean chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and hoisting you into the air, causing you to kick your feet up. The question you came to ask had instantly been answered and you were ecstatic.

“Looks like I surprised you more than you surprised us, huh?” he laughed.

“I was actually coming here to drop off the pie and ask your mom if the rumors of you coming home was true and then, bam! There you are! It totally caught me off guard.”

“Good morning to you too,” Mary tried to feign hurt, but failed through her giggles.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Mary. Good morning! And I also made you guys a cherry pie. I remember John saying he’s been craving one lately, so I took it upon myself to grant wishes,” you joked.

“Oh… with Dean here, I’m not sure this pie will make it in time for John to even try it,” Mary joked back.

After the brief greeting at the door, Mary ushered you into the house, navigating you to the living room. She observed the way you nearly ran into the corner of the small table by the entrance, how you almost ran into the wall, and how you barely made it on the couch, all because you couldn’t take your eyes off of her eldest son.

The whole scene reminded her of back when you, Dean, and Sam were little. She remembered how you’d always try to gain Dean’s attention. You were so infatuated with him, always wanting to play with him, sit next to him, just over all be around him. They way you looked up to him always made Mary’s heart melt. She thought it was the most precious thing in the world. She still did.

“Well, you kids talk and relax, I’m going to put this delicious looking pie in the kitchen to cool.” After watching Mary disappear into the kitchen, you turned to look at Dean finding him still smiling at you. You returned the gesture before going on with your questions.

“When did you get here?” You asked.

“Last night,” he admitted.

“Why are you here? How long are you staying? Want to go out for lunch later?” you spitfire.

“Whoa,” Dean laughed. “I’m here because I just needed some time to get away, to clear my head. Honestly, I just broke up with my girlfriend.”

His confession caught you off guard. You didn’t know he even had a girlfriend. Dean noticed the change in your demeanor, the light in your eyes no longer there. You moved back, giving Dean a little space, space that Dean didn’t didn’t want.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you mumbled. “Maybe I should leave so you can have that time alone you came here for.”

When you went to stand up and leave, Dean grabbed onto your wrist. “Y/N, wait.” You stopped, looking back at Dean. His evergreen eyes pleading you to stay. Unable to resist, you sat back down.

“Fine. Look… to be completely honest with you, I’m not sad. I was the one that broke up with her.”

You gave him a curious look. “Why?” you thought out loud.

“Because… I found an old picture of us.” That peaked your interest. You wondered how a picture of you and him would have anything to do with him breaking up with his girlfriend.

“What does that have to do with me? Are you saying that it’s my fault the two of you broke up? I mean, I wasn’t even there. I didn’t do anything…” You were almost offended.

“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. All I’m saying is that when I found the picture it made me smile. It brought a light into me that I haven’t felt in a long time, not since I left Lawrence. The only time I felt that light was when I was here, and that’s when I realized that the light was you. It was being close to you. It never dawned on me till I found this picture. Like everything just made sense. I saw the photo, and… I don’t know. I missed you.”

You were not expecting such an explanation. Dean practically confessed that he was in love with you… right? Maybe you’re just being delusional because you were so in love with him that your mind is being stupid and misinterpreting everything he said.

“Wait, what?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth.

Dean chuckled breathily. “Stop over thinking. Yeah, I’m telling you I’m in love with you,” he blurted.

--

Without the two of you knowing, Mary was hiding behind the wall right beside the kitchen entrance listening to the whole conversation. Her lips were stretched in a wide grin, ecstatic from what she was hearing. It was her dream when you and Dean were younger. She would always talk about how one day the two of you would end up together.

Suddenly, she heard a car pull into the driveway, she did a little hop, while silently clapping her hands before heading outside to greet her husband. As she stepped out, John opened his mouth. “Hey baby, Y/N here—”

“Shh!” Mary hushed. “John it’s happening!” She squealed.

“What’s happening?” John asked confused.

“Dean and Y/N!”

“Mary, not this again,” John groaned.

“No, really! It is! Come here, come in!” Mary dragged him into the house, motioning him to remain quiet.

When John peeked over the wall, Dean was cupping your cheek, pulling you closer and closer until…

--

“How… when…” you didn’t know what to think at that point. You couldn’t believe that Dean had actually told you he was in love with you. In all honesty, you’ve daydreamed about all the ways he’d confess his love to you one day, but you never thought it would ever happen. The two of you were childhood friends and he’s never given you a second look before and now… “what?”

Dean laughed again. “Listen to me carefully,” Dean said, cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer so that you were only looking at him, although he didn’t need to because all you could do was look at him.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Y/N…” you nodded, “I, Dean Winchester, am in love with you.”

And suddenly, your lips were pressed against his. Your eyes shut with content, enjoying the feel of his slightly chapped lips slanting over your soft ones. When Dean pulled away, much to your reluctance, he cracked a smile when he heard you growl in protest, your beautiful eyes still closed.

“You good?” He asked.

“I was,” you fluttered your eyes open, looking up at him through your lashes, “until you pulled away.”

Dean couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. “That’s my girl,” he cooed, pulling you into a hug.

--

John felt soft jabs to his arm. When he turned, Mary was punching him, doing a little happy dance. John chuckled at his wife’s excitement. “That’s my girl,” John mimic Dean’s words. “Now c’mon. Let’s leave these kids alone.”

--

“I bet my mom will be happy,” Dean whispered, slightly pulling away so he could rest his forehead against yours.

“Why?”

“Seriously?” Dean pulled away further, looking at you like you grew an extra head. “She’s been wanting us to get together ever since we were little.”

“Really? I never noticed,” you frowned.

Dean only laughed at your reaction, pulling you in again for another kiss. “Always oblivious,” he whispered.

You scoffed and punched Dean in the stomach just hard enough to surprise him. He grunted while he laughed. “That’s my girl.”

A/N: I told you it was just a bunch of cheesy fluff! LOL! I hope you liked it!! Please leave some feedback and reblog to help me get my fic seen by more friends! I thank you in advance, and I also hope you all are doing okay! xx

[doctor-reid]

Undercover Secrets

MASTERLIST

Request from Anon: The reader is not part of the team, but works downstairs doing undercover work, but her specialist area is ... . Hotch asks her boss if anyone is in that area as it's related to a case JJ has brought to the team, and he says Y/N for a "one off case only". After a week, Y/N solves the case by herself, and when the team are having drinks at a pub nearby, Hotch asks Y/N's boss if she can join the team permanently. He originally says no, but comes around. Y/N says yes.During the case, Spencer develops a crush on Y/N and once she says yes, he asks her on a date which she says yes to.

A/N: The specialist area is completely made up and I don;t even know if it would work, but I had fun with it. Please don’t look too deeply into it. Also I really suck at writing case details and dialogue, please forgive me. ]

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (The request says she, but there are non pronouns in the writing)

Word Count: 1.8k

----------

You were walking to the elevator on the fourth floor. You have been requested to help work a case with the BAU. A request to help on a case was normal. After all, that was your specialty. But a request from the BAU? Something is up.

You are what they called an infiltrative agent. Each agent has an identity set up within a mob organization in the United States. You work with the Ukrainian gun runners. You’ve had this cover for years. Whenever there is a case that is suspected to be tied to this mob, you are brought in to investigate. You can go to any of the different clusters of this group and they will welcome you with open arms, 

You didn’t even know where or what the case was yet, but you were happy to help. Especially since that cute agent you like works for the BAU, Spencer Reid.  Maybe you will get to work with him for a bit.

You walked in moments before the briefing started. The first thing you noticed was Spencer. The only open seat was right next to him. This must be your lucky day. That is when Agent Hotchner walked in with Penelope Garcia. The briefing started, so you didn’t have any time to flirt with Dr. Reid. 

The case was definitely interesting. Women were being killed in Milwaukee. The killings have the same M.O. as some Ukrainian hit men, but there is a ritual that isn’t normal. So this is why they brought you in. It was most likely a member of the mob who was straying from the organization and killing on his own. If a hit man was going freelance, bodies were going to start dropping more rapidly.

The rest of the team was thinking the same thing.

“Agent Y/L/N, I assume you have a go bag ready?” Hotchner asked you.

“Yes, sir.” You gave him a little salute. When you did this, you thought you saw Spencer smile, but it may have just been your mind.

“Great, Wheels Up in 20.” With that, everybody started to pack up and leave the room. 

You were so excited. Sure, you got to travel sometimes to work a case, but this was different. The BAU was legendary. You were so lucky to get a chance to work with them. This could mean big things for your career. Not to mention, you got to work with the most attractive man in the building.

----------

You looked around the plane for a place to sit. There was a couch in the back that looked especially comfortable. You decided that was where you were going to sit for this flight. It was a mere coincidence that Spencer also wanted to sit there. This would give you a chance to talk to him. 

Along with being handsome, he was so smart. As the team talked about the case, he was adding in statistics and other facts that were relevant. Though every time he started to ramble, somebody would cut him off. You thought this was very rude. What if what he had to say was interesting. 

Either way, the secondary briefing and preliminary profile took up the majority of the time of the flight. This left almost no time to socialize with any of the team. Even though you were only here for one case, you wanted to make a good impression. Hopefully you might get invited back for other cases if they needed someone from your division. 

When you landed in Milwaukee, everybody split up. You joined Hotchner and JJ at the police station. Apparently you were going to help sort through mob files and start setting up case boards. If this was all you were going to do, this may be more boring that everyone let on. 

Eventually everyone else joined you. Everyone was just staring at case files and boards. You had to admit, you thought this was going to be more field work. Your job now was quite a bit in the field, so sitting around looking at files and talking about them just makes you feel antsy. Eventually a ringing cell phone broke the silence that had been lingering for a while now. 

“Hotchner,” he answered the phone. He stood there for a minute, just saying ‘okay’ every now and then. He hung up the phone and spoke to the team. “Another body was just found, I need two people to go check it out.”

You jumped up and volunteered to go. Anything to get out of this station for a while.

‘Great, Reid go with her. The rest of us will keep working here. Call and let us know what you found when you have something.” 

The two of you left the station and headed towards the SUV’s parked outside.

“Should I drive or do you want to?” you asked Spencer.

“I’m not a big fan of driving, so you can.” he replied curtly

You both got into the vehicle and headed to the crime scene. The car ride was silent. At the scene, Spencer spoke only when necessary. Even though you didn’t personally know him, you knew this was abnormal. You heard stories about him and his talkativeness. So why wasn’t he like that with you? Did he hate you or something? 

