#I try to meet people and I have nothing to talk about

[minswriting]

ONLY NEED ME - Spencer Reid x Reader

About: You were scrolling on your phone, swiping left and right on tinder to find a date. Spencer finds you scrolling on your phone and asks what you’re doing. So you tell him you are looking for someone to hookup with. He decides to show you that you don’t need anyone but him.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f), pussy drunk Spencer, jealous spencer

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: happy valentine‘s day my little sluts. although this isn’t valentine’s day themed, let’s pretend that it is lol. i hope you guys enjoy!

It was a rare day when there were no cases and yet, you were still required to come into work, just in case something happened. Usually, these days consisted of paperwork, going over recently solved cases to ensure nothing was missed and that everything had followed protocol. But for a team that is so action-based, having to do paperwork was entirely boring for everyone except Spencer, who was engrossed at his desk, the one across from yours, reading every file intently.

Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. It had been a long time since you had sex. With your line of work, it’s hard to find time to do anything outside the realm of your job. So you were doing what any normal person would do nowadays: resort to dating apps. You were scrolling on Tinder, mindlessly swiping left and right on people you thought were and weren’t attractive. You stopped at a certain profile, trying to decide if someone was cute or not and if you’d actually be willing to have them in your pants.

JJ walked past your desk and glanced at your phone. “Oh? Who’s this?” She asked, standing next to your chair.

You glanced at JJ before looking back at your phone. “Some random guy,” You said, showing her your phone. “Do you think he’s cute?”

JJ shook her head no, a small grimace on your face. “You can do much better, sweetheart,” She said, her grimace becoming a smile. “Are you finally looking to meet someone?”

You laughed, shaking your head no. “I’m just looking to get dick,” you replied bluntly, giving JJ a cheeky grin.

JJ laughed, nodding her head. “I get it,” she said, sighing. “Will and I haven’t had our alone time in weeks,” She rolled her eyes.

You pout in sympathy before swiping away the guy on your phone. “Do you want to help me look for the perfect person?” You asked.

JJ nodded her head, grabbed a random chair, and pulled it up to your desk. “Hell yeah, give it to me,” She grinned as she looked over your shoulder at your phone.

Unbeknownst to you and JJ, Spencer, though his attention looked as though it were on the files, had a frown on his face. To anyone, it would look as though he were deep in thought. But actually, it was due to listening in on your conversation with JJ. Why did you have to resort to some stupid dating app? Shouldn’t you know better than to trust random strangers on the internet? That’s like kind of what your job is about. Spencer felt a gross feeling in his chest, something he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps he’s been attracted to you since you joined the team some time ago and the idea of you seeking someone else for pleasure made him jealous. Not that he’d actively admit that.

As you and JJ sat there, talking and giggling with one another about random people you see on your phone, Spener bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his attention on the files in front of him. His jaw was clenched, and his hair tousled all over the place. It wasn’t until it was finally time for everyone to go home that he could get some peace and quiet. As everyone, including you, exited the bullpen to go home, Spencer remained alone with his thoughts for a little while longer.

He thought about you going on a date with some random person. How you’d get yourself all dolled up and beautiful for some random loser who likely wouldn’t even know where the clitoris is. Spencer may not have the most experience in the world but he definitely knows where the clitoris is located. He groaned to himself, realizing that his jealousy was consuming him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting back in his chair. And then, Spencer came to a sudden realization, causing him to quickly stand up and grab his satchel before leaving the Bureau.

You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch as you looked through the television channels. You were dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair mostly dry but still a bit damp from the shower you took when you had gotten home from work. You were originally going to see about possibly going on a date tonight but instead, you opted to stay home, too exhausted to really want to go out and meet anyone.

You didn’t particularly care to actually date anyone. Your desires are always laid elsewhere, with a very specific coworker you had. And unfortunately, you could not have this specific coworker as it would break so many Bureau rules. But you were allowed to have your thoughts, thank you very much. And if those thoughts included thinking of Spencer pounding into you and whispering praises into your ear then that was your own volition.

It was currently eight o’clock in the evening when there was a knock on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock before standing up from the couch and walking to the door. You looked out of the peephole, seeing Spencer standing there looking a bit disheveled. You opened the door, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you looked at the brown-haired man in front of you. “Spencer…?” You asked. “What are you-”

“You know, some people use dating apps to target potential victims for violence or sexual assault,” Spencer interrupted you. “Which is why you shouldn’t use dating apps.”

Your look of confusion remained on your face. “You know, that could’ve been a text,” you replied sarcastically.

Spencer bit his lip, looking at you. “Maybe,” he replied. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were always so beautiful at work, dressed in mostly professional, sometimes casual clothing with light makeup on your face. But right now, you were ethereal. Dressed in lounging clothes with your hair perfectly natural and no makeup on your face. At that moment, Spencer didn’t understand why you even bothered to get yourself dressed up each day when you were perfect just the way you were.

“Why are you here?” You asked softly, noticing the way Spencer was looking at you. You didn’t question it, however.

Spencer remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think of a proper response to give you. He hadn’t completely thought this through when he made the sudden decision to visit you. Finally, he spoke, “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head. “No!” You responded immediately. “I just- I’m surprised you’re here is all.” You bit your lip nervously. You hadn’t invited Spencer in yet and that had suddenly dawned on you. You moved to the side, allowing Spencer to step inside before closing the door behind him. You leaned against the door, looking at Spencer as he turned to look at you.

“You shouldn’t resort to dating apps,” He spoke. You furrowed your eyebrows at Spencer, confused as to why he would come here just to tell you that. Just as you were about to respond, Spencer cut you off by speaking once more. “Not when I could help you.”

“What?” Your voice came out more hoarse than you intended.

Spencer cleared his throat, the only sign that his confidence had slightly diminished. “If you need someone to pleasure you, you don’t need to use dating apps when I’m right here,” he said again, rewording his earlier statement.

“Are you saying you want to have sex with me, Spencer?” You whispered, biting your bottom lip.

Spencer moved closer to you until he was right in front of you. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered.

Spencer nodded his head. A silence overcame the two of you before he spoke again, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” you responded.

Spencer leaned in and gently kissed your lips. It was nervous and hesitant, as if unsure if you’d actually want to kiss him or not. But when you kissed him back, Spencer became more sure of himself as he kissed you deeply. He brought his hands to your cheeks, cupping them. The two of you moved in sync, kissing one another slowly. Eventually, Spencer pulled away slightly to look into your eyes as you stared back at him. The gaze the two of you had held a hunger that neither of you had admitted to yourselves in the entire time you’d been working together.

Spencer kissed you again, this time more roughly and hungrily. A soft noise escaped your lips from the roughness but it wasn’t unwelcome whatsoever. As the two of you kissed, you gently pushed him around the apartment to try and get to the bedroom. Spencer accidentally bumped into a side table, causing a vase to fall to the ground but luckily it didn’t break. “Whoops,” he said, pulling away from the kiss to look at it.

You put a hand on his chin. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as you pulled his face back to yours. The two of you continued moving throughout the apartment until you reached your bedroom. Spencer’s lips left yours and began kissing your jawline, making his way down to your neck. His touch was like feathers as he lightly kissed along your skin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you to clench your thighs. An action that wasn’t missed by Spencer.

“Needy?” He asked against your skin.

You nodded your head. “Very,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a hum as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly pulled the material up, moving his head away from your neck so he could pull it off of you and tossing it to the side. You weren’t wearing a bra and Spencer couldn’t help but just look at you. “Can I touch you?” He breathed out, eyes locked on your tits.

“Yes, please,” You replied breathily.

He didn’t hesitate to use both of his hands to massage your tits, feeling the flesh in his hands. He thumbed your nipples, causing you to moan softly at the feeling. “You know, some women can orgasm just from having their nipples stimulated,” he murmured, eyes fixated on your breasts.

You let out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m one of those people,” you exclaimed.

Spencer let out a hum as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth. The action caused you to let out a whine as he tongued the nub, his hands still massaging your boobs. He moved to the other nipple, doing the exact same thing. Your cheeks were warm as felt the sparks of pleasure being sent down your spine. Eventually, Spencer pulled away, pressing gentle kisses along your chest before returning up your neck and to your lips.

He guided you to your mattress, sitting you down at the edge of the bed as he pulled away from you. You looked up at Spencer, watching Spencer as he got on his knees in front of you. “Do you want me to continue?” He asked softly.

You licked your lips, nodding your head. “Yes, please,” you murmured.

And that’s all Spencer needed to put his hands on the waistband of your sweatpants and pull them down, tossing the material to the side. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath, causing Spencer to let out a soft hum of approval. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking at you with his puppy brown eyes.

“Please do.” You whispered, biting your lip as you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to him.

He let out a groan, his eyes immediately moving to look at your glistening pussy. Without hesitation, Spencer dived in, licking a strip down your slit and then back up, causing you to moan. Spencer hummed against your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed as he tasted you. His tongue began lapping around in figure-eights, teasing your clit with each flick. If you had told yourself that your night would end up with Spencer on his knees, eating you out, you would’ve laughed. And yet, here you were.

Spencer made out with your cunt, his lips moving against your pussy like you were the sustenance he needed to live. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub. You let out a loud moan, bringing your hand to Spencer’s hair and tugging on his curls. The action alone caused Spencer to whimper against your cunt as it encouraged him more.

You were whining and moaning, relishing in the pleasure Spencer was giving you. No one had gone down on you in so long and you had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But Spencer? He was built for this. His face was sculpted to eat pussy. If you could live with Spencer’s head between your thighs for the rest of your life, you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back. Spencer hummed against your pussy, his tongue dipping into your hole while his nose rubbed against your clit. He was breathing in your cunt, drunk on your juices. You could feel yourself getting closer, causing you to buck your hips. “I’m gonna cum,” you whined. With a slurp to your clit, you gasped and let out a choked moan, thighs clamping against Spencer’s face as you arched your back. “Spencer!” you moaned his name as you came.