You couldn’t get the thought out of your head. Maybe you were undesirable. Maybe you were too loud or your personality was too off putting. No matter the reason, Spencer didn’t like something about you. He only talked or interacted with you whenever it was crucial. Otherwise, he would talk with other people. 

----------

A week came and went. The unsub was still killing women. Spencer still wouldn’t talk to you. Now sometimes he would leave a room when you walked in. This guy was an ass.

 You had no good leads, when suddenly that changed. There was something about the newest victim that was slightly different than the others.She was a Jane Doe, but you knew she had a six year old kid because of her hips.  None of the other victims were mothers. This could lead you to the killer. That along with the fact that she had the mob symbol tattoos on her shoulder gave you all the information you needed to know. You yelled for everybody on the team to join you in the conference room. As they came  in, you called Garcia.

“Universal wealth of knowledge, how may I help you?” she answered the phone.

“Is this Penelope Garcia, the tech analyst?”

“Yeah, what can i do for you?”

“I need you to look at birth records from six years ago in Milwaukee. ”

“That’s a lot of names, what else do you got?”

“Look at those where the mother was of Eastern European Descent. She either immigrated or is first generation.”

“I have 12 women.”

“Ok, how many of those also have a father of Eastern European Descent.”

“Only One. The father’s name is Borya Dyachenko. He has no known employment records, but oh wow.”

“What Garcia?”

“He lives in a huge house just outside of town. Sending you the address now.”

The team rushed out the door. They had only one goal in mind. Catch this bastard. 

Luckily they did catch him, and he was the unsub. That meant it was time to go home. You were excited for this. As much of a fun experience this was, it was also very tiring.

----------

You were all out for drinks the night after you got back. The case was tough and everybody needed to unwind. They invited you because you were crucial to the case and they genuinely enjoyed your company. Well most of them anyway. 

You were all sitting around laughing and having a good time when Morgan asked a question that addressed the elephant in the room.

“How did you know about the father being Eastern European as well?”

“It was quite simple actually. The tattoo on her back means she was part of the mob I go undercover with sometimes. I have the same tattoo.” You could feel Derek looking at you, trying to figure out where that tattoo was. “Anyway, mob members normally fraternize within the mob, which means we were looking at another man. Also the fact that she was the only one with ties to organized crime probably meant she was the real target all along. So I went with my gut.” 

“Well it was very impressive Y/N” Hotch spoke up. “ I talked to the director and they approved a transfer of you to the BAU, if you want it that is.” 

“Oh wow,” you sighed. “ How did you manage that?”

“I may have pulled a few strings. You have a lot of talent, and I think you could be a useful asset to this team.”

“I would love to join the team, but there is one person I have to talk to first.”

“Alright, just let me know.”

You walked over to the bar, where Spencer was standing. He was waiting on a drink. He noticed you and turned away. Luckily, you were faster and stopped him before he could get too far. 

“Hey,” you shouted as you pulled him towards you. “Have I done something to offend you?” His cheeks started to turn red. You figured this was anger rather than what it truly was, infatuation.

“No, not at all. Why?” He questioned as if he didn’t already know.

“Because you seem to be avoiding me and I was just offered a position on the team. If I take it, I need to know that I won’t be spending half my time avoiding you.”

“I’m not avoiding you for the reason you think Y/N.”

“Then why the hell are you doing this?” You were almost shouting at this point.

“Because I have a crush on you!” Now he was shouting. “I didn’t want it to affect anything so I just stayed away from you. Because I knew if I talked to you or got close to you, I wouldn’t be able to resist doing this.”

In one swift motion, he grabbed your head in his hands and pulled you toward him. He hungrily kissed you.It was a welcome surprise on your part.  It wasn’t long before you pushed into him, making the kiss more heated and passionate. His hands were tangled in his hair and yours in his. Eventually, he pulled back from the kiss.

“You should take that position.” he whispered

“Sounds like a plan” you smirked

“Do you want to go get some coffee?”

“That sounds amazing Spencer, let’s go.”

He held your hand in his as you both walked out the door. Office romances normally weren’t your thing. But this time, it definitely was.

[loganscanons]

the latest gossip

Context: Medora’s sister Inez asks Medora about her new relationship

Characters include: Medora, Iracema (her mother), her sisters Leondra, Inez, and Araminta, Sabrina (Leondra’s wife), Esmeralda (her grandmother), her great aunt, her Aunt Jacira, and her cousins Yma, Tania, and Andrea

Steam hangs low in the bathhouse, mixing with the sweet scents of soaps and oils, and making the air thick and humid. Medora sits in the below-ground bath, her feet floating lazily in the clear water as she leans back with her elbows resting on the comparatively cool stone floor. She tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and listens to the latest gossip in her sisters’, cousins’, and aunties’ lives. 

“I don’t know how you did this six fucking times, Mom,” Leondra says. She lets out a low groan as she settles into the water, aided by her Aunt Jacira and cousin Yma at each elbow. Leondra’s pregnancy had only become visible in the past couple weeks, but the morning sickness and discomfort had been plaguing her for months.

“They got easier,” Iracema says, not looking up from the task of pulling a fine-toothed comb through her mother, Esmeralda’s hair. “Seneca’s was the worst.”

“It’s because his head is so big,” Inez quips. She’s sitting on the edge of the bath, one leg in the water, the other bent as she leans forward and rubs an exfoliating balm into her skin.

“Ugh,” Leondra says. She lets Yma take her hand and begin to rub lotion over her tendons and joints. Meanwhile, Jacira begins to work a sweet-smelling oil into Leondra’s thick locks. “Sabrina gets to have the next one. I’m not fucking doing this again.”

“Think you’ll have more than two?” Andrea asks. 

“Maybe,” Leondra says. “Probably. Sabrina wants three. Which is fine, as long as she’s the one having them.” 

A brief chorus of laughter fills the bathhouse, coming mostly from the older women, who are long past their years of pregnancies. 

“Where is Sabrina?” Yma asks. She works the lotion up Leondra’s arm, soothing her tired muscles.

“Flying out to Oregon for her friend Melody’s bachelorette party.”

“Have we met Melody?” Andrea asks.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “But, you’ve met her fiancé, Edmund. He and Sabrina grew up together.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember him! He was sweet,” Andrea says.

“I guess,” Leondra shrugs, unimpressed with men in general.

A brief, comfortable pause passes, occupied by the echoey sound of water in an enclosed space. The quiet is interrupted by Inez as she straightens her body, turns to look at Medora, and says, “Speaking of relationships,” a sly smile slides over her full lips. “Medora, what’s their name?” 

“What?” Medora lifts her head, startled by the direct question.

“You’re clearly seeing someone,” Inez says. She lets her other leg drop into the water as she rotates to face her sister. “We’ve seen all the classic ‘Medora-in-love’ signs.”

“I’m not in love,” Medora frowns. She’s grateful that the warmth of the bathhouse has left everyone’s cheeks pink and flushed. No one will be able to tell the difference between that and the embarrassed blush spreading across her face.

“Okay, fine, infatuated,” Inez says. “Crushing. Whatever you want to call it.”

“A ‘crush’ sounds so juvenile,” she says. Her dark brows are bent together beneath her bangs.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Inez says. “What’s their name?”

Her cousins have turned their attention to her, awaiting the gossip that Medora so often withholds. She’s never been as chatty as the rest of them, and anytime she has something new going on in her life, their eyes train on her like hungry vultures. Though her mother, grandmother, and great aunt sit on their stone perches in the bath with an air of disinterest, Medora knows they’re as curious as the younger women.

Medora flicks her bangs out of her eyes, then says, “His name is Ainslie.”

“Ainslie what?” Inez prompts. She slides into the bath, the water coming up to just above her breasts.

“You’re just asking that so you can stalk his social media,” Medora says.

“Well, yeah,” she says. “I have to. You’ve proven time and time again that you can’t be trusted to pick out good partners.”

Medora’s face flushes again, this time from anger rather than embarrassment. Her sister isn’t wrong, really, but it hurts to hear her say it. With a huff, she says, “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have much social media.”

“I can find out things without social media,” Inez waves a hand. Droplets of water flick off her fingers. “As long as I know his last name.”

She lets out another huff and gives in, knowing Inez won’t let this go, “Rivers.”

“Ainslie Rivers…” Inez says thoughtfully. Medora can practically see a lightbulb go off above her head as the name jogs her memory. “Wait, Rivers? Like, of the Rivers family? The witch hunters?”

She nods slowly. Inez is already making her judgments and there’s nothing she can do about it. “Yeah. But, he doesn’t just hunt witches. He hunts bad supernatural creatures in general.”

“Is that supposed to be better?” Araminta, Medora’s usually quiet younger sister asks. In this instance, Medora wishes she had stayed quiet.

“We’re supernatural creatures,” Inez says, as if Medora isn’t already aware of that.

“He only goes after bad ones!” Medora says defensively. They don’t even know him and they’re already deciding he’s a bad person. They could at least do him the courtesy of meeting him first.

“How’d you meet him?” Andrea asks, and Medora is grateful for the diversion away from Ainslie’s occupation.

“He was at the party a few weeks ago with his cousin, Ashley,” she says, referring to a celebration that Iracema had hosted, and to which she’d invited several high profile members of the supernatural community. “He was visiting from Texas.”

“There are Rivers in Texas?” Yma asks.

“Yeah, there are rivers everywhere, Eem,” Tania says. “People tend to settle near water sources.”

She rolls her eyes, “You know what I meant.” 

“You’ve met them, dear,” Iracema cuts in. Her long fingers are deftly working Esmeralda’s hair into a thick braid. “They married into the McTavish family.”

“Ohhh,” Yma says. “Yeah, I remember them. Sort of. Is he the one who--”

“Hold on, Ainslie Rivers?” Aunt Jacira interjects. She’s paused oiling Leondra’s hair and is staring at Medora with her eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “Medora, honey, isn’t he like twice your age and a complete asshole?”

“No, Jacira, the son is also named Ainslie,” Iracema says. “The one you’re thinking of is dead.”

“Oh,” Jacira says, turning her attention back to Leondra. “Well, I hope he’s not like his father.” 

“Knowing Medora, he is,” Inez says under her breath, but not so quiet that Medora doesn’t hear her.

“He’s not!” Medora says. “He’s sweet.”

“I’m sure,” she says dryly.

Andrea again comes to Medora’s rescue, veering the conversation by asking, “How long have you been seeing him? Since the party?”

This is a subject that Medora is far more willing to indulge. The memories of talking to him at the party, their two dinners together, the weeks they’ve spent texting and talking on the phone, all make butterflies flutter about in her tummy. Her gaze rests on the water, though her eyes are unfocused, and with a small smile, she says, “Well, I asked him at the party if he wanted to get dinner with me while he was in town. He didn’t seem all that interested, but he said yes.”

Her brown eyes seem to sparkle as she looks up and meets Andrea’s gaze, “The dinner went really well, though. At the end, I told him I had a really great time and said I’d like to see him again before he left. And he asked me out on a date! He was such a gentleman.”

Medora doesn’t hear Leondra’s unimpressed scoff as she continues, “He paid for the meal, and pulled out my chair for me, and wanted to hear me talk about the things I like.”

“That’s sweet,” Andrea says. She gives her cousin an indulgent smile. Medora misses the twinge of sadness in her eyes, as she thinks about how Medora has deserved this as a bare minimum from everyone she’s dated, but hasn’t gotten it.

“And we’ve been texting almost every day since then,” Medora says. 

“When do we get to meet him?” Inez asks, not nearly as touched as Andrea is.

“Inez, I’ve only been seeing him for like a month!” she says. 

“Okay, and?”

Medora sighs, “We’ve been talking about going on a camping trip soon. Maybe after that.”

Before Inez can give her opinion on going on a camping trip with a man Medora’s only known for a month, Yma says, “Ooh, a camping trip!” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “All alone together in the wilderness.”

Medora laughs, “Something like that.”

[oddcoupler222]

Do you have any book recs like yours and w. epic love scenes like yours?

I appreciate anything I’ve written being called epic in any way :) 

I don’t really know if I could accurately compare any books I’ve read to my own but I do have some book recs that I adore! I’ll give you my top ten lesfics for some variety

- Behind the Green Curtain by Riley LaShea (my ultimate fave romance)

When Caton’s sleazy boss offers her a position as his wife’s personal assistant, she accepts the job with reservations, certain Jack Halston has ulterior motives. After meeting Jack’s wife Amelia, though, it’s Caton’s motivations that begin to unravel. As vicious as she is beautiful, Amelia threatens Caton’s position and her sense of decorum. As the attraction between the two women spirals into a torrid affair, Caton is drawn deeper into Jack and Amelia’s world of privilege and prestige, where everything is at stake and nothing is what it seems. 

- All That Matters by Susan X  Meagher

Life is going damned well for Blair Spencer. She's a very successful real estate agent, happily married to a man who encourages her to live the independent life she loves; and they're actively working to have a baby. The wrench in the works is that Blair favors adoption, while her husband David desperately wants to have a biological child. The fates are against them, and they finally seek the help of a group of reproductive specialists. One of the doctors, a surgeon named Kylie Mackenzie, eventually becomes a good friend to Blair. And she needs all of the friends she can get when things start to go horribly wrong at home. As her marriage teeters on the brink of collapse, she relies more and more on Kylie's friendship. Kylie's happily gay; Blair's happily straight. But the way they structure their relationship leads friends and family to privately question whether the pair is setting themselves up for heartache. They eventually come to a crossroads, which could either destroy their friendship or turn it into what each of them has been seeking. The question is whether each woman can change her view of herself and her needs. The answer is all that matters.

- Alone by EJ Noyes 

Half a million dollars will be Celeste Thorne’s reward for spending four years of her life in total isolation. No faces. No voices. No way to leave.

Since Celeste has never really worried about being alone, the generous paycheck she’ll receive for her participation in the solitary psychological experiment seems like easy money.

When she finds an injured hiker in the woods bordering her living compound, her strictly governed world is thrown into disarray. But even as she struggles with the morality of breaking the rules of the experiment, Celeste can’t deny her growing attraction to the kind and enigmatic Olivia Soldano. Still, how much can you really trust a stranger? And how much can you trust yourself when you know all the faces you’ve seen and voices you’ve heard for the past three years have only been your imagination?

But what’s real? Celeste’s reality may lie somewhere between the absolute truth and a carefully constructed deception. (the concept of this is just INcredible. and the execution as well - perfect)

- The Goodmans by Clare Ashton

The lovely doctor Abby Hart lives in her dream cottage in the quintessential English border town of Ludbury, home to the Goodmans. Maggie Goodman, all fire and passion, is like another mother to her, amiable Richard a rock and 60s-child Celia is the grandmother she never had. But Abby has a secret. Best friend Jude Goodman is the love of her life, and very, very straight. Even if Jude had ever given a woman a second glance, there’d also be the small problem of Maggie – she would definitely not approve. But secrets have a habit of sneaking out, and Abby’s not the only one with something to hide. Life is just about to get very interesting for the Goodmans. Things are not what they used to be, but could they be even better? (there are not one but TWO perfectly written romances intertwined in this *chef kiss*)

- Pretending in Paradise by M Ullrich

When travelwisdom.com assigns PR specialist Caroline Beckett and travel blogger Emma Morgan to cover a hot new couples retreat, they're forced to fake a relationship to secure a reservation. Ten days in paradise would be a dream assignment, if only they'd stop arguing long enough to enjoy it. Reputations are Caroline's business. Too bad she was forced out of her previous job when an ex smeared hers all over the office grapevine. She's never getting involved with a coworker again, especially not one as careless and unprofessional as Emma. Emma knows that life is too short to play by the rules. But when she goes too far and a defamation lawsuit puts her job in jeopardy, she has to make nice with Caroline, the image police, and deliver the best story of her career.

Only pretending to be in love sure feels a whole lot like falling in love. When their story goes public, ambition and privacy collide, and their chance at making a fake relationship real might just be collateral damage. (there’s just SOMETHING about this that is super freaking cute)

- The Brutal Truth by Lee Winter

Australian crime reporter Maddie Grey is out of her depth in New York, miserable, and secretly drawn to her powerful, twice-married, media mogul boss, Elena Bartell, who eats failing newspapers for breakfast. As work takes them to Australia, Maddie is goaded into a brief, seemingly harmless bet with her enigmatic boss—where they have to tell the complete truth to each other. It backfires catastrophically.

A lesbian romance about the lies we tell ourselves.

- The Red Files by Lee Winter (kudos to her for being the only author that makes it to this list with two separate books)

Ambitious Daily Sentinel journalist Lauren King is chafing on LA’s vapid social circuit, reporting on glamorous A-list parties while sparring with her rival—the formidable, icy Catherine Ayers. Ayers is an ex-Washington political correspondent who suffered a humiliating fall from grace, and her acerbic, vicious tongue keeps everyone at bay. Everyone, that is, except knockabout Iowa girl King, who is undaunted, unimpressed and gives as good as she gets. One night a curious story unfolds before their eyes: One business launch, 34 prostitutes and a pallet of missing pink champagne. Can the warring pair work together to unravel an incredible story? This is a lesbian fiction with more than a few mysterious twists. (as someone who is usually pretty bored by any plot other than the romance, I actually enjoyed this mystery)

- Tricky Wisdom/Tricky Chances by Camryn Eyde

(for tricky wisdom)  Darcy Wright is a closeted lesbian who has been infatuated with her best friend, Taylor, since junior high. Leaving her small northeast Minnesota town for Harvard in a quest to become a doctor, she moves in with med-student Olivia Boyd, a neurotic, anal, gigantic pain in the backside. The first year of juggling medical school is grueling, but it’s nothing compared to living with Olivia.

Coming out to her friends and family with an anti-climactic flop, Darcy uses her newly publicized sexuality to try and win Taylor’s affections through an ill-hatched scheme that crosses uncomfortable lines. The result is as unexpected to Darcy as Darcy’s affinity for medicine is to Olivia.

The first year of medical school is a nerve-wracking encounter in medicine, learning lessons the hard way, and finding what her heart desires.

Tricky Chances is the sequel to Wisdom, but it’s the only lesfic sequel that i truly felt added to the first one and was just as gripping! Plus, the first book is only 48k words so the followup is perfect to come right after

- Who’d Have Thought by G Benson

Top neurosurgeon Samantha Thomson needs to get married fast and is tightlipped as to why. And with over $200,000 on offer to tie the knot, no questions asked, cash-strapped ER nurse Hayden Pérez isn’t about to demand answers.

The deal is only for a year of marriage, but Hayden’s going into it knowing it will be a nightmare. Sam is complicated, rude, kind of cold, and someone Hayden barely tolerates at work, let alone wants to marry. The hardest part is that Hayden has to convince everyone around them that they’re madly in love and that racing down the aisle together is all they’ve ever wanted. What could possibly go wrong? (this book comes in 9th because i don’t love it QUITE as much as i do all the others, but it was the one that got me into lesfic so! it’s good stuff)

And in a guest pick from the only other voracious lesfic reader i know, @debbie-eagan - 

Beautiful Dreamer by Melissa Brayden - 

Philadelphia real estate broker Devyn Winters is at the peak of her career, closing multimillion-dollar deals and relishing it. She’s pretty much blocked out her formative years in Dreamer’s Bay, where the most exciting thing to happen was the twice a year bake sale. Unfortunately, a distress call hauls her back home and away from the life she’s constructed. Now the question is just how long until she can leave again? And when did boring Elizabeth Draper get so beautiful?

Elizabeth Draper loves people, free time, and a good cup of coffee in the warm sunlight. In the quaint town of Dreamer’s Bay, she’s the only employee of On the Spot, an odd jobs company. She remembers Devyn Winters as shallow in high school, but now everything about Devyn makes her lose focus. Though her brain knows Devyn is only home temporarily, her heart didn’t seem to get the memo (I’m personally not a huge Brayden fan but a lot of other lesfic readers are so I reached out for a second opinion on this matter)

I hope you enjoy!

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 3 - Ares

Photo by Joe Waranont

Some Yuletide silliness and... At last!  Enter the villain!

CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit.   WARNINGS FOR  ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: brief description of violence.

There is nothing NSFW in this chapter, but it is a bit long, so I am adding a Click Here to Keep Reading link.  You can also read the entire entire fiction HERE.

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

There were moments in life when Roxanne couldn't help but think about perspective: about how funny it was that a person could never clearly see the road to their destination until that destination had been reached. She'd felt that way one bitter winter morning, in her office, when she had suddenly realized that she was becoming one of those sentimental hack reporters she'd always hated. She'd felt that way on the long-ago windy spring afternoon when she had finally understood that she would never have feelings for Metro Man, and she'd felt it on the early summer day last year when she'd learned, to her own surprise, she was in love with his former nemesis. Roxanne had that same feeling tonight. Stepping out of the taxi Megamind had insisted on paying for she'd immediately been met by three brainbots, two of which immediately took charge of her small suitcase.  Greeting them with pats, she had walked the last block through the biting December chill with her unusual escort bowging at her heels.  The little cyborgs had darted away once their charge reached Megamind's invisible doorstep, probably to inform their master of her arrival. Now she stood alone and stared at a cross-stitched sampler, hung incongruously beside what appeared to be a solid wall, which read: "Lair Sweet Lair" in slightly crooked letters. What was he up to?