And when you finished, Spencer pulled away from your pussy. His face was glistening with your juices as he looked at you with a smirk. “You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily as he gently rubbed your thighs. “Did I do good?”

“So good,” you breathed out, smiling at Spencer.

“Then you don’t need anyone else, right?” He asked, standing up.

“I only need you, baby.” You replied, looking up at Spencer with a dazed look. “Now fuck me.”

Spencer grinned, undressing himself before crawling onto you. “Gladly.”

And after that, you begin a new journey with Spencer where you explore each other’s bodies. Why do you need to use dating apps when all you need is Spencer?

[bratbarzal]

maggie i’m going a bit off-script here, but for your valentine’s blurbs can i request ³⁾ “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?” with quinn — but plot twist, he thought you were passed the just friends phase. just a little awkward & flustered quinn vday moment 💌

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

3. “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?” we love awkward and flustered quinn in this house!!!

"I can't do this anymore," Quinn grumbles out of nowhere as the two of you are on his couch, drawing your attention from the dimmed screen of your phone to watch him pinch at the bridge of his nose and kick the throw that is draped over both of your lower bodies.

"Can't do what?" You frown, tilting your head to watch the theatrics, the blanket falling from your own lap into a tangled mess on the floor.

"Sit here and do nothing. I'm sick of doing nothing. You're driving me crazy, is this like, some sort of power thing? Are you seriously not even gonna acknowledge what's going on here?"

"What's-," You literally have no idea what the hell has gotten into him. "Going on? Quinn, what are you even talking about? When did you get all antsy and weird?"

"Uh, I don't know," he retorts, narrowing his eyes in your general direction, not quite able to meet yours. "Maybe when you started giggling at your phone and acting like this is any normal day? I get trying to convince yourself that this is no different to all the other times, it's what I kept telling myself to calm down earlier, considering we've been technically doing this," he gestures around the two of you, "For the past few years now, but I thought this time was different. I want it to be different."

"What do you mean by that?" You frown, pushing your phone under the pillow you're leaning on, shuffling a little where your legs are tucked beneath you on the couch and watching as he stands, arms thrown out in irritation as he turns back to you, swiping quickly where the blanket is bunched up and an inevitable trip hazard and throwing it over the back of the couch.

"Alright, has it ever occurred to you that the two of us have spent more Valentine's Days with each other than with the people we've actually been dating?"

You stare blankly at him for a second, mouth agape as you register what he's actually talking about, before you clear your throat with a hand to your mouth as Quinn stares back, waiting for a response, eyes narrowed as his patience wears thin. "It's Valentines Day? Today?"

He's right - for as long as you've lived in the same building as Quinn over the past few years, the two of you have spent the day together, making a tradition of it, even when you'd had boyfriends and he'd had girlfriends, somehow always finding yourselves in distant relationships with people who travelled or just plain didn't care.

Quinn's door was always open to you - even on days saved specifically for romance, even if the two of you had never even considered crossing that line.

You know you've been a little distracted with work lately, but surely you'd have heard about it being Valentines Day sooner than now. You reach back for your phone just to check, and sure as anything on your homescreen is the date - Friday, February 14th.

Crap.

You've literally spent the past twenty minutes texting your group chat, following along on the boozy girls night you had turned down in order to spend another night in with Quinn. A night you hadn't given a second thought to, as the two of you have been hanging out more and more, lately - him slotting you in pretty much any and every time he's free.

And now it makes sense - they're doing Galentines.

Double crap.

"Oh my God," he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, that one thick strand you always thought was a cool stylistic choice bouncing straight back into place across his forehead - because of course it just naturally does that. "I can't tell if you're just oblivious or I'm a complete idiot."

"Maybe it's a secret third option?" You offer, standing from the couch and taking a cautious step towards his now pacing figure.

"Don't be cute," he glares back at you, "I'm really not in the mood right now for you to be cracking jokes, I'm embarrassed enough-,"

"Embarrassed?" You frown, taking another step, "Why would you be embarrassed?"

"Because I thought this was a date," he jabs a finger into his chest before pointing it back in your direction, "And you thought it was any other Friday night."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he huffs.

"That is embarrassing."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, spinning on his feet and starting to make his way over to the kitchen before you panic and grab at his wrist, tugging him back with a little more effort than you're used to - because Quinn Hughes is nothing if not stubborn when he wants to be.

"Wait," you pout, trying to meet his avoidant gaze as he looks at anything but you, jaw set and body angled away. "Why did you think it was a date?"

"What is this, a humiliation ritual?" he scoffs, "I thought it was obvious. I asked you over. For dinner. I cooked! When you walked in here I was wearing an apron, for crying out loud! There's flowers on the table," he hooks a thumb over to where the two of you had eaten - sat across from one another at his small dining table, for once, instead of on the couch or the breakfast bar, places set before you even got there. A small vase with gerbera daisies and a little ribbon around the rim. "And I'm wearing a shirt. In my own home." You cast your eyes down, to the way the buttons are popped at the top, a small sliver of his chest peaking through - and it feels like the first time you're really taking him in.

Not even tonight, but maybe ever.

It's not like you've never thought Quinn was hot - he's gorgeous, Mike Wazowski in a blindfold could see that - but there's always been a barrier there, like a cartoonish, pixelated sort of blur that hides him from full view, unlocked only by some costly subscription with life changing terms and conditions that you could never be bothered reading.

And you might have struck him off, until now - until he stood before you with a pouty bottom lip and a mortified flush to his cheeks - and he all of a sudden doesn't look like someone who could never be more than a friend.

Especially when you consider that maybe he's been thinking about crossing that line.

In a new light, he looks like someone who goes the extra mile, who gets you flowers and cooks you your favourite pasta dish, buys your favourite wine, puts an effort into his appearance to distinguish between all the times you've seen each other in sweatpants and actively listens to your dumb stories about office politics and teams meeting etiquette - like it ties in at all to any part of his world.

He sighs, heavy and resigned, and you see his chest deflate where your eyes are locked on it, catching the subtle shake of his head in your peripheral as you take too long to respond.

"Look, I kinda feel like an idiot, so maybe it's better if we just-,"

It's the tug of his wrist that spurs you into action, and you let it drop - too eager to grab him elsewhere, like by the front of his soft, pretty shirt - pulling him in by the collar and pressing your lips firmly to his.

You worry for all of three seconds until his fingertips dig pointedly into your hips, guiding you forward until you're a little closer, and they can slide further back. Your own hands move higher, touching skin now - curling around the back of his neck to bury themselves in his hair, pushing at his head to better meet where you're angled up to kiss him.

He purrs almost at the feeling, a hum of satisfaction that's spoken straight into your lips, and it almost distracts you from the way his touch wanders, one hand sliding up the back of your shirt and the other hand sliding lower.

You hum back at the firm press of his palm into the small of your back - his hand warm and his touch soothing, your shoulders loosening until all the tension seeps from your body, and you start to feel like you're floating.

Or falling.

You part slowly - of equal volition, you think - your eyes opening to see Quinn's screwed shut, and you take the second he keeps them that way to feel a flush of pride at the soft pink tint that has taken to his lips.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, barely above a whisper, when he finally opens his eyes and flashes you that darkened gaze, where it darts between your own eyes and your lips in a tantalising triangle.

He clears his own throat then, blinking hard and purposefully, and licking at his swollen lips.

"For what?" he asks, breathless, his hands still in the exact same places, thumb swiping at the dip in your spine and the fingers of his other hand temptingly close to crossing the curve of your ass - confident more in his touch than he seems to be with anything else.

"For wearing sweatpants to our date," you huff, embarrassed yourself, because even if you hadn't known the implications of him asking you over for dinner, why couldn't you have at least put on something nice. "Now I get why you looked at me so funny when you opened the door, earlier."

He laughs then, slow and easy, his smile crooked and his eyes a melting kind of warm.

"I'll forgive you if I can change into mine."

"Deal," you nod, lips twisting as you take him in - those barriers, that pixelated blur, animating into something crystal clear and definite, something you can't believe you haven't given yourself the pleasure of seeing until now. "I'm sorry for being oblivious, too."

"It's alright," he shrugs, "I'm sure there's some way you can make it up to me."

And you're still standing with your arms resting on his shoulders and your hands behind his neck - the prime position to lean up and kiss him again.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | thirteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, we catch a lil moment with belle 🙄, crying .. lots of crying, just lots of hurt and heartache, more misunderstandings, we see a bit of parents from both sides - esp san's dynamic with his father, flashback scene with smut: oral (f. receiving), 🤠, praises, lots of sweet kisses and tender moments, some nipple play, soft and slow smut!!

—a/n: fic announcement soon!

If the texts yesterday afternoon weren't nerve-wracking enough, it was the downtime in between the texts and seeing San that had you ready to curl up in a ball out of anxiety; fetal position, rocking back and forth as an attempt to rid the feeling. San hadn't texted much after deciding the two of you should talk the following day, and you never questioned why he couldn't just see you the same night he had told you he needed to talk. 

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

you: oh.. okay. so let's talk tonight? i just need to finish up a few things, and i'm halfway done on most of my papers and presentations. i think they can wait a bit.

san: no, you should finish up. i've got a ton of things to catch up on so tonight won't work. can we do this tomorrow? i'll come pick you up once we're both done in the lab.

you: are you sure?

san: mhm. i'm sorry again, it really just has been kinda all over the place today.

you: it's fine, san. as long as you can promise me we're okay?

san: we will be. i'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? try to take breaks and rest well.

You accepted it, even if it felt excruciating and painfully long.

These things never turn out well, and you knew your case wasn't gonna be an exception. You were afraid for it, you were nervous and you were wondering what San might do to try and lessen the blow of whatever was coming.

He wouldn't hurt you, right?

He meant it when he said you two would be okay, right?

Even if he tried to be as reassuring, everything about it felt off and cryptic. None of it felt like sunshine and rainbows, none of it felt like the San you felt in love with. None of it felt like the giddy excitement, the comfort, the safety you had come to know and love. 

You hated automatically assuming the worse, but nothing was preventing you from doing so— not even San.

Today was actually pretty uneventful, nonetheless. Despite the wait and silence from San, you felt like you managed to get by in one piece. It still felt like everyone was looking at you; like they had all known your deepest, darkest secrets. Like they had been following your every move, especially while you were with San. It still felt awful, but you had learned how to push aside because people could talk and assume— but they would never know the true story.

And who knows? Even if you tried to explain yourself, they wouldn't get it.

You didn't really owe that explanation to anyone, you think.

The only other weird part about your day was when you had tried to help Belle earlier since you had some downtime and she brushed you off completely. She had been avoiding you, and it was pretty obvious she was letting the talk get to her head. She didn't maintain eye contact with you, she didn't acknowledge you, and she didn't talk to you the way that she used to.

—FLASHBACK

You walk into the lab, passing by a few of your labmates with a tiny, toothless smile etched on your lips. There was no Sunwoo around, but there was Belle; yet, she still hadn't turned to acknowledge your presence. You had gotten through your to-do list for Sunwoo's project, leaving you with extra time to spare today. You hadn't been able to dedicate a lot of your support to Belle lately due to all those technical issues you needed to troubleshoot for your project with Sunwoo, and you figured this would be a good time to make up for it.

Unless she had other plans.

"Hey Belle!" You come to her desk, pulling the courage from deep down within you to approach her first. She looks up at you, a brow cocked up before returning her attention to her laptop. "I have some time to help—"

"No thanks, I'm good." She doesn't look at you. "Just so you know, I don't really need extra help anymore. I've got everything figured out already."

"Oh, okay." You step away from her desk, fiddling with your fingers while you stand there looking dumb. "Are you sure?" She pauses her typing before finally looking back up at you with her brows knit tightly together. 

"I just said it, didn't I?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure since I had the time and I haven't been able to help you out as much cause of Sunwoo's project."

"Why don't you go and use your extra time with Professor Choi since you've been doing that anyway?" She gives you a look that settles in the pit of your stomach. You don't say anything to her, even as she shuts her laptop close and stands— brushing past you to get to one of the behavior rooms. You feel a bit hurt, and your other labmates aren't even paying attention to the whole thing; or, maybe they are, and they just don't wanna say anything to dig deeper into the wound. 

So, you turn on your heel with your head down, returning to your desk to continue your data analysis in silence.

—END

You try to tell yourself that it doesn't really matter— that you didn't need anyone's reassurance or validation. It hurt despite not being super close to Belle, but you knew she thought of you in a different light now and that wasn't really fair. You could see how it'd look problematic on the surface, but you thought she knew you better than that.

Guess it's also your fault for assuming.

When it's time for San to pick you up at your usual pick-up spot, you grab your keys and head out— still not having changed out of your outfit for the day. You try to take slow steps to not seem too eager, but you can't help it when you see San parked in his usual spot. This time though, he isn't watching for you in the rear view mirror. 

"Hey." You swing the door open and slide in. San gives you a small smile, followed by a:

"Hey." He watches as you dip forward to kiss him on the lips like you always do, and he surprisingly takes it. You were getting ready for the rejection or some kind of pull back; but, to San's own knowledge, he did it because he knew it'd be the last time he could savor it.

"You okay? Were you able to finish everything you needed to?"

"Uh, yeah. Think so." He says with a subtle chuckle before driving off. 

"Are we going to your house?"

"Thought we could sit at the view and talk, if that's okay with you?" You slowly nod, keeping your eyes trained on San as he drives.

"Okay. You're scaring me, Sannie." He shakes his head. 

"Please don't be."

"Then why couldn't we just talk about this like normal at your place?"

"Y/N, you trust me, right?" He quickly looks at you as he comes across a red light. You silently nod, just in time for him to drive off and continue onto the destination. "Okay, so trust me." He's still being so cryptic and distant that you don't even know how to respond. You quietly sit back in your chair and watch the surroundings pass you by, trying to settle the queasiness you feel building in your stomach.

These things never go well, and your case doesn't seem to be a one-off.

San continues to remain silent as he drives the rest of the way to the view, the music softly filling in as background noise that's enough to distract you. When he pulls into the small empty side lot and parks his car, he lets out a sigh and sits back.

"How was your day today?" He asks softly, still avoiding contact with you.

"It was okay, I guess. Better than yesterday."

"That's good."

"San." You adjust your position so you're looking directly at him, body facing him. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"You have to start somewhere." He sighs again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me. We can figure this out together." You raise your hand to cup his cheek, almost somewhat of a gesture to force him to look at you. And for a minute, you feel him relax under your touch. You can tell he wants to turn and kiss the palm of your hand like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Sannie—"

"We should stop this." Your mouth slightly drops even though you don't know what to say. Your eyes widen, your touch turns cold. You retreat your hand while you let the response sink, San still keeping his gaze out of the window because he truly can't dare to look at you right now.

He'll fold.

He'll forget all about this and risk everything for the both of you.

He shouldn't.

"W-what?"

"We need to stop this, Y/N." He finally looks at you and his gaze feels like an icebox. Everything feels so cold and distant, even if it's supposed to be a front; it's working, and it's fucking you up completely.

"All of a sudden? I-I thought we were fine, what happened? What did I do wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's not anything you did, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Realistic? I thought you didn't care about the outside noise?"

"We're only prolonging the inevitable, don't you get it? Everything is going to come crashing down on us whether we like it or not. No matter how hard I try to stop it, this is what it'll eventually come to." You don't really understand where he's coming from or what he's getting at, but it's too late— you feel the tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

Then, you're sobbing into your hands and you feel pathetic. But San feels terrible, he hates this. He doesn't wanna do this but he's conflicted between right and wrong, between being selfish and letting you go. "San, why?"

"Y/N, please hear me out on this, okay?" He's barely able to answer.

"Why? You ask him again. You cry in his passenger's seat, wiping it away with your sweater sleeves. "You said I could trust you, a-and that you wouldn't hurt me because you didn't care about anyone else."

"I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you."

"But, I love you." San shakes his head as tears streak his own cheeks.

"We're being too selfish." He looks at you. "I am. I'm being too selfish and I don't need this to ruin things for you more. I need to put you first—"

"Why do you get to decide what that looks like for me, San?" He doesn't respond. "So, you don't want this?" He lets out a shaky sigh. "Us?"

"That's far from how I feel and you know it."

"Why can't you just say it back? Why can't we just let this be? I don't care—" You tug on his arm and he grips your hand before shaking his head.

"Because this is already hard as it is. Y/N, listen to me." He pleads, cupping your cheeks. He finally looks deep into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing the surface. The life in his eyes are gone. The glow, the stars. Now, his eyes are dull. They're holding back. They don't show you anything. "We should stop. We need to. Namjoon and the dean are discussing your future at the school, and I need you to keep going in this program. I need you to keep going forward even if that means I can't be right there with you every step of the way. You deserve to be here and you deserve to finish this until the very end. You've worked so hard to get here, and I refuse to let them lose out on you simply because of me."

"This makes no sense to me. Why do we have to do this? We can just be more careful and plan better. We can just—"

"I'm trying to protect you." 

"Protect me? From Namjoon and the dean? Or are you trying to protect yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about me, Y/N!" He's a little angrier with this response but you know it isn't directed towards you. It's towards Namjoon. The dean. Yunho and Iseul. This whole fucked up situation. "I'm always gonna put you first. It's always been about you and it'll always be about you." You cry a bit harder at his answer, unsure of what to make of this entire thing. You don't know if San really means this or if he is just trying to protect you. You don't know what to do, you don't know if you should keep trusting him the same way. 

You don't know if you can, and that's probably because you're blinded by all the overwhelming emotions you're feeling right now.

The both of you sit in this thick silence, your cries now filling the space while San tries to muster up the last bit of his energy to try and make you feel better— to get you to understand this better.

It's not that he wants to, he has to.

"I don't—" He swallows thickly. "I don't wanna do this but I have to. You have to understand." He says at a whisper, more tears streaming down his red-stained cheeks. "You have to understand, baby. Please." He begs. "I don't want them to do anything to you and I don't wanna jeopardize your future. Just listen to me. We have to do this." He leans forward to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumb.

"No, we don't." You almost whine, but all San can do is shake his head and sit back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I have to do what's best for you." His voice shakes. "I really am so sorry, sweetheart." He answers lowly, wiping his remaining tears before retreating back into his shell and showing off his cold demeanor for the remainder of his time with you. "I should get you back."

"I should've never trusted you. I should've known this was all too good to be true. You didn't care." You cry, repeating all this nonsense to try and get him to hurt the same way as you somehow. Because he'll never understand. Everything had led up to this and you were still unprepared for this. Even though you knew you'd be here at some point, nothing would have ever prepared you for the way your heart drops to your stomach; the way you feel nothing but thunder and rain.

Blue and grey.

He does, though.

In fact, he's probably hurting the most because he had to pull the trigger and let you go.

He hates it. He fucking hates it. 

He's trying to drown out the rest until he gets you back to your building because he can't take it. He can't take hearing you cry anymore, he can't take hearing you say these awful things because you're angry at the moment. He hopes that you'll see where he's coming from eventually because all he's ever wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe.

All he's ever done was care about you, and you only.

All he's ever felt was love for you, and you only. You showed him what love was like again and he'll never take that for granted.