That September afternoon on the balcony, after the first night they'd made love, had been a turning point in Roxanne and Megamind's relationship. She had expected that, of course, but now that she had arrived at this still-mysterious milestone in her life, something in the back of her mind teased that it had been even more important than she'd realized. They had shared deep, personal sorrows, hidden from all other eyes, and an impenetrable glass wall had been removed. She realized, at this moment, that something undefinable had happened as well. Ever since that day, something had begun building between them, unnoticed and unspoken, creating a channel into which two spirits were poured and mingled. Try though she might, however, that something refused to slide into focus. It was both elating and terrifying, for Roxanne had not fully expected the cozy intensity that she and Megamind had found. How was it possible to feel so relaxed, so at home, around someone that being near him was like snuggling into a favorite sweater, while still feeling so powerfully and passionately attached to that same person that he made you antsy, strangely warm, and a little nervous? How was it even possible to feel simultaneously self-conscious and comfortable in the first place?

The oddity of those emotions was disconcerting enough, but worse still was the fact that Roxanne had realized that she no longer loved solitude, because solitude meant Megamind wasn't around.  True, she still enjoyed many of the same quiet hobbies— reading books, binging sci-fi movies, solving crossword puzzles—but now she was only happy if a certain blue alien was beside her, busily sketching design schematics for his latest invention, or pointing out in hilariously descriptive detail why a particular piece of film prop "space tech" wouldn't actually work at all.  She had always disdained those couples who seemed to be attached at the hip: the sort that showed up to every party together and skipped any function one of them couldn't attend. Now it seemed she was becoming half of one. Worst of all, she didn't mind. She liked it. She was sublimely happy with it.

What is wrong with me?

She and Megamind had fallen into an easy rhythm as serene and unquestioning as the deepest friendship, yet had retained all the fire and ardor of a new infatuation. A traitorous little voice in her head asked if this was the way people felt before they got married, moved to the suburbs, gained ten pounds, and started daydreaming about babies. She refused to listen, refused to even consider the possibility of leaving chic professionalism for matrimonial doom, but that same little voice reminded her that it wouldn't be so bad as long as it was with Megamind. Despite all her denials, Roxanne had to admit that something new had grown between herself and her favorite hero, inching up, bit by bit, undetected, until suddenly she noticed it was all around her. Small kindnesses, shared moments, camaraderie, and passion had all built into something beautiful, strange, and a little scary.

Which is what brought her to tonight and her current situation, as she stood shivering in the winter evening, looking at that foolish sampler and wondering why the sight of it set alarm bells ringing in her head. Megamind had invited her over, insisting that he had a Christmas gift that couldn't wait for Christmas, and she had not considered the oddity of the date until this moment.

Why now? Why tonight?

That was it. Roxanne's eyes widened with a realization that should have been obvious. Today was December 12th. Exactly eighteen years ago Margaret Ritchi, Roxanne's mother, had taken a turn too quickly, swerved on icy pavement, and ended her life. Although it wasn't unusual for Roxanne to visit her lover in the middle of the week, it was unlike Megamind to ask her over at a specific time, especially when she had just gotten back into town, tired after a business trip, which indicated that he probably had something planned. It would be exactly like him to researched old traffic incidents just so that he could invite her over to cheer her up on the anniversary of her mother's death.

The question was, was he just planning on distracting her from her memories, or did he have something more serious in mind?

"Miss Ritchi," Minion appeared through the hologram wall, less than two feet away from Roxanne. She had to crane her neck up to look into the fishy face set atop his six-foot-tall robotic body. "Miss Ritchi, if you please, could you come inside? He's been watching you on the monitor for ten minutes and he's starting to worry."

"Oh, I… Of course. I'm sorry Minion. I just—"

It was always odd watching a fish smile. "No apologies needed. Just come inside before you freeze."

He ushered her through with the wave of a metallic arm, and Roxanne stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her as he followed.

"Oh, my…"

Garlands. The Evil Lair was strung with garlands of faux evergreen twigs, plastic holly, and red and gold ribbons. Multiple strings of colored lights, hung with no apparent order or plan in mind, blinked, chased, and sparkled in crisscrossing lines until the flashing dials and blinking buttons in the workroom looked like no more than additional decorations. In the middle of the yuletide chaos stood a massive Christmas tree, its top nearly lost in the shadows of the high ceiling. Brainbots hovered and buzzed around it, trimming it in a haphazard fashion that Roxanne suspected explained the random order of the rest of the decorations. Most of the items being hung on the tree were normal— glass balls, silvery snowflakes, diminutive, jolly Santas— but every now and again a brain bot added a shiny bit of wire or a large metal nut. Christmas carols were blaring from the nearby stereo.

"Roxanne! What do you think?" Megamind's happy voice startled her from her contemplation. He jumped down the last two industrial steps leading up to the second floor, his face glowing with good cheer and one arm sweeping out proudly to indicate the scene. Roxanne turned her eyes back to the seasonal décor and the happily buzzing robots. After the initial shock, it really wasn't so bad. In fact, it was almost cute, like the messy decorations of enthusiastic children.

"It's wonderful," she answered, turning back to her lover with a genuine smile.

He beamed at her. "I'm so glad you like it! And look," he added with a sly smile. "We've got rocket-toe!"

"Mistletoe, silly," Roxanne smiled, leaning up to give him a soft kiss.

"Rocket, missile, what does it matter? Missiles have rocket propulsion systems."

"Uh-huh," Roxanne's expression was all wry amusement.

"The early Soviet Vostok rockets were based on the R-7 ICBM," Megamind informed her. "So I can see no reason whatsoever why rocket-toe should be any less—"

"Megamind?"

"Hmmm?"

"It's still called Mistletoe."

"Potato, tomato, potato, cucumber," he answered with a teasing grin.

Roxanne laughed. "Cucumber? Really? Why cucumber?"

"Well, they both grow on vines. Yet tomatoes are technically fruits while cucumbers are vegetables."

Roxanne laughed. "I always thought that was kind of weird. I mean: why?"

"They're gourds."

"What?"

"Cucumbers. They're gourds."

"Megamind, I was talking about the tomatoes-are-fruits thing."

"Ah, well, botanically, they're ripened flower ovaries that contain seeds, and—"

"Sir—" interjected Minion.

"And this will really blow your mind: so are zucchinis!"

"Sir—"

"Think about it: cucumbers and zucchinis, so similar yet so different."

"Sir! Didn't you have something to show Miss Ritchi?"

"Oh! Of course!" his face lit up, and he grabbed Roxanne's hand. "Come up! You'll love this! Wait until you see the dining room!"

"Dining… But you don't have a—"

"We do now! Follow me!"

He pulled her bodily past the command room and back up the metal stairs, her surprise growing with every step. The conference room near the kitchen— which had never seemed to serve much purpose since any meetings involved only Megamind, Minion, and, during the last several months, Roxanne— had, indeed, been transformed into a cozy dining room. Another garland swagged across the doorway, and a dark wood table, set as if in expectation of a festive meal, displayed a centerpiece of holly and ribbons surrounding three crème-colored candles. Beside the industrial stairs leading to the third floor— their banisters also bedecked in Yuletide fashion— the plain bathroom that had once served the offices over the factory had been updated and expanded. It looked as if it belonged in a wealthy grandma's house— if Granny had decided to go Goth. A largely unused, cavernous storage space had been turned into a sitting room. It proudly boasted not only a black leather sofa, matching recliner, and built-in dark wood bookshelves stuffed with second-hand volumes, but also an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove that Roxanne was almost certain was against fire codes. In one corner, a more elegantly decorated Christmas tree— probably Minion's work— stood glittering with white lights and antique glass ornaments.

Even that wasn't the most shocking addition to the new living space, however.

"Megamind, there aren't any external walls here. How on earth did you put in windows?"

"Isn't it great?!" he threw himself into the chair, grabbed a remote control from a side pocket, and aimed it at the window. Instantly the view of Metro City Beach was replaced by a forested mountain range.

"It's absurdly simple, really: just a high-definition plasma monitor that I mounted behind framed glass and connected to video feeds that I've had set up in various locations! That conversation we had last autumn about your apartment windows gave me the idea. Look! If you don't like the view, you just change the scenery with a press of a button!"

He clicked the control a couple of more times, bringing up a snow-covered prairie, a quaint French village, and a tropical reef.

"Minion picked out the last one," he explained. "It also interfaces with the supercomputer, so you can use it for research, calls… Look, the frames retract for a better view!"  he demonstrated.  "Then you push this button, and... voila!" A holographic keyboard had appeared in midair above the remote.  Megamind set the device down, and, to Roxanne's astonishment, began typing.  A browser popped up on the "window," and he navigated to a video featuring winter scenery to the accompaniment of a Boston Pop's Christmas album.

"Megamind, that's really amazing," Roxanne managed. "All of this is, really... I mean, you've made it so—" she almost said "homey," but bit back the word and finished with: "comfortable."

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" There was something warm in his voice that both thrilled and frightened her. "Oh! Oh! Oh! But it gets even better!" He leaped up and tugged her out of the room. "Let me show you what we've done upstairs!"

The third floor, once comprised of large executive offices, was where Minion and Megamind slept. Roxanne had been there many times in the past weeks, though she was admittedly usually too preoccupied to give much attention to the décor.

Megamind's room had changed from a blacked-out bachelor pad to a stylishly Gothic bedchamber. The walls were a rich blue. A full suite of carved ebony furniture—bed, wardrobe, nightstand, and chest of drawers— had replaced the previous collection of mismatched thrift finds. The ornate four-poster sported a new satin coverlet set in hues of gray, black, and cobalt, and was piled with silky-looking ash-colored pillows that Roxanne suspected matched the sheets. An impressionist oil painting of a historic street at night— rendered almost entirely in blue shades and black shadows— and a large mirror both hung in antique silver frames. Two lamps and a small chandelier, all wrought iron, completed the picture. It belonged on the cover of Evil Lair and Garden. Or maybe as the set of a photoshoot for Bad Boys Weekly. That would be better. All it lacked was its sexy male occupant lounging on the covers. The thought made Roxanne shiver with delight.