This was him showing you love. He needed to put you first.

"I care about you more than anything. I'm trying to do what's best—"

"Without involving me? Deciding for me? Yeah." You wipe away at your cheeks once more before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Whatever San, save it." You tell him before swinging the door open and stepping out. "You were just trying to protect me. I get it."

"Baby, don't be like that. Please don't make this harder than it already is. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know this." He tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away.

"You don't get to call me that anymore." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, goodluck, San." Is all you say before slamming his door shut and storming off. You begin to cry to yourself again, feeling sorry for yourself and stupid. You know deep down that San was only trying to do the right thing and that he was trying to protect you. But, right now, you're angry, you're sad, you're upset. You feel empty and betrayed and you just need to feel this out in order to let it pass.

This too shall pass.

When you head upstairs, you quickly pack up a few things, along with your laptop and other school-related necessities before locking up and heading to your car. You feel a migraine coming on, which definitely means you should take it easy and stay behind; but, all you can think about is getting to your mom and being away from school for a few days.

Nothing's better than a mother's love and comfort, even though you aren't entirely sure how she's gonna react to this, how she'll feel about San.

In the end, you don't hate him. 

You can't.

You could never.

—FLASHBACK

"That was a good girl's date, wasn't it? We got massages, our nails done. Now we're eating a banana split under this nice weather." Your mom chuckles. "You need to come home more often."

"I know, I know." You scoop up a good helping of the banana split, internally conflicted on when is a good time to let your mom know about what's been going on. She would probably be surprised and scared for you, but your mom had a good way of choosing her words. She had a good way of being there for you but making her concerns known without pointing fingers or putting any blame on your actions.

"How has school been? Your friends?"

"They've been good. We've all been busy with our labs."

"Jiung's been good? You think you guys are all gonna stay in the labs you're currently rotating in?"

"He's good, yeah. And I think so, they all seem to be enjoying it."

"How about you?" You poke at the banana before scooping another helping. Your mom can already tell there's something else on your mind, but she's gonna let you take the floor and open up about it when you're ready.

Which is now. 

You just don't know if she's ready.

"Uh, yeah. It's been good!" You give her a small smile. "I'm still deciding on my route, but it's been good." Pause. "There's actually something else I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay, try me!" She chuckles. "What is it?"

"I've been seeing someone."

"Oh?" She laughs. "Well, isn't that great?! I mean, you never needed a man, okay. But, as long as they make you happy and add value to your life. I just want you happy." She laughs. "Who is he, where did you meet? Tell me everything!" You sigh and take a deep breath before starting.

"We met at school. In the lab. Because.. he's my rotation professor." You give her a look, afraid of what she'll say. She stops mid-bite and almost chokes, setting her spoon down before looking at you with knitted brows.

"Your.. what?! Y/N—"

"Mom, please. Just hear me out before you start assuming and saying things. He didn't abuse his power, I didn't throw myself on him, okay? It just happened." You immediately say and look at her with puppy eyes. "We just happened. We grew feelings for each other and just clicked really well. We've been keeping things lowkey."

"But, Y/N. Honey, I say this sincerely. What if people find out? Not that I want them to, but they will." You shrug.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out."

"H-how old is he?"

"32."

"Oh, okay. He's young."

"And handsome." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile. "His name is San. Choi San. He's pretty popular in the bioengineering and neuroscience world."

"That's good." Your mom is slightly shutting down and you know it's because her thoughts are traveling at 100mph and she doesn't know what to think or do.

Or say.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you're worried but I'll be fine, okay? I promise. It'll all be fine." You add to break the silence and reach for her hand.

"I just don't want him to hurt you and then you lose everything you've worked so hard for over him."

"I just don't know where this is gonna take us. Things feel too overwhelming. Like.. I just don't want any talk getting into his head about us."

"It could really ruin things for the both of you, Y/N. Please be smart about your actions. Don't throw everything away because of him. That's all I ask. Just by the looks of it, I know he makes you happy and you're riding cloud nine, but you need to remember who comes first— yourself."

"I know. I hear you. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary worry or anything."

"No, you're not. Lovey, I'm your mom, I'm always gonna worry regardless. But, I trust you enough to make the right decisions and to take care of yourself. I know you'll be smart and I know you won't be completely reckless. I'm not gonna lie, this— this isn't a 'conventional' relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet." She sighs and looks at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "I'm trying hard to see this from your side, not from my side, and I think it'll take me time to get used to. In the end, I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want people to think bad about you, and I don't want you to lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"I know, but it's all okay. I promise." You promise her, but you don't even know if you believe the promise yourself. "You can trust him." She doesn't say much, and you can tell she's trying her hardest to swallow her true emotions.

"Just becareful."

—END

San picks up the phone to call Namjoon, hands slightly trembling. He's still sitting in his car, still sitting in the same spot because it's his turn to cry and let out all his feelings. He hits the steering wheel before running a hand through his hair, second-guessing all his decisions.

Why did it have to come down to all of this? Did he really have to? How long before he folds and comes back to you?

Before he says fuck this all together and chases after you?

He keeps trying to remind himself that he needs to protect you and let this blow over. He keeps trying to remind himself that it'll all be worth it and you both will find your way back to each other again.

In time.

"San."

"It's over with." Is all he is able to say before Namjoon lets out a small sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, San. Look, just give this time—" Quite frankly, he doesn't wanna hear it anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not for awhile.

"It's fine." He cute him off. "You don't have to say it. Just please make sure nothing happens to her."

"You got my word. I'll figure this out. Don't worry." San ends the call before he's digging his head into his hands and cries.

And cries.

And cries.

Because now his days are going to blend back to the black and white filter he used to have on. He'll never experience that warmth, those colors, without you around.

He'll never witness where the sea meets the sky, when the sun sinks below the horizon. When dawn meets dusk. 

His days will be monotone and dull, lifeless and cold. Gloomy. Days he had prayed to get past and never return to.

But, he's here again.

And somehow, this pain feels worse this time around than the first time.

—FLASHBACK

San sighs when he pulls up to his parents' house, aggressively shifting the gear to park before taking a moment to himself. He wasn't happy when his father left him a voicemail, scolding him for the rumors going around about him dating his student. He was quick to call him names and demand him to make things right before his name could be tainted in the industry. San isn't gonna lie, he's always looked up to his father. Things changed when San started making a name for himself in the academic industry, creating some kind of competitive tension between the two. Well, San never felt that way. His dad strongly did though, for whatever reason.

He never understood it. It's whatever.

What San wasn't having was the fact that his father kept calling you a little girl who only wanted to use him to work her way in and up.

He slams the door to his car, adjusting his hat and his jacket before tapping the code into the keypad on the front door.

"San, is that you?" He hears his mom's sweet voice call out to him. He smiles softly when she comes into view in the hallway, opening her arms for a hug. "Please don't mind your father, you know how he is. He's just concerned." She gives the back of his neck a reassuring massage.

"Mm, yeah. I can feel the concern especially when he starts calling me out my name."

"San." His mom gives him a look before his dad looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch, forehead crinkling when he sees his son walk in.

"Why are you here?"

"Hi to you, too." San says while his mom steps in the middle.

"Honey." She turns to his father.

"So, what was up with that voicemail?" 

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on with you and your so-called girlfriend? Do you even care about yourself or what this could do to your career? You're so careless—"

"So what if I'm careless! You don't even know her so you don't have a right to do that!"

"Are you actually that stupid, San? Do you know how damaging this could be for you, for us?"

"What does this have to do with you?!" San's voice raises. 

"It has everything to do with us! Everyone thinks you either forced that girl into a relationship or she threw herself on you and you stupidly took the bait!"

"Even if I said it wasn't like that, you wouldn't listen anyway!"

"Are you serious about her?"

"What makes you think I'm not? We're two grown adults who are capable of making our own decisions and knew the consequences from the very beginning."

"And you think she'll stay? Someone that young and who is just getting started with her life, basically. You think she'll stay and be there for you when times get rough?"

"Absolutely." His dad scoffs.

"Is that so? Wishful thinking. You couldn't even keep Iseul and now you're downgrading to a st—"

"Hey!" San's mom cuts off his father's statement. "That is enough from you. Don't finish that sentence."

"You have no idea what Iseul put me through!" San's tone is louder to match his father's energy. "I found somebody who genuinely and truly cares about me and who I am. That isn't enough for you? Just because she's a student, but a grown adult at that?! You can't even be happy for a second? You still find a way to be on Iseul's side even though she cheated with my bestfriend!"

"Maybe it's time you realized you pushed Iseul away. That was your own doing. And this girl? Don't come to me and make me tell you 'I told you so' when she leaves after she's gotten everything she needs from you." San's dad is fuming in front of him. "How could you be so sure things will be smooth sailing with her, hm? What makes you think this can work?"

"This is fucking bullshit, I'm not explaining myself to you. If you don't wanna be happy for me and support me, then so be it."

—END

San thinks maybe his dad was right; maybe this wasn't meant to be, and was just supposed to be another fleeting moment, another lesson.

Even though deep down, he knows it's far from it.

As he sits in his home office, he scrolls through old pictures of you and him together— you, pictures you've sent him. He feels the rush of sadness hit him like bricks, his chest almost physically hurting from the ache. He has this sudden urge to text you and call you, tell you how much he misses you.

But, he stops himself.

What if you stopped caring? What if you were so mad at him that you hated him?

He couldn't bear with it.

If only he knew how much you cried and yearned for him every night, if only he knew how much your head hurt while you laid on your mom's lap while she ran her hands through your hair— gently cooing you and shushing you to help you get some sleep.

If only he knew.

"Mom, I'm sorry." You cry and cry, laying your head on her lap as you let everything out. "You were right, I messed everything up. This was all so stupid. I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that." She shushes you and tries to coo you. "Don't ever say that again." She looks at you. "What happened?" You gather the strength to tell her everything that's been going on. How deep your relationship went with San and how well he took care of you. How you weren't always the most careful but the only reason why things blew up was because of Hae-jin, Iseul and Yunho. How Iseul and Yunho just keep trying to get in between, how Jiung even went to Professor Kim about all of this.

How San broke this off claiming he wanted to protect you and put you first.

How utterly sad and betrayed you feel.

"I'm just so tired of feeling this way. I hate how alone I feel. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how this unfolded the way it did."

"I'm so sorry, honey. You need to let things be for now, okay? I know that's not what you wanna hear, but you need to. Especially for school and yourself."

"Why does anyone care? Why does it matter?"

"People have nothing better to do, and I'm sorry it had to be those two and Jiung."

"I'm so tired, mom. When will this pass? What did I do wrong? Why did he leave so quickly?"

"Lovey. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you at all, and it wasn't San either. The circumstances are just tough. You didn't know it would play out this way and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"What if he's just using that as an excuse? What if he really doesn't want this anymore?"

"If he really cared about you, why would he lie, Y/N? I'm sure he was doing his best to protect you both, especially you. I know it hurts right now, hun. But, maybe this is for the best." You don't wanna hear it even though your mom might be right.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this was just telling you this could never work between you two.

No matter how hard you both tried.

San's urge to text or call doesn't lessen as the next few days go by, especially when he notices he hasn't seen any trace of you. He'll usually see you walking towards the biology building for Yunho's class or making your way to the dining hall with the girls.

If San hadn't overheard Sunwoo telling his lab mates that you were sick, he would've gone crazy.

It still doesn't help that you're feeling unwell and he can't do anything about it.

"Sunwoo." San pokes his head out of his door, causing Sunwoo to lift his head from his laptop and shift his attention towards him. "Can you meet really quickly?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Be right over!"

"Thanks." San heads back to his desk and lets out a breath, waiting for Sunwoo to come. It takes him less than 5 minutes to finally make his way into the office, rubbing his hands down his jeans. "Hey." San looks up at him. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."

"No prob! What's up, Professor Choi?"

"I wanted to talk to you really quickly because I wanted you to hear it from me directly. Starting next week, we'll be losing Y/N's support. She'll be heading to Professor Kim's lab."

"O-oh. Okay. Damn." Sunwoo ticks his head to the side. "Professor Kim with the steal." San chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." San can't even hide his sadness when he looks down at the papers beneath his hands that Sunwoo catches on and he feels bad. He still doesn't know the details and he never will, but if it's one thing he can gather right now, it's the fact that the room feels cold and empty.

It's the fact that San literally has to force himself to smile and deliver this news like all is okay and no big deal— when in fact, it fucking is.

Sunwoo feels so bad.

"So, I know she's out sick right now, but will I still get to see her before she goes? I wanna talk to her to wrap things up, too."

"When she returns, we'll make sure she has time to close loose ends with you and gather her things."

"Hm." Sunwoo nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry this came up so suddenly, but I had to make a few changes around here. We all thought she'd be a better fit with Professor Kim." 

"I see. She's super smart and incredibly great at what she does, I know she'll do well in whatever she does and wherever she goes." San nods.

"Yeah, she will." He sighs. "There's another rotation student that I might bring in next quarter that might be a good fit to work with you, too. His name is Baehyuk."

"Cool. Down to meet whenever the time is right."

"Thanks, Sunwoo."

"No, thank you for always giving me some help and pushing me forward." San gives him a small smile. "Everything will work out."

"Yeah." Is all he could say in response. Because he hopes it will. 

Right now, it seems like a far reach.

All San wants to do is love you, rather than hiding just how deeply in love he was with you.

—FLASHBACK

"Here, baby." He turns to hand you a plate with a smile on his face. "Think you can help me dry the last of these dishes and put 'em up?"

"Course, chef." He chuckles, watching as you tip-toe with nothing but his shirt on to reach over and place the dry dishes into the proper cabinet. You follow suit with the last three dishes, setting the towel aside while San wipes away the water droplets around the sink. "We did it, babe! All clean."

"Sure did." He laughs, caging you in against the counter to kiss you sweetly. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." You giggle. "Thank you for making dinner."

"As long as you enjoyed." You nod.

"What do you wanna do for the rest of the evening?"

"Mm, we can watch a movie and fall asleep here on the couch without any worry."

"That's fun." You smile.

"Or, we can do other things that I have in mind." He brushes the hair away from your face while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Ooh." You reply in a sing-song tone. "Care to indulge?"

"Absolutely." He says just as he swiftly carries you and wraps your legs around him. You squeal as he walks over to the couch and gently plops you down onto the soft cushions, wasting no time to attach his lips to every inch of skin he can. He slowly hovers over you, hands roaming up your shirt and tugging material along with it as he continues to move upward— exposing your cute pink panties from beneath. He sinks to his knees and pries your legs open after fixing your position to the edge of the couch. "Let me make you feel good, love."

"Yes please, Sannie. Please." You beg, watching as San slides down your panties and tosses them aside. His hands caress your thighs, giving them a good squeeze while laying open-mouth kisses along the surface. You continue to watch him, biting on your lip when he hovers over where you need him at most. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing your head to cock back against the cushion. He begins to gently kiss and suck at your heat— a satisfying, breathy moan leaving your lips as you let San relish being in between your thighs. He laps away at your clit, tonguing down your pussy as if he had been deprived of you for years.

You love/hate how good he is at this. "Babe—" You moan loudly, hips now working on their own terms against his mouth. He subtly nods as he continues to suck and lap away at your heat, tongue keeping you wet and filthy; just the way he likes it. "God, right there—" You whine, hips rolling upward and grinding against his mouth, his tongue. 

You used to be so shy.

Now, you're not afraid to tell him what you want and he fucking loves it. "Oh—San— gonna—" Your statement comes out broken as you continue to work against his mouth, orgasm crashing down like a harsh wave against the shore. You grip his hair, body twitching as San continues to latch on and groan against your pussy; incredibly hard while watching the way your body surrenders all. "Fuck." You whisper, still twitching due to the aftershocks from your first orgasm of the night. 

"That's my girl." He's back to kissing your thighs, hands gently rubbing up and down your leg as a way to soothe you. 

"Need you." You tug him by the shirt to plant a messy kiss against his lips— shirt soon to be discarded on the floor, along with his sweats.

Now you're on his lap, slowly riding his cock just the way he likes it— the couch's throw blanket resting against the small of your back and draped along San's lap.

It's his favorite position after all.

"Mm— just like that, baby." He whispers against your lips as you continue to ride him slowly on the couch. "Just like that." He repeats. "You're my good girl, right? Just mine?" He asks lowly and you nod, letting out a sweet moan as he pinches your nipple and watches your head tilt back in pleasure. "Oh, fuck— just like that." His head rests back against the couch, feeling your walls brush against him and drag against his rock hard cock. "All mine."

"Mm'fuck, Sannie." You keep your head back, intense pleasure bubbling at the pit of your stomach. You take him slowly, deeply; his cock hitting all the right spots every time you do a 'lil tug and pull— hips carefully rolling against him. 

"So fucking sexy." He groans. "God, you're everything." His lips drag against your skin, tongue swirling around your perky nipples as your hands tug on the ends of his soft, black hair. "Everything to me." He whispers as if your skin could hold all of the universe's secrets. The blanket is barely keeping up with your movements. San's hand comes up along the base of your neck, bringing you back down to envelope your lips with his. 

The kiss is full of hunger.

The kiss is slow and steady.

The kiss is messy.

You break the kiss first, body slowly crumbling in his grip when you feel your high approaching quick. You moan loudly, breath ragged as you pant; hips slightly picking up the pace to push yourself further and further until you reach the edge.

"Oh—" San matches your moans. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He praises you, voice deep— tone sending vibrations all the way down to your core. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over this dick, angel." Hearing San talk the way he's talking is enough to make your coil snap. He continues to coo you as you come undone on his lap; stuttering in your movements and trembling in his grip. He places his hands on your hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh while he fucks up into you— reaching his high shortly after you with a loud groan and hiss. "Fuck, that was so good, baby." You giggle, forehead against his while his hands gently caress and your back. You leave a tender kiss against his plump lips, and he chases with a few repeated kisses before bringing you down with him on the couch. The both of you lay underneath the throw blanket, now properly covering most of your bodies while San holds you from behind. He has his propped up by an arm while you both watch the show on TV, but San finds his thoughts wandering elsewhere at some point. He begins to look around the house and notices how different it feels since you've been around.

Good different.

A space that used to he so grey, so lifeless; now has remnants of you everywhere.

Your polaroids.

Pictures of you and San in frames.

Your little stuffed animal keychains and rings thrown onto the kitchen island, or the room. Or even his desk in the office.

Your little post-it notes. Your favorite chips and snacks littered around the pantry.

You were there everywhere he turned, and he finds it's one of his biggest blessings.

Especially when you lay here on the couch with him, completely not minding the idea San proposed of just falling asleep on the couch together while sorting through movies.

You agreed so quickly and so happily.

No matter how big or small, most ideas just seemed silly in his last relationship.

But, now he has you— someone who is happy to just be with him and spend time with him. No matter how big or small the idea, the plans.

San loves you.

And he'll never take it for granted.

—END

—read 13.5 here

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[mapis-putellas]

𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆/𝑶.𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒍𝒆

Spanish is in italics <3

Ona sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her foot bouncing anxiously against the floor. You watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, doing your best to hide your amusement. You’d never seen her so nervous before -not before a match, not before press conferences, not even before meeting your friends. But now? Meeting your parents had her looking like she was about to face a firing squad.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” you teased, stepping closer and brushing a hand through her hair.