Minion's room reminded her of a garden pool, all greens, browns, and teals.  Its bamboo furnishings and simple stone accents gave it a slightly Asian ambiance. The style was completely different from Megamind's Vampire Chic bedroom. Full of clean lines and abstract art, it looked more like a post-modern interior design catalog than a Goth culture magazine.

"He picked everything out himself," Megamind was saying. "You should have seen him, like a kid in a candy store! When I told him I wouldn't invade his privacy by bringing you to his room, he was utterly offended! He insisted that if I didn't show you he would never speak to me again. And that I could expect literally everything he cooked to be smothered in mayonnaise for at least a week!" The blue man made a show of shuddering in horror. Looking around, he added: "I should have let him redecorate years ago."

"I'm curious, why is there no bed?"

"Roxanne, he's a fish. He lives in a fishbowl."

The grin she gave him was three parts knowing and one part sly triumph. "And so he has a bedroom because….?"

Megamind blushed a little under his blue tint. "Well, I mean, you know..."

Cocking one arm to rest on her hip, Roxanne gently poked his chest with her other forefinger. "I always knew you were a big softy deep inside, even when you were a supervillain."

He spluttered. "That isn't… I am not… I was disgustingly horrifying! And..."

She laid a finger over his lips. "I always knew, and I love you for it." Smiling into his emerald eyes, she tilted her face up to give him a long, deep kiss. "Now, before you take me back to your new bedroom, tell me: what's that other door at the end of the hall?"

"That, well," He smiled and rubbed one ear, a nervous gesture she had come to adore. "That's my early Christmas present to you. Come have a look."

He took her hand gently this time, and when he pushed open the third door, Roxanne's mouth fell open.

"Ta-da!" he spun to face her, cloak billowing.  His tone was all bold showmanship as he swung his arms wide to encompass their surroundings, but Roxanne knew him well enough to recognize the uneasiness hidden behind the bravado.

She stared around wide-eyed at the vaguely familiar round room. Everything in it had been changed so completely that it took her a moment to recognize the place she had awoken during her final kidnapping. The industrial elevator and second floor had been removed. A spiral staircase now led to a cozy loft and catwalk lined with wooden bookcases. All of the equipment had been moved out, the domed walls and ceiling had been expertly plastered and painted, and, where there had once been a telescope with mechanical shutters, there were now two glass doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. It was… perfect. Wonderfully, frighteningly perfect. Her own style—too formal to be modern but too clean to be antique—her favorite colors—sage green, sky blue, and soft ivory with cheerful red accents.  The bookshelves—obviously custom-made to fit the curving walls—and few other pieces of furniture were warmly-stained oak that exactly matched the contents of her apartment.  There were several empty spaces where she was clearly intended to move in her things. Roxanne knew she should have been thrilled—all the work, care, and expense he'd put into this would be enough to make any one of those silly interns goofy with elation—but all she could feel was cold dread.

"I was thinking we could put your living room suite upstairs to make a reading nook! And look!" He grabbed another remote control from a bracket on the wall. "I've renovated the alligator pit!" With the push of a button, a round trap door—one the reporter remembered with something almost like fondness— opened, and a half-moon desk with a cushy office chair rose on a platform to click into place with the rest of the floor. "I've, ah, also included controls in a hidden wall panel. I know how you lose remotes." He paused expectantly. "So, what do you think?" His smile was starting to look a little forced around the edges.

"Wow, Megamind," she tried not to sound unhappy. His feelings could be so easily crushed, though he excelled at hiding it. "This is…unexpected..."

His face fell slightly, and she searched quickly for something more positive to say.

Deciding on gentle honesty, she added: "I mean, this is exactly the way I would have decorated it myself. I had no idea…"

"Really?" God, she hated the vulnerable hope in his eyes.

"It's beautiful. It is. And sweet. But…"

"But?" he urged uncertainly, nervously fiddling with one of the studs on his black leather gauntlet.

"It just… This… All of this… It's happening so fast." It sounded like a canned response even to her.

True to form, her blue-skinned lover tried to put on a brave face with humor. "Oh, come on, you already sleep here more than you do your own place. This would make everything easier."

"Megamind, this is serious. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet."

"If there's one thing I've learned from all my battles, it's that there are some things you'll never feel ready for, but if you really want it, you just have to jump in anyway."

"Okay, but this? We've never even discussed me moving in, and this is just one step away from being married, and… I just…" she sighed. "I love you. I do, but I've never lived with someone before, and I… I need a little time to think this over." she finished lamely. Seeing his unhappy face, she added: "I'm not necessarily saying no, just...not yet."

"But Roxanne—"

"This is a wonderful gesture, but it's so sudden. I just don't think I can."

"Of course you can. Please, Roxanne, Sweetheart, say yes. Stay here with me," his voice took on an almost pleading tone. "It doesn't have to feel like we're living together. That's why you have a separate bedroom. Whenever you need time to yourself, you know I'll always give it to you."

"Megamind, it's not—"

"This doesn't have to be any more than you want it to be."

"Megamind, please—"

"I'll never invade your privacy unless you want me to." He dropped his voice to a sultry purr. "And when I do, I'll invade it very, very well."

"That isn't what—"

"I promise I'll be the best roommate you've ever had. We share a bathroom," he indicated the door on the left-hand wall. "The plumbing was insufficient for two, but there is a double sink. And I can use the facilities downstairs if you need me to."

"That's really sweet, but it's not the issue. I'm not ready for this."

"Stay anyway."

"I can't"

He crossed his arms. "Can't, or won't?"

"Why are you being so pushy about this?! You never push! And now you're asking me to give up my apartment, change my life… Megamind, that's a huge decision!"

"You're right. I never push. I've never before asked you for anything unless it involved protecting this city. But you know what? I'm asking now. This is the only request I've ever made of you. So please, please do this for me."

"Damn it, Megamind, that is so unfair!" Hot tears stung Roxanne's eyes. "I can't! Not yet! I'm not ready! And it's really low of you to pull that never-asked-for-anything card!"

That hit a nerve. "I am NOT pulling a card, Roxanne! I'm being very, very honest!"

"I didn't mean… I just…"

"I'm offering you everything! My home! My privacy! A place in every aspect of my life! I am offering you—a reporter!—all my secrets! I'm offering my feelings, my time, my vulnerability! I'm pulling out my heart here, Roxanne, pulling it out and laying it at your feet! Don't pay me back by stomping on it!"

There was ringing silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Megamind said at last. "That was… It wasn't fair of me to say..." He drew in a deep breath. "I just really need you to stay here."

Roxanne swiped at her eyes in frustrated, jerky movements.

"I think I'd better go."

"No! Wait!" he grabbed her arm.

"Let go!" She demanded. He did and she stormed toward the door.

"Roxanne!" Megamind dodged around to block her path. "Roxanne, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave yet.  Please listen to me! I know you're upset, but please let me explain!" He braced his back against the door as she tried to push past him. "This isn't just about me wanting you close! This is about your safety!"

"My… Oh, God, now you're starting with the helpless damsel crap?!" She tried to push past him again.  "Let me out!"

"I will, Roxanne, as soon as you hear what I have to tell you."

She glared at him.  "Let.  Me.  Out."

"Sweetheart, please..."

"Megamind, I mean it!" she yelled.  "You promised me!  You said no more real kidnappings!  You promised!  Let me out!"

The pain in his eyes was like a punch to Roxanne's heart, and that somehow made her temper burn even higher.

"You promised!" she said again, her voice rising nearly to a shriek.

"That's not what this is, Roxanne!  If you would just listen I wouldn't have to do this!  You think I like feeling like a monster?!"

"Then stop doing it!"

"I can't. Not when you're trying to run away rather than listen. Look, you're angry.  I don't pretend to know why, but I accept that you are," His voice was deliberately calm, emotion simmering underneath, but he held his ground, pressing his weight back harder when she scrabbled for the doorknob. She wanted to slap him. "But, Roxanne, I still need you to listen," Megamind lifted one hand like he meant to touch her cheek, but stopped himself, closing his fingers on thin air. "I know you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances, but things have changed. Something's happened, and now… Metrocity isn't safe for you anymore."

That stopped her in her tracks. "Megamind, what are you talking about?"

"I didn't want to bring this up until I could gather some more information." Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I didn't want to worry you, not until I had a plan…"  He sighed. Reluctantly, Megamind handed over a folded letter.  His lover opened it to reveal oddly formal calligraphy.

My Dear Hesperos,

I have recently undertaken a business proposition in Metro City, which I understand is under your protection. In general, I applaud your intelligent planning and remarkable success in execution, but I wish you to understand that I cannot allow my operations to be jeopardized. Although your newfound love of justice and position as Defender of Metro City are both, to say the least, surprising, I shall not disparage your change in career. However, I believe that you also have seen enough of the world and society through the eyes of a villain to know that law and justice are, too often, completely disparate, and that sometimes an act of villainy is the only truly righteous course. Therefore I am sending this correspondence as both a professional courtesy and as an offer of peace.

Out of respect and remembered fondness for you, I desire to find a mutually beneficial compromise. It is therefore my hope that this communication will achieve two purposes. First, I wish to assure you that, as my plans currently stand, my activities within your city will neither be aimed against the populace at large nor intended to undermine the normal daily operations of the city itself. I will not, however, insult your intellect or my honor by claiming actions will be viewed, by the strictest interpretation of the law, as anything other than criminal. Nonetheless, be assured that it is my intention to complete my business quickly, discreetly, and without any more loss of life than is necessary. Second, I wish to cordially advise you not to attempt to dissuade me. I do not desire harm to come to you, or any dear to you, but I am a gentleman of business and must protect my interests. If you will consent to allow me to complete my task without interference, you will hardly notice my presence. However, if you take it upon yourself to trouble me, I am afraid I shall have to extract a dire price.

I would take no joy in harming a lovely young lady like Miss Ritchi, but accidents do happen, especially to those who oppose me.

Yours in Good Faith,

Ares Coeus

Roxanne felt slightly cold by the time she finished reading. To think that two minutes ago she'd been worried about whether Megamind wanted to become too serious!

But she hadn't become a star reporter by letting fear control her.  "Wow, okay.  So, this is... Not what I expected." She looked at him. "I'm sorry... I..."

"It's alright, Love.  And I understand. Believe me, it's thrown a wrench into my gears, too."

She nodded, forcing her mind to focus as panic tried once again to drown her natural spunk and curiosity.  "Ares? Like the god of war?" she managed a wry grin. "Really? That's a little dramatic."  Her attempt at a smile smile felt wrong, like it was stretched too tight.