Ona sighed dramatically, tilting her head up to look at you. “I think…maybe I am.”

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “They’re going to love you. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She groaned, letting her head fall backwards. “Not nervous. Scared.”

That made you laugh outright. “Scared? Why?”

Ona fixed you with a deadpan look. “Because your family is…Irish.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

Her hands flailed as she searched for the right words. “And! I…your English, I learn. Slow, but I learn. But them? I don’t know if…if I will understand.”

You bit your lip, doing your best not to smile too much. You knew this was a genuine fear for her. Your parents’ accents were thick, and their speech patterns could be difficult to follow, even for people who had grown up around them. But Ona had come a long way with her English, even if she didn’t always have confidence in it.

“They know you’re still learning,” you reassured her, kneeling so you were at her level, placing your hands on her thighs and squeezing softly. “They’re not going to care if you miss a few words.”

“But…what if they talk, and I…” She made a motion with her hands, mimicking something flying over her head.

You grinned as you stood, reaching for her hands. “Then I’ll translate.”

She groaned again, but she let you pull her up off the bed, exhaling deeply as she muttered something in Spanish under her breath.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your keys and tucking them into your pocket before sticking out your hand and wiggling your fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

The moment you walked into your parents’ house, you knew Ona was in trouble.

“Jaysus, it’s about time ye got here! I was startin’ to think ye’d gotten lost or somethin’!”

Ona stiffened beside you. You squeezed her hand, biting back a laugh at the look of sheer panic on her face. Your mum rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a tea towel before pulling you into a tight hug. She was barely finished with you before turning to Ona, who barely had time to prepare herself before being pulled into the same embrace.

“And you must be Ona,” your mum said warmly, hands resting on Ona’s shoulders as she gave her a once-over. “Lovely to finally meet ye, love. We’ve heard so much about ye.”

Ona smiled nervously, clearly trying to piece together the words. “Um…thank you?”

Your dad appeared in the doorway then, nodding in greeting. “Howya, love. Hope ye don’t mind a bit of madness. We’re not exactly a quiet bunch.”

Ona’s grip on your hand tightened.

You cleared your throat, stepping in before she had a full-on breakdown. “He’s just saying we’re loud.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah! Sí, sí, is okay. Loud is…nice.”

Your mum beamed. “Ah, isn’t she just the sweetest thing? Come in, love, we’ve got a nice dinner ready for ye both.”

Ona followed you into the house like she was heading toward impending doom.

Dinner was…an experience.

Your parents were nothing if not welcoming, but they were also incapable of slowing down their speech. Which meant that, for the majority of the meal, you had one hand on your fork and the other on Ona’s thigh, gently squeezing every time you needed to translate something.

“So tell me, love, how’s the football goin’?” your dad asked, cutting into his chicken. “Ye keepin’ our one in line?”

Ona blinked. She turned to you immediately, wide-eyed.

You coughed, setting down your fork. “He’s asking if football is going well. And if you keep me in line.”

Ona let out a small breath of relief before turning back to your dad. “Uh…football is…very good. And-“ She smirked slightly, eyes flicking to you. “I try keep in line, but is…hard.”

Your dad roared with laughter, clapping a hand against the table so hard it made Ona visibly startle in surprise. You squeezed her thigh apologetically in response. “Aye, she’s a handful, alright. Ye must have the patience of a saint!”

Ona looked at you in desperation.

You smiled tightly, intending to kill your father for his words later. “He’s saying I’m a handful.”

Ona grinned, nodding enthusiastically and completely ignoring the glare you send her way. “Yes. Mucho handful.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” You scoffed.

Ona placatingly patted the hand you still had on her thigh as she took a bite of her food, and you tightened your hand around the toned muscle in response, having every intention of getting her back for that later. And if the way Ona freckled cheeks flush a lovely shade of red was anything to go by, you knew she was fully ware of this fact.

Well, at least you were on the same page.

Your mum laughed, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Ah, she’s grand. Now, tell me, love, do ye miss home much? I imagine Spain’s a lot warmer than here.”

Ona caught onto a couple of words, clearing her throat as she nodded. “Miss home, yes. Spain is…warmer, sí. But here is nice too.”

Your mum smiled, clearly pleased with the answer. “Aye, good girl.”

Ona turned to you again, confused, and you sighed before begrudgingly complying and leaning in. “She’s just saying good job.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah. Thank you.”

The conversation continued, with you acting as Ona’s personal translator whenever necessary. Which was, well, pretty often, actually, especially when your parents spoke over one another in their excitement.

At one point, your mother turned to her and asked, “So, love, d’ya get much time off or are ya always runnin’ about?”

Ona blinked, before she turned to you. “Translate.”

You tried very, very hard not to laugh, and you were only mildly successful as you were forced to set down the drink you were about to take a mouthful from. “She asked if you get much time off or if you’re always running around.”

Ona let out a soft oh before turning back to your mother. “Um…depende. Sometimes, yes, sometimes no.”

Your mother nodded approvingly. “Ah, so same as anythin’ really.”

Ona turned to you. “Again.”

“She said it’s the same with everything.”

Ona groaned quietly, rubbing her temples. “I need…the slowest English.”

Your father chuckled as he wiped his face with a napkin. “Ah, she’s grand. She’ll be fluent before ya know it.”

Ona didn’t even try to understand that one. She just looked at you with a look that said, help me, and you couldn’t help but grin as you squeeze her thigh again.

“He said you’re good.”

Ona seemed doubtful. “Too fast.” She looked down at her plate before sighing and dropping her hands.

Your dad winked at her. “You’ll catch up soon enough, pet.”

Ona stared, then turned to you once more.

You translated, and she groaned again, dropping her head onto your shoulder. “No puedo.”

“You can,” you assured her, pressing a kiss to her hair as you wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed softly. “You’re doing great, baby.”

She glanced up at you. “Really?”

“I promise.” You assured.

Ona let out another long, dramatic sigh, before sitting up and turning to your mother. “You…speak slow, please?”

Your mother nodded seriously. “Of course, love.”

She lasted approximately two minutes before she was rambling at full speed again.

Ona shot you a look, and you just laughed.

“Welcome to the family, baby.” You placed a fond kiss to her forehead.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[mammalsofaction]

The Rizzler

Rating: M

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Jealous Perry, possessive Perry, Happy Valentines!, I couldn't help myself, rizzler Perry, human Perry, speaking Perry, hewt and Stemmy, 0-100 real fast like.

Perry might have been approaching this mission with a tad more undeserved aggression than necessary.

It's been…hard, recently. To remember that he and Heinz weren't in an actual relationship, and that this was for good reason. And Perry's pretty sure that whatever it was between them going unspoken, it wasn't one-sided. Heinz had a bit of a talent of talking without saying much of anything, and so within the last few years of their relationship Perry had learned to read the fine print: where his touch lingered, their eyes meeting seconds too long, the genuine enjoyment of companionship, not to mention the unabashed domesticity.

They were a thing, not that they said anything out loud. Not in so many words...so he. Forgets.

Heinz had always had a more active social life than Perry himself, say nothing of his attempt of a love life in the wake of his divorce. He'd always known Heinz to be...the more sexually active between the two of them as well. Sure, the dating attempts had cooled down significantly since they'd gotten close a year or so ago, but never zero, so every couple of months, he'd get lonely enough to try.

Case in point:-

"Gott, that is so unfair, Perry the Platypus," he complained, scowling. " That thing has a single charge every 12 hours, and my date is tonight. One blast-you don't even need any help, rizzing wise! You have plenty of rizz on your own!"

Perry scowls, wondering who in the hell had taught him that. Vanessa, probably, although Norm was going through a bit of an online phase right now.

The Inator had been small, portable; only a little bulkier than a full-size pistol—the barrel stubbier, but it was all in all about 5.5'' give or take—and so the wrestling that ensued had involved a lot more handsy and personal than usual. (Which was saying something.) There was that usual tension charging the unavoidable intimacy that entailed much of their fighting now, but Perry had spent most of his attention on how pissed be felt—pissed as he usually does, when he's forced to share in Heinz's attentions, when Heinz chose to be difficult, pissed over the fact that he had no right to be pissed, so he was pissed over the fact that he felt pissed in the first place, and finally. Pissed over the fact that Heinz would think that he would need a "Rizzler-Inator" in the first place.

It wouldn't matter with the right person, Perry'd thought to himself. Heinz was sweet, attentive, dedicated. He was a great cook and a wonderful father, and he was a little dorky—sure, but that simply added to his charm. The lilt of his Drusselsteinian accent was rugged, and Heinz was interesting, and he didn't need a fucking Rizzler-Inator to score a hot date when Perry was right there in the first place!

We digress.

Their usual game of cat-and mouse had taken them over an hour. Heinz docked him in the jaw, and Perry had slammed his head into a railing. By the time Perry'd tackled him onto the balcony and sat in Heinz's lap, the weather had gotten stormy and grey, minutes away from the storm the radio had announced this morning. (Which Perry only noticed due to Phineas and Ferb's verbal dissapointment, and Lawrence's gripe on why such a storm had to happen on Valentine's Day.) Heinz insistently had the nozzle pointed to himself, and looking back—the effect wouldn't even be permanent, much less any way harmful to the people around him. There was, of course, that small political risk of repeat events following the De-Handsome inator, but even that could be easily curbed.

Nevertheless, Perry was being paid to ensure even that slight risk would never come into fruition, and he was feeling particularly vindictive. The Inator is humming: that recognizable melody of a fully charged machine, and with a twist of Heinz's wrist and a roll of places—the trigger gets pulled, and Perry gets a faceful of Rizz.

Despite the weather, Perry feels warm, tingly. He blinks away the black spots in his vision just in time to tune into Heinz's tantrum. He's been thrown back from the recoil of the Inator—not excessively, but Perry still has to roll over a bit blindly to find the source of that familiar whining.