Megamind didn't share her humor. "Yes, Sweetheart, like the Greek god of war."

Something about that name tugged at the depths of her mind. "I think... I think I remember hearing something about him now. Ares escaped Metro City Prison for the Criminally Insane when I was in the fourth grade. No one except you had ever done it before. No one except you has done it since. People were panicking. Some parents wouldn't let their kids go to school."  She paused.  "That was weird, now that I think about it.  They never did that when you escaped."

"I was not just the local supervillain but also a recognized super-genius.  My escaping was almost expected, even if they did everything they could to prevent it.  That was just another Tuesday.  But Ares' escape wasn't part of the show.  They couldn't tell themselves it was only because of my extreme brilliance and ingenuity; not when the escapee was another human.  That made it more... real."

Roxanne nodded and cleared her throat. "So… Hesperos. Is that you?"

"Yes. It was Ares' name for me. Hesperos Oldwin."

"Oldwin. That doesn't really fit the pattern. All the other names he chose sound Classical."

"You're right. It doesn't. Ares was obsessed with Greek myths, among other things—especially with both his namesake and with the story of the titan Cronos eating his own children, who were then reborn as gods—but the ancient Greeks didn't have a word for 'blue.'"

"Seriously?"

He made a brave attempt at a chuckle. "Clearly they didn't appreciate the finer things, at least where colors were concerned," His weak smile couldn't seem to hold onto his lips, and quickly fell away. He sighed. "Anyway, Ares gave me the name Hesperos Oldwin because it means Morning Star Blue Sky. The blue part is obvious—"

"Hmmm," she agreed

"And then, of course, my escape pod came from the stars and fell from the sky one morning."

"So he was, what? Your friend? Why is he threatening you?"

"I think I was the closest thing to a friend Ares ever had, but that wasn't very close. More like hero worship." At Roxanne's look, he grimaced slightly. "Remember, I was young and… less brilliant."

"But you liked him?"

"'Like' is too strong a word.  Ares was… strange, but he enjoyed my company when I was a boy because I was the only one who could keep up with his intellect, even beat him at chess, although I quickly learned that outsmarting him too much led him to abandon me for days on end.  He could be… disinterested, but more often he talked to me, sometimes for hours, when he wasn't locked in solitary confinement. I thought he was cool— smooth, sophisticated, well-spoken, smart, tough— and maybe I liked finding someone fairly close to my own age who didn't revile me for a change." He studied his black boots. "Maybe it made me feel special that I was the only other person he bothered naming."

Roxanne gently lifted his chin. "You were lonely.  I can't really blame you."

"I can."  Megamind sighed. "As I grew older I began to realize that some things about him were just… off. It wasn't until years afterward that I learned 'morning star' is also the meaning of the name Lucifer, as in the devil in most Abrahamic religions. By that time Ares was already gone, but I have the feeling the parallel wasn't an accident. The worst part is, I don't think he meant it as an insult."

"Okay, but how much of that is just a persona? You once said that the difference between a villain and a supervillain is presentation."

"Minion said that," he reminded her.

"It's still true."

"This is different."

"I don't mean he's necessarily a supervillain. You grew up in prison. You're better at analyzing criminal minds than any psychiatrist I've ever heard of. I've seen you figure people out so fast it's almost like mind-reading. I'm guessing Ares isn't his real name, so clearly he's putting on a show. How much is him and how much is just an act?"

"Oh, you don't understand!" Megamind threw up his hands and began pacing. "Ares does not play at evil insanity. He's the real deal! No one in that prison ever crossed him. Convicts, guards, even the warden feared him. Most people, even criminals, have limits… lines they won't cross, but Ares… He had no lines. He would be a perfectly nice and polite man until someone did something he didn't like—anything, a tone of voice, the wrong look—and then, in a flash, he could turn horrible and callous. He would get this cold smile on his face, and you knew sometime soon something truly terrible was going to happen to that person. And it never bothered him. Not even a little."

"You make him sound like a monster."

"He is."

Roxanne stood up and stopped his pacing with a hug. "No, Megamind. He's just a man."

With a sigh, Megamind gently pushed her away. "Roxanne," he looked her in the eye. "I was twelve when Ares was arrested. He was only a few years older than me, not quite a legal adult, but they sent him to a high-security facility for the criminally insane. Do you know why? When he found out his father was cheating on his mother, Ares murdered both the man and his mistress. And not in a crime of passion. He searched, learned, planned, and prepared. He found out about the spa resort his father often took his mistress to— an exclusive and very discreet place outside of town—"

Roxanne was starting to feel a little sick. "Oh my God… The Nelson Case. You knew that guy?"

"Yes. Ares' real name is Eric Nelson."

"I read about that trial for a paper when I was in college. Did he really kill them in the steam room?"

Megamind nodded. "He told me all about it. Bragged. The fake ID, the forged credentials, the Social Security System hack… And then he got a maintenance job at the spa resort. Even though he was rarely around guests, he was always in disguise, even changing his mannerisms and the way he walked… He learned how the steam system worked, created a bypass for the safety measures…." Megamind shuddered. "Roxanne, he literally steam broiled those people alive. And he watched. He stood there and he watched. His own father…" With a shake of his head, Megamind added: "He wasn't even sorry. Ares called himself a 'soldier of righteousness,' and insisted it was the legal system that was corrupt."

"How could he think that?"

"He's crazy. But he's also calculating, cold, and cruel. That makes him dangerous. When his twisted sense of honor and justice is incensed, he is capable of truly horrific things." Megamind sighed again. "After Ares escaped prison, he joined a paramilitary organization, but apparently his philosophies were too... extreme even for them. The last I heard, he was working as an assassin, but he only takes certain jobs that he feels are in line with his off-center views of right and wrong. He's so good at making his murders look like accidents that no one— not even in the criminal underworld— really knows what his kill count is. Even so, the sorts of 'accidents' he causes… Let's just say people don't hire Ares if they want the funeral to be open casket."

"Maybe he's not serious." Even to her, it sounded more like a plea than a suggestion. "What if he's just playing mind games with you?" Roxanne trailed off as she studied her lover's face.

"No. Ares isn't like other villains we've faced… like I was. This isn't something he does for fame, money, petty revenge, or for the simple reason that he's bored out of his skull and needs intellectual stimulation. He doesn't play games, or if he does, he plays for keeps."

It felt as if ice had replaced her spine. "And you really think he'll do it? That he'll find me?"

Green eyes met hers, and something in their depths made the ice expand to fill her stomach.

"Megamind?"

He glanced away again, like he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "Sweetheart, there were..." his throat bobbed.

"There were photographs enclosed with the letter," he answered quietly, as if lowering the tone of his words would somehow lessen their impact. "They were… One was of you standing just inside the glass doors of your balcony—"

"Oh my God." she breathed, moving to collapse into the desk chair.

"One was of you leaving the news station. The last was of you jogging in Hill Top Park." He finally met her gaze again. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry… He has already found you." He knelt beside her, turned the desk chair to face him, and took her hands in his, looking earnestly up at her. "I have to try to stop him. You know I do. I'm the good guy now. But I can't do that and watch your back at the same time. Not if we're apart. That's why I really, really need you to stay here."

Something in her vaguely understood that she should care about that, but it suddenly seemed as if her brain, overwhelmed with terror, had opted to turn itself off. Her heart, in contrast, was screaming and she felt like she might be physically ill. This, Roxanne decided distantly, must be what a panic attack felt like.

"What about… my job?"

"Telecommute."

Her laugh sounded bitter and wild in her own ears. "I'm an on-scene correspondent. I can't telecommute."

"Then take some time off," he offered gently. "We'll talk to the station, or have the officials contact them. This is little different from a witness protection program. And it's only temporary. They'll have to understand."

"And if they don't?"

"I'll make them."

Roxanne buried her face in her palms. She heard the tread of leather boots, the sighing swish of a cape, and deft hands began massaging her shoulders. Megamind's voice spoke gently behind her.

"Roxanne. Listen to me. It will be alright. Everything will be alright. We are going to get through this. He hasn't found this place, and I've made some alterations to ensure it stays that way."

"How do you know he hasn't found your hideout?" she asked between her fingers.  "You can't possibly know that."

"He hasn't.  Trust me.  His letter was sent to my fan mail post box. Ares likes keeping people off balance, making them feel he has the upper hand. If he had known where my Lair was, he would have found a way to deliver it directly here. He didn't, which means we're safe. I've been working on some enhancements for a while, but Minion and I have put in a lot of hours to finish them quickly. This entire building is now outfitted with a cloaking shield: a hard light hologram similar to what the holowatch produces. I took it down briefly when I saw you approach, and put it back up once you came in. Now all anyone will see is an empty, condemned building. No dome, no signs of life, nothing."

Turning the chair to face him, she suddenly threw her arms around Megamind and held him close.  He knelt to let her hide her face against his neck.  Like a child awakened from a bad dream, Roxanne buried herself in his warmth and breathed in the comfort of his scent.

"I really am sorry," her words were muffled by his skin. "I'm so very sorry."

He ran gentle hands up and down her arms.  "I am too."

"You shouldn't be."

"If you weren't with me, this never would have happened."

"No.  People assumed I dated Metro Man, and they would have assumed the same about us." 

"I should have realized sooner.  I should have done better."

"You're doing your best."

"We both are."

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you."

"You didn't know."

The moment of weakness passed, and Roxanne gathered herself, gluing pieces of broken confidence back together with spunky determination and brave humor.

"Yeah, well, you know, you could have told me this sooner and saved us the trouble of arguing," she jibed halfheartedly, her crooked smile appearing through tears.

His answering grin was weak, and a little sad. "I didn't want to have to tell you. Not now, not tonight. And I didn't want to ruin your holidays." His shoulders drooped slightly. "Tonight was supposed to be about cheering you up. I wanted to make you happy, not terrify the living daylights out of you."

"But I thought you liked terrifying me. Why else did you kidnap me all the time?"

"How else could I spend time with you? Besides, you were never truly scared of me. Annoyed, yes. Sometimes even angry, but never scared." He wrapped her in an embrace. "And I happen to think you're extremely sexy when you're angry."

That drew a tearful laugh from Roxanne. "Right, because, you know, that's one I've never heard before." Sighing, she looked back at her new bedroom. "Thank you for everything you've done, Megamind. If it's okay, I'll enlist the brainbots' help in moving my things tomorrow."