Above them, thunder rolls. The first drips would fall, and soon.

"Maybe I'd have to cancel anyway." Heinz was saying sadly. "The blind date events include barhopping, and a dinner picnic at Danville Park. It's a bust—Lord, why do I ever bother?"

Perry frowns, pulling his collapsible umbrella out of his hat. His heart aches: with guilt, yes, and not a little bit of shame, because Heinz hadn't even meant to hurt anyone. He just meant to give his own heart a bit of a reprieve, and the hypocrisy doesn't escape him: it is Perry who hurts him, and it is Perry still who soothes the balm.

Heinz is still sat on his haunches when Perry comes forward with the umbrella, and Perry makes sure Heinz's titanium fingers curl around the stem as it exchanged hands. An unspoken hold this.

"Wh-?" Said Heinz. "Did you have this when you came here?"

Once he ensured the hold was secure, Perry finds his hands move to cup Heinz's chin instead, initiating eye contact—deep and heated. It's bold. Almost too bold. But Heinz clamps up at the sight of it, his cheeks growing flushed.

"Let's get you out of the rain," Perry says, and it's… gentle. As gentle as he almost never allows himself to be. "Sugar dissolves in water."

That does it. Heinz's face explodes in a riot of color, and even as Perry guides him up, up, to his feet, inside he is almost frozen stiff in surprise of his own actions.

"May I?" Perry says, gesturing to the Inator still clutched in Heinz's hand, and he hands it over silently, almost timidly. Perry doesn't look as he to throws it over Heinz's shoulder (though he hears it break over the tiled floor), but when Heinz turns—outraged—Perry grips his chin firmly to bring his attention back to him. "Keep your eyes on me." He growls lowly, pushing Heinz back, back, under the shade of the lab, into the wall. Heinz gasped, for another host of reasons, and he abandons his grip on the umbrella when Perry hikes his leg over his hip, in order to curl his arms over Perry's shoulder. "Or I'll make sure you do."

Heinz's breath stutters, restarts, and they're pressed so close that Perry can feel him gulp. "Well," he said weakly. "Nice to see that the Inator works."

Perry hadn't even considered that. But then again, his mind is on greener pastures. All he knows is that he's feeling manic, hot, brave. Making sure that Heinz was still looking—and he was, too entranced to even think about looking anywhere else—Perry throws his fedora over his own shoulder. And with it; the built in body-cam attached to it's band.

Carl has seen a lot, but OWCA wasn't about to have anything to do with what he's planning to do next.

"I understand the weather has cleared the rest of your…evening, doctor?" Perry purrs, and Heinz whined. "I have suggestions with what we might do to pass the time…inside."

Heinz gulps again, heart beating. When he speaks, it's with a breathy stutter. "I-well, I'm-I'm sure we can fit you in."

Perry smirks. "I'm sure you can."

Denial moment

[munsonsmixtapes]

Breathe Your Air

Eddie Munson x Gareth Emerson x fem!reader

What's supposed to be a smoke session with Gareth quickly turns into something very different and dirty with him and his best friend, Eddie

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) oral (m receiving) masturbation, drug use

special thanks to @the-witty-pen-name who I couldn't have done this without!

The garage closes as Jeff and Grant leave in Jeff’s car, leaving Gareth and Eddie alone. You’re supposed to show up any minute to smoke with Gareth and he’s scrambling, trying to make the place look clean while Eddie sips on one of his dad’s beers.

He doesn’t even know why Gareth is going to such lengths to impress you. You’re just a girl and he doesn’t care how hot his friend says you are, he’ll be the judge of that. Maybe he’s just reluctant because all of the pretty girls think he’s a freak so he’s just trying to protect himself. But if you’re hanging out with Gareth then you must be cool. 

He follows Gareth into the house, grabbing a bag of chips from the kitchen on the way to the living room where he makes himself comfortable while Gareth is hurrying to straighten up the place. 

Eddie collapses onto the couch as Gareth pulls down the screen over the garage door before heading over to set up the movie as there’s a knock at the door. 

Gareth is quick to pull Eddie up from the couch, trying to get him to leave, but Eddie hurries to stand behind Gareth as he opens the door and stops in his tracks when his eyes lock on you. Gareth didn’t tell him that you were so fucking hot. He swears he’s never seen anyone prettier and he’s trying to see what he can do to stay even though he'll definitely be third wheeling your date. 

“Hi,” you beam as you enter the house before closing the door behind you and it's only then that Eddie notices that you’re carrying a plate wrapped in plastic wrap. “Sorry I’m late but I brought cookies,” you hold up the plate with a smile and Eddie thinks you’re adorable.

You pull Gareth into a hug and he can’t stop thinking about how good you smell, something sweet but woodsy and he wants to bathe in it. You’re squeezing him tightly and he can’t believe that you’re actually hugging him. No other woman ever hugs him except his mother. 

“Oh,” Gareth lets out a laugh. “It’s no problem.” You could be as late as you wanted and Gareth wouldn’t bat an eye. He’s honestly surprised that you’re even there. You’re one of the most popular girls in Hawkins so he’s still wondering why you’d want to spend a Saturday night with him of all people. 

“And you must be Eddie,” you smile again, taking in metalhead that’s taken a step back to give you and Gareth some space. “It’s so nice to meet you.” You pull him in for a hug as well and now he understands why you’re so popular. You’re nothing but a sweetheart and he’s decided that he wants to stay in your arms forever with your chin resting on his shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze as if the two of you have hugged many times before.

But here you are in your pretty dress looking like something that’s just walked out of his dreams, being so sweet with your cookies, greeting him and Eddie like you’re all old friends. You’re actually the one who suggested this get together and Gareth still doesn’t know why. He just got talking to you at the record store where you work and didn’t think you actually meant it until you gave him your phone number before he left. 

And now you’re here, in his house and he’s just waiting for Eddie to leave so the two of you can smoke up. But Eddie’s still standing in front of the couch, so close to drooling that it’s embarrassing. You’re taking in the living room so Gareth takes the opportunity to turn to Eddie to tell him to get lost because he’s tired of him ruining the mood. 

“Why are you still here?” He ask in a whisper as you’re looking at the books on his mom’s bookshelf. 

“C’mon, man, you can’t kick me out now. She hugged me.” He’s saying it like it’s supposed to mean something, but it does mean something to Eddie. Girls hug him sometimes, but never like that, never like he’s meant something to them. 

“She was just trying to be nice. Besides, don’t you have that thing you need to pick up for Wayne?” Eddie does need to do that, but no way is passing up the opportunity to smoke with you. 

“I can get on my way home. There’s no way I’m missing this.” He doesn’t actually think anything’s going to happen but he just wants to spend some time with the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

“You’re just going to be a third wheel.” Eddie knows that’s true and supposes that he really does have a lot of things he should probably be doing than this. 

“Alright, I’m going,” Eddie grumbles as he turns towards the door. He’s about to open it, but you stop him, resting your hand on his shoulder and he turns to see the most pathetic look on your face. 

“You’re leaving?” You ask, looking really disappointed, even going as far as putting on a pout. 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Gotta get back to my uncle.” 

“You can’t stay for a little longer?” You’re stepping closer to him, reaching up and messing with his hair. He doesn’t usually let people touch it, but you’re the exception, especially when you’re looking at him with those eyes like you want to swallow him whole. 

“Well, maybe just a few minutes,” he shrugs as he closes the door, pulling you over to the couch. “Gareth, you’ve got the stuff, right?” He asks as you make yourselves comfortable and Gareth is sure that this is going to be the worst high of his life. 

He can’t fucking believe that Eddie ruining what’s supposed to be the best night of his life. He thought that maybe he actually get a chance to kiss you like he’s been wanting to for months, and maybe a little more. But now he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance. 

Once he comes back with the joint and his lighter, he sees that you’ve distanced yourself from Eddie, plenty of space between your bodies for Gareth to sit, but he decides to sit on the other side of you. 

“Ladies first,” he says as he hands the joint to you and you put it between your lips, turning towards him and he lights it up for you, watching you intently as you breathe in the smoke before turning to Eddie, motioning for him to move closer. 

He opens his mouth and you blow the smoke into it as Gareth watches, wondering why he feels so turned on by watching his crush and best friend shotgun. There’s something so hot, so sexual about it and it’s making his pants feel tight. 

Once you pull away, Eddie looks dizzy and you smile, turning to Gareth who’s holding his hands over his crotch and if you notice, you don’t say anything. You just motion for him to lean in. 

“Want some?” You ask and he nods furiously. 

“Please,” he demands but it comes out so pathetic like a whimper. 

“Alright, come here, pretty boy,” you grab hold of his chin and your hand feels so hot on his skin, almost like fire. He opens his mouth and as soon as you press your lips to his, he’s sure that he’s died and gone to heaven. He already feels high but he’s pretty sure that’s just you and your effect on him.

He inhales and you pull away far too soon, moving back to Eddie to give him some more smoke and he doesn’t something he probably shouldn’t. After he inhales, he grabs hold of your face, slotting his lips between yours. You’re shocked at first, but you respond pretty quickly, kissing him back as you try your best to hold the joint away from him so as to not catch him on fire. 

Gareth doesn’t even care that he’s not being kissed because for some reason, just watching is doing it for him. He’s leaning over, trying to see exactly what’s happening between the two of you and seeing your hands slide into Eddie’s hair is making him hard beyond belief. 

Your tongue is sliding into Eddie's mouth and as Eddie lets out a moan, Gareth lets out a whimper at the noise, but neither of you seem to be paying him any attention. He’s scooting closer to get a better look and swears watching the two of you make out is making him feel like he’s never felt before. 