"I'll be glad to have them give you a hand, but we should do it late at night. That's when Ares… works. He'll be less likely to be watching your apartment."

They were silent for a moment.

"Well," Roxanne's voice held a tone of determined calm. "At least we have a plan."

He smiled. "We have a plan."

There was another pause.

"So..." casting around for something to say, Roxanne landed on: "how long has Ares been in Metro City, and what do we know so far?"

"Not much. I got the letter last Thursday, but Ares has been laying low.  I've had brainbots guarding you twenty-four-seven."

"I thought I saw more of them around than usual.  Wait," she looked around her room with new admiration. "You managed to get all of this pulled together in six days?  That's... Darling, that's beyond impressive! That's amazing!"

"Five days, six hours, and fifty-three minutes, to be precise," Megamind answered, standing up and managing another gray smile. "Incredibly Handsome Genius, remember? You'd be surprised what can be done with a little determination, a large budget, and thousands of tireless laborers."

"Large budget?"

"I have contracts with various companies for a cut of the profits from all Megamind merchandise sold, among other things."

"Seriously? That's not standard hero procedure, is it?"

"Being a good guy doesn't exactly pay well."

"Wayne never did that."

"Ha. Metro Man was adopted by a multi-billionaire. He has a trust fund big enough to support an entire third-world country, not to mention that all of his abilities are inborn. I, on the other hand, have supplies to buy, bills to pay, evil inventions to construct..."

"I thought they weren't evil any more?"

"Well, evil only to evildoers." His burgeoning grin faltered. "Roxanne, be honest, are you angry at me? For not telling you sooner? I know you always hated it when Metro Man treated you like a powerless victim, and I want you to know that isn't why I didn't tell you. I just wanted the brainbots to do a little reconnocense first. And, as I said, I wanted you to enjoy the holiday season before I threw this at you."

Drawing close to him, she cupped his cheek and looked sincerely into his face. "No. I'm not angry. Not now that I understand." She hugged him once more. "But from now on I need you to trust me enough to just tell me things. I can't be prepared if I don't know."

"It's a deal."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

He kissed her cheek. "I suppose it's possible I could have handled it a little better."

She finally managed a real grin. "Maybe a little." She held her hands a foot apart. "Like this much."

"Oh, come on, not that much." He moved her arms closer until her palms were only a couple of inches apart. "Maybe that much."

"This much," she spread her hands even wider.

His mouth quirked. "Now you're just being unreasonable."

Despite everything, they both laughed, releasing the tension in the air.

"I'm glad I'm here," Roxanne said.

"Me too." He held her, kissed her brow. "You'll be happy here, Sweetheart. I'll do everything I can… I want this to be comfortable, and good… You like having your own space, and that's fine, but I want you to know that this is your home, too. Always."

She felt herself smile, although the expression lacked its usual confident strength. He wasn't wrong. Sometimes Roxanne felt she practically lived in his hideout already. Well, the past few weeks had been an exception. While the blue hero had dealt with a plot by the Doom Syndicate and the usual holiday season uptick in thefts, Roxanne had been forced to travel, first covering a rare blizzard in the Upper Penninsula, then a meeting of the newly formed Michigan State Disability Caucus in Lansing, and finally attempts by members of the state legislature to conceal certain business interest's tax frauds. She and her lover had only been able to steal occasional dates during her brief returns home, and he had spent one night in a Lansing hotel with her. Even when life wasn't so busy, however, the reporter and her lover rarely spent the night at her apartment anymore. Not since Ms. Farley, a sweet but nosy elderly woman who lived next door, had caught Roxanne out in the hall one evening and invited her over for what had turned out the be the most awkwardly embarrassing cup of tea in all history.

"Listen, Dear," the old lady had said amicably after a few minutes of small talk. "Between you, me, and the lamppost, I just want to tell you that I am really very happy you and our hero have such a healthy and loving relationship, but— I really hate to bring it up— but maybe three in the morning is a little late for… nocturnal activities? And… well… you might just ask him to be a little more circumspect about his language? It's only that Len Paszek mentioned that his little boy asked last week what all those funny words the Defender kept shouting meant…"

Megamind had blushed fuchsia when she'd told him, and admitted that one of his new friends on the police force had laughingly informed him they had received no fewer than three noise complaints from other tenants in Roxanne's building.

"He seemed to think I needed to be congratulated?" the blue man had said uncertainly. "He kept slapping my back and saying I must be doing something right?"

Roxanne had felt her own cheeks burning. "I… um… yeah, that's a… pretty normal human male bonding ritual…"

"Humans are strange," Megamind had informed her.

They'd spent almost every night at the Lair ever since.

"Sir, Code C and C," Minion's voice crackled from the vicinity of his master's left hand, disrupting Roxanne's thoughts.

"Code what?" Megamind asked into his wrist.

"Cookies and cocoa!" Minion explained. "Come and get it while it's—No no no! That is not a toy! Drop it! Drop it right now!"

A sound suspiciously like breaking china echoed through the watch's speaker.

Megamind and Roxanne looked at each other and laughed again. It felt good. "I suppose we had better go downstairs while the cookies are still edible," the blue hero said. "You don't mind, do you, Roxanne? It's just that— well, you know— Minion has planned out this entire evening, and it really means a lot to him…" he trailed off as Roxanne gave him his favorite knowing smile.

"Thank you and Minion both for planning tonight. Of course I want to be a part of it." She sighed, looking down one more time at the disturbing letter. "Let's just take a step back. We can deal with this tomorrow. Besides," she brightened slightly. "I wouldn't miss Minion's home baking for anything."

Megamind chuckled again. "Be sure to tell him that." With a dramatic flourish, he swept his cloak behind one shoulder and offered her his arm. "Now, Miss Ritchi," he purred in that tone that always melted her down to her toes. "If you'll come with me, please, I fully intend to spend the next several hours cuddling by the stove, if only I could find a beautiful, intelligent woman to cuddle with."

A small, very grown-up and professional part of Roxanne hated that Megamind always knew how to make her blush. The rest of her, however, adored it.

"I think I can oblige," she answered, linking her arm through his.

He returned her smile and led her downstairs.

[coreymichaelsmithson]

The Lights of Treasure Island

For the past few years, I've been living on a barrier island named Anastasia. A sandy, sleepy, slow place, just off the coast of our nation's oldest city, Anastasia Island features tall palm trees and gorgeous beaches, along with excellent sushi and a surprisingly active arts scene. Its most splendid attraction, though, is an old lighthouse, one striped with a black and white spiral and crowned by a bright red lamphouse. It towers commandingly over the dunes, casting a long beam that can be seen from nearly anywhere in town.

I've always liked lighthouses. In days of old we set these magnificent lanterns on the edge of the sea, to guide sailors through dark and treacherous waters, to show them the way home. Lighthouses represent so many things we need: safety, comfort, reliability, navigation. But in my mind, these structures hold the magic of candles, the magic of illumination itself. When we speak of enlightenment, we may be speaking specifically of rationality and discovery, but we are also conjuring images of light prevailing over darkness. And in this way the lighthouse emerges as a powerful symbol of the spirit.  

This February, for my 47th birthday, I explored the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where I saw several amazing lighthouses. Impressive as they were, I did not think they quite compared with the singular majesty of the structure that stands on Anastasia Island. After a harrowing return journey, one in which I drove with no working alternator (and sometimes without headlights or windshield wipers) through nearly 700 miles of tornadic thunderstorms, I felt the most profound relief when I finally crested the peak of the SR-312 bridge, which connects my island to the mainland, and I saw those familiar black and white stripes in the distance, signaling that I had made it home. Less than half a year later, my feelings about this special lighthouse of mine would be forever changed by a chance encounter.

Just under two months ago, I received a brief and rather unremarkable message from a stranger on Scruff, a queer dating platform that I use. One might charitably call Scruff "a social club for discerning gentlemen" ... it appeals to men who are hirsute, meaty, perpetually horny, and even a few of us freaks who defiantly straddle the line between "butch" and "nancy". Since this man's profile didn't really offer all that much information, and his one available picture wasn't particularly compelling, I promptly tucked his message away and forgot about it, and went for my customary sunset walk on the beach.

I live exactly one mile from the southern boundary of a state park, which offers a four-mile stretch of pristine dune habitat, completely undeveloped and sparsely occupied. The only man-made objects in sight are a few empty lifeguard stands, the city's sightseeing pier, a radio antennae, and our lighthouse. Dolphins gather here, their dorsal fins rising and falling between the breakers. Squadrons of pelicans fly in tight formations, gliding only a few feet above the water's surface. Terns and sea turtles nest in its sands, and I've found many shark teeth among the sea shells and ghost crab burrows. This is a special place, a holy place, and I've made a daily ritual of enjoying its cloudscapes and crepuscular glow as I explore the edge between land and sea.

After a pleasant stroll, maybe an hour or so of blissful meditation, I turned around and started heading back towards my car when I caught sight of a man who had just walked out of the water and was now drying himself off. We locked eyes.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Arrestingly beautiful, the kind of handsome that stops you dead in your tracks. I just kind of gulped for a second, and then walked right up to him, with an audacity that I didn't even know I possessed, turned on every damn bulb in my Christmas tree, and murmured, "Hi!", making the word shimmer like tinsel. In a short amount of time, I learned that he was a Russian artist, born in St. Petersburg but living in Moscow. I had met him during a brief pause on his long drive from Jacksonville to Key West; he had only intended on stopping in St. Augustine long enough to explore our old Spanish fort and take a swim on our nicest beach. He possessed a keen intellect, a quick wit, and a laudable command of English. As we spoke, he kept giving me flashes of the most mischievous smile, and so when I finally asked him what he was grinning about, he revealed that he was the same man who had messaged me earlier. This came as a surprise, for I hadn't recognized him at all ... I had only been drawn in now by his gorgeous movie-star looks, the undeniable sex appeal of his dripping wet body, and some weird sense of destiny.

We talked. We talked some more. We went to dinner. And then he stayed for the better part of three days.

In my bed, we enjoyed the most astonishing kind of communion. Our nights and mornings were filled with such tenderness ... soft eyes, soft caresses, fearlessly sustained gazes, the kind of kisses that tell a hundred little stories. One by one, various secrets were brought to light. We shared toe-curling carnality, thunderous climaxes, an unalloyed and unembarrassed intimacy. We shared joy.

On our second day together, I took him to the top of Anastasia Island's lighthouse. We lingered on each landing to kiss and giggle, and our embraces grew more intense. We felt a stronger and stronger pull towards one another. I knew that this was more than just a simple infatuation. By the time we reached the lantern's round balcony, and stepped out together onto the most spectacular view of St. Augustine, I knew that I was falling in love.

I don't blame you for rolling your eyes at this. You may, in your justifiable cynicism, think it ridiculous for a man to utter such a powerful phrase within such a short time. But if you've ever known me, you've come to recognize by now my considerable capacity for love. My passions and appetites may rise to the surface with little interference, and will I admit some recklessness in how I've invested my energies, but I am no fool. I am neither naïve nor desperate. And I can say in all sincerity that what we felt then was, at least for a short while, genuine love.

From the top of the lighthouse we could see everything. The old downtown, with its mixture of colonial and Spanish Renaissance buildings. The Matanzas River, named for the 1565 massacre of shipwrecked Huguenots, separating my island from the mainland. The harbor of St. Augustine, crowded with sailboats and pleasure craft, a forest of masts. And then the sea, blue and inviting, the sea that would soon separate us. We held each other tightly and looked upon the Atlantic together, casting our dreams towards the horizon, into this vista of seemingly endless possibility and hope.

On our last night together, we took a naked midnight swim in my pool, which is lit from above by a row of blue lights. A light and warm rain fell on our heads as we twined our legs underwater, and our ardor cast a web of rippling refractive patterns on the pool's concrete bottom. He looked me in the eyes, kissed me with the utmost gentleness, and formally invited me to come stay with him in Moscow. I accepted with my new magic word, "Да."

The following morning, our parting was so sweet, and so warm. We solidified our promise to be reunited. He drove down to Key West, enjoying a music playlist I assembled for him, and then he flew up to New York for a week's visit with old friends. After he returned to Moscow, we embarked on a passionate long-distance affair via telephone and social media apps.

I plunged right away into the Russian language, practicing for hours a day, rediscovering my knack for linguistics. I bought books on the cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, books on Russian verbs, flashcards, a portable dictionary. I subscribed to online learning programs, put apps on my phone, read up on the country's history. I was all in, bringing every available bit of my enthusiasm, work ethic, and inventiveness to the challenge. Every day, I would send him sweet little videos or text messages ... sharing good news, conveying small but significant events of my daily life, showing off my rapidly accelerating grasp of Russian. I sent him notes of encouragement, pictures of me looking my cutest, small but enjoyable details of my life on Anastasia Island. I sent him a short clip of the black skimmers that sliced back and forth across the thin swash of the surf, their beaks dipping into half an inch of water. I sent him pelicans, beach crabs, waves, paintings, difficult words, idioms, cute terms of venery, sunsets, clouds, kisses, evidence of my changing body. I sent him love, every day. "каждый день," I promised him, placing my hand on my heart, "каждый день." Every day.

My love deepened by the hour. I know this is going to sound so gushy and gross, but I really pushed the lighthouse metaphor pretty hard, calling myself "твой смотритель маяка" or "your lighthouse keeper". I meant this in all sincerity, without a drop of bathos or schmaltz. Our time atop the lighthouse was sacred to me. I promised him that I would keep its light burning bright.

Over time, however, things shifted. As my interest grew, his began to dwindle. He sent less and less of himself, slowly removing from our conversation his humor, his sexuality, his warmth, his trust. It was like seeing a fully assembled jigsaw puzzle get lifted into the air, and watching all the pieces falling out ... at first only a few at a time, then more and more, until there was only a jagged perimeter where there had once been a lovely picture.

The nadir came when he lost his temper with me over my visa. I was confused about the process, as the Russian consulate and other sources were providing patchy and often conflicting information, and his own explanations changed from day to day. During our last video chat, I asked one too many questions, and he snapped. He rolled his eyes, effectively called me stupid and childish, and hung up on me three times. My many attempts at reconciliation were completely rebuffed. It was both baffling and extraordinarily painful.

Two days after our fight he was in a terrible car accident, one from which he miraculously escaped unharmed. He posted on social media an impassioned paragraph about the event, and how it drew into sharp focus all the love he had in his life, how he felt that he wasn't deserving of such love, how grateful he was for his friends. Yet instead of contacting me, inviting me into this experience, or trying to repair our frayed connection, he spent his evenings logging back into Scruff, the aforementioned dating app. He continued to ignore me, choosing instead to pursue (or perhaps refresh) other opportunities. I tried in vain to reach him, to restore our bond, but was met with only the most chilling silence.

How had I been so wrong? Had my desire devolved into mere obsession, albeit one artfully disguised as love? Had my zeal somehow suffocated him? The irony for me was that this disastrous affair unfolded during a period of rapid and positive transformation. In the space of the last seven months, I'd already changed my diet, fixed my teeth, joined a gym, paid off a chunk of my debt, reorganized my home office, purchased a standing desk, resumed my daily beach walks, started seeing both a psychiatrist and a therapist. My relationship to my body was improving, I was working at a higher level of professional responsibility, gaining new clients, writing my fourth novel, and churning out the finest paintings of my career. A recent experience with ayahuasca had given me valuable insights into my adulthood. It seemed only right that this Russian should be the cherry on my sundae, a prize I had been working so hard to deserve.

And so, after admitting my own disenchantment, I surrendered. Reeling from an overwhelming feeling of loss, I wrote him a heartfelt letter in Russian, one in which I explained the hurt his indifference was causing me. I poured a lot of benevolent energy into this letter. And then I said to him the saddest word I've learned in Russian, "Прощай", which is the type of goodbye you use when you think you are not likely to see someone again. It translates, literally, into "forgive me."

Here is the letter I wrote to him, translated into English:

***

"V_____, beautiful V____:

Okay. I give up.

Your silence gave me a very clear and very painful answer. You have been entrusted with something rare and beautiful, and you have shown that you do not want it. So now it's gone.

I'm sorry my heart bored you so much. I will no longer annoy you with my desires.

The love that I offered you ... pure and strong, given without demands or jealous limitations ... does not come often.

It pains me to realize that you do not appreciate what I have tried to give you. It is even more painful to realize that I may have aggravated the situation with my zeal. But the distance that you put between us is your choice, and I must respect that.

It seems that the epiphany you experienced in the car accident, the moment you thought of all the love in your life, did not include my love for you. Your priorities are yours, and I accept that. But you almost died yesterday, V_____. And instead of choosing to bond with a man who cares about you so much, your focus shifted to Scruff. Your indifference is so obvious now. Please do not say anything ugly or cruel in response. There is already enough sorrow on my island. I feel both grief and embarrassment, but not anger. I've always wanted the best for you, and it's still true.

I sincerely wish you a long and happy journey. I hope you enjoy many successes and find many pleasures. I hope you stay healthy. I hope the man you choose deserves your best gifts. I hope you find a better lighthouse. I must direct my light now to those who are really looking for it. So now I must tell you the saddest word that I have learned in your language.

Goodbye."

***

Please allow me now to rewind a few years, and tell a correlative story.

In the autumn of 2019, during a period of intense sadness and frustration, I fled from Anastasia Island and drove impulsively across the state to the Gulf Coast. I didn't have a clear destination, I didn't pack enough clothes or supplies, and I was so blinded with tears and unexpressed rage that I didn't know where I was, or even care much about where I might land. While getting lost somewhere in the vicinity of St. Petersburg, I glanced at a map, dragged my finger along the squiggly coastline, saw the name Treasure Island, and thought, "That's gotta be the place."

I don't know what I was expecting to find there. Something about the name sounded so exciting, so exotic. And as the evening wore on, my anticipation grew. I thought, in my desperation, that everything would be all right once I got to Treasure Island. Over the next few hours, I convinced myself that I'd finally feel good again in such a place, that my pain and confusion would certainly evaporate once I reached this safe haven. I'd check into a nice hotel room, preferably one with 300 thread-count sheets and a coffee maker, and I'd dream about pirate ships and gold doubloons, and when I opened my eyes and yawned and stretched against the sun-dappled pillows my life would basically feel like a commercial for some bougie brand of almond milk. When I arrived, however, I was deeply disappointed to see another narrow stretch of high-rise hotels, littered beaches, rank seaweed, and greyish-brown water. I found the cheapest hotel room around, one of the few remaining vacancies on the shore, and there I found neither crisp bedsheets nor good coffee. The view from my balcony, however, was utterly amazing: I could see not only a broad curving swath of the beach, but also a glow of distant resort hotels, some of them reflected in the waves. It was strangely romantic, seeing these twinkling lights ... red, gold, green, blue ... and their silent conversation with the stars, a dialogue of jewels above the warm churning waters of the Gulf. But it wasn't the salvation I had been hoping for.

When I got up the next morning, I was still facing the same problems, the same irritations, the same heavy sorrows. Treasure Island would not, could not, rescue me from myself. So I drove back home to my own island, back to my lighthouse, and was relieved to discover that it was in fact even more stirring than I had remembered. During my absence Anastasia Island had become a magical and restorative place, quite different than the one I had left only days before.

What I should have learned back then, but have only come to realize now, was this: I didn't need to travel to a distant island of treasure and twinkling stars, for my own island already had plenty of both. I didn't need to seek the incandescence of a handsome man to light my way, as my own inner flame was at last beginning to shine without the shutters of inhibition or profligacy.

I am now recalling my disappointment with Treasure Island, while concurrently considering my grief over the Russian. At first, I wanted to hate him for his carelessness, for how he squandered my gifts. But I don't hate him. Not really. There's no need to wring my hands any further over his callousness. I don't even mourn his absence anymore. My mood has shifted today, and I no longer choose to see this abortive liaison as being so devastating. For I know, deep down, that the failure here was not really mine. I am not a loser for investing myself unreservedly in someone who could not fully appreciate me, nor I am not the weaker man for feeling injured. I will not be permanently depleted for having offered all that kindness to an undeserving recipient, as my wellspring of love remains inexhaustible.

I tried to share my lighthouse with the Russian. But he did not recognize how special it really was, and he declined to follow its beacon to a rewarding harbor. And thus, our romance was destroyed, and his memory became just another broken boat littering the shallows.

I have seen so many ruins in my years: bad relationships, lousy jobs, soured opportunities. My life story reads like a ledger of dashed hopes. It seems sometimes that both the island I occupy and the more elusive island I am eternally seeking are surrounded by shipwrecks. Yet the lighthouse of my spirit still stands, sturdier and stronger than ever. The waves may batter its bricks, salt may scour its surfaces, it may occasionally groan under its own weight ... but it will not crumble, it will not fail, and even in the darkest of hours this lamp of mine will continue to shine: bright, focused, undiminished.