Eddie is sure that this is the best make out session he’s ever had-not that he’s had much to compare it to-it just seems like you really know what you’re doing. And when your fingers wound into his hair, fuck, he just needs more of you. 

Eddie’s hand touches Gareth’s thigh as you pull away and Gareth’s brain short circuits, feeling the bi panic set it as you lean back against the couch, putting the joint between Eddie’s lips. He takes a drag and motions for Gareth to lean forward. Their lips touch as Eddie pushes the smoke into Gareth’s mouth and both of them are unsure why they like it so much. 

It’s so foreign but it feels so right, both of them staying like that until Gareth inhales the smoke. And once they’re done, you decide that Eddie’s friend needs to have a little fun too. You push him back against the couch then straddle his waist, tilting his head back as your lips find his. 

“Your turn, pretty boy.” 

“O-okay,” he stutters and you think it’s adorable that you make him so nervous. “Already hard for me, hm?” 

He’s not sure what he’s doing like Eddie was, but he’s trying, following along as his hands rest gently on your waist. He has only kissed one other person, a boy in seventh grade during spin the bottle. This, though, this is a real kiss, filled with so much passion and now he understands why Eddie was unable to stop. You lips are just so soft and he’s addicted to the feeling of your weight on top of him. 

You’re grinding on him now and he’s having a hard time now coming right then and there. You’re making a mess of him and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now. He lets his hands experimentally slide up your dress, resting on your thighs as you kiss your way down his neck. 

Eddie doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels the urge to mimic you so he gets closer, taking another drag of the joint and blowing it out before bringing his mouth to the other side of Gareth’s neck, giving it a hard suck that causes Gareth’s breath to hitch. This is officially the best night of Gareth’s life and he’s not sure that anything is ever going to top it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, his head spinning because of the attention he’s getting and when you get off of him, he lets out a whine but he’s instantly shushed when you bring your lips back to his neck, sucking on it like your life depends on it as Eddie palms his crotch through his jeans. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask, bringing your lips right by his ear and he feels his brain short circuit as it processes your question. 

“Please,” he whines and full on moans as you bite down on his earlobe. 

“Do you have a condom?” You ask, sitting back on your knees, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“No,” he shakes his head and just as he’s thinking that nothing is actually going to happen, Eddie pulls a condom from his pocket and holds it out as he gives Gareth’s neck a hard bite before pulling away.  

As you get undressed, Eddie takes the chance and places his lips on Gareth’s. He’s always wondering what they’ve felt like and now he finally has an excuse to see. Gareth is quick to respond, kissing Eddie back hungrily, the whole thing being mostly tongue as theirs tangle, fingers tugging on hair, hands sliding up shirts. 

Everything pauses when both of them pull away to see that you’re now just in your bra and panties, looking at you with open mouths and wide eyes as they’ve never seen a half naked woman in person before-well Gareth hasn’t-both of them almost drooling at the sight of you. 

You can see that Eddie is hard now too, but you feel like Gareth needs it more, groaning because of how desperate he is. And Eddie seems to be okay with that as you unbutton Gareth’s pants and pull them down and as you’re pulling down his underwear, his eyes widen as you spread his legs then get down on the floor in between them, patting the spot next to you and Eddie’s quick to join you. 

He takes another drag of the joint before putting it between your lips, letting you finish it off. Once it’s done, you put it out on the coffee table behind you before spitting into your hand, Gareth’s rock hard cock in it and giving it a few slow pumps to start him off then they get progressively quicker and Gareth is losing his shit, grabbing onto the couch cushion underneath him as if his life depends on it. 

Once you feel like he’s ready, you wrap your hand around the base and bring the tip into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, teasing the slit. Eddie is watching over your shoulder, wishing he could take your place, but he’s perfectly content watching. He could get off just from this and he’s not sure what that says about him, not that he cares. 

“Oh my god,” Gareth whines. He’s never experienced anything like this, but now he’s starting to get the hype of all of it, why the men around him are obsessed with being sucked off. 

You pull away all too soon and can hear him whine as he no longer feels your lips wrapped around him. You turn to Eddie and gesture at Gareth’s cock, wanting to let him in on the action. 

“Is that okay?” Eddie looks up at his best friend and Gareth nods enthusiastically. He really doesn’t care who’s sucking him off as long he gets the relief he needs. And besides, they’ve already kissed so what’s a blowjob? 

You move out of the way, wiping the spit from your mouth as Eddie takes your spot. He’s only sucked one other cock before so he at least kind of knows what he’s doing. 

You’re quick to hold his hair back for him as he grabs hold of Gareth and takes him into his mouth as if he’s done this exact thing a million times. He’s mimicking what he just saw you do and you look up to see Gareth grabbing onto the couch cushion again, his eyes shutting tight as Eddie starts to suck, taking more of him little by little, his tongue teasing the slit as he does so. 

You tie off Eddie’s hair with the hair tie on your wrist then move to sit on the couch next to Gareth, feeling like he needs some support. 

“That’s it, baby. Look at you, doing so well,” you encourage him, running your hand through his hair gently. His head is leaning against the back of the couch as he lets out a loud moan in response to Eddie’s work. As if you weren’t wet already, hearing the noise makes you even more so and you reach into your underwear to take care of yourself, your fingers moving rapidly  as you’re still trying your best to encourage Gareth. 

“Holy shit,” he moans again and god, what you’d do to hear him moan your name. 

Eddie’s got all of Gareth in his mouth, his nose pushed into his bush as he’s fully deepthroating it. He’s gagging, but he’s still going, desperately trying to get Gareth and just by the way he’s behaving, you can tell he’s close. But you’re the one who comes first, moaning Gareth’s name so loud that Gareth’s eyes widen as he turns to you. 

Eddie’s still working, his eyes shifting to you and he’s rock hard now as he sees your hand in your panties. Gareth comes not long after you do, screaming loudly as his knuckles are a bright white as he’s holding onto the cushion. 

Eddie’s quick to swallow before pulling Gareth’s cock out of his mouth with a loud pop, watching him with a smug smirk on his face as he sits there, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead. 

You push Gareth’s hair back as you pull your hand from your panties, dangling your slick soaked fingers over his mouth. A small amount drops onto his lips and he makes eye contact as he licks his lips slowly in a seductive manner before taking your hand and putting your fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking on them until they’re clean. 

“Do you wanna fuck me?” You whisper and he wants to, god does he want to, but he’s scared. He’s never actually done it before and he’s afraid that he’s going to do it wrong. But you look so hot and hearing you climax really makes him want to be the reason for you doing so.

“Please,” he whines and your face lights up. Eddie helps Gareth remove his pants from his ankles and you push him so his back is flat against the couch. You remove your panties and let them fall to the floor before lying on top of him, Eddie moving to be right beside the couch so he can watch the whole thing. 

Gareth thinks you’re going to get to it, but to his surprise, you lean down and press your lips to his, this kiss soft and sweet unlike your other ones. It’s slow and you take your time just getting to know his lips thinking to yourself that you could kiss him all night and never get bored. 

“This-this is my first time,” he tells you. “So don’t be surprised if I’m not good.”

“Shit.” You pull away quickly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth again. “I’m sorry, I-”

“No,” he shakes his head as he grabs hold of your hands. “I want to, Please fuck me.” He doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds. He just needs this so bad and he wants you and only you to be his first. 

“If you’re sure. But we can always stop if you’re uncomfortable.” 

“Okay,” he nods. 

“Eddie?” You ask, turning to the metalhead. 

“Hm?” He replies, and for a second, he’s convinced that you’re going to ask him to leave the room. 

“Can I have the condom?” You ask and he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember where he set it. He sees it peeking out from under Gareth’s leg and reaches for it before handing it to you. Once you have it in your hands, you grab hold of his chin and pucker your lips as you lean towards him. 

“Thank you, baby,” you say as you give him a quick peck and for some reason, that’s what makes him blush, not all of the stuff he’s done with his best friend tonight. That was nothing, apparently. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, now smiling like an idiot as he watches you put the condom onto Gareth. You finally top him and the feeling is so foreign, unlike anything he’s experienced, but it already feels so good. 

You start out slowly, trying to get him used to the feeling as your hands rest on his shoulders and he’s already moaning even though you’ve barely done anything. He has no idea what he’s doing but he knows that he’ll be talked through it. You know it’s his first time so you’re not expecting him to know everything.

Eddie unzips his pants and whips his cock out, spitting into his hand and grabbing hold of his cock, just waiting until it gets hot and heavy so he can get himself off. He goes for it when he watches you help Gareth take off your bra, your hard nipples driving the man crazy. 

You’re picking up your pace and so does Eddie so he can match you, so many noises filling the room between the three of you. 

“Buck your hips,” he tells Gareth who turns to him in confusion. You grab hold of his hips and pull them towards yours to show him what you mean. Once he gets it, he does exactly what you did, causing his cock to go deeper inside. 

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie moans as his hand is pumping even harder. This is better than any porn he’s ever seen and maybe it’s weird that he’s so turned on but neither you nor Gareth seem to care so neither does he. 

Gareth keeps doing what you showed him and other than his nervousness, you wouldn’t even be able to tell that he was a virgin. You think it’s cute that he’s awkward about it. It’s refreshing because too many men are so confident when they’re doing the wrong thing. 

“That’s it,” you encourage. “Just like that. You’re such a good boy.” Gareth is sure that he’s going to come just by hearing that.

“Harder,” Eddie demands and you both do as he asks, taking it to the next level and Eddie’s even more hard as he watches your tits bounce up and down because of how hard and fast you’re moving. Fuck, maybe he’s going to be the one to come first. 

And when he turns to Gareth, seeing how heavily he’s breathing, the sweat dripping down his body, it’s definitely doing something for him and he doesn’t know how the two of them can continue being friends like nothing happened, but that’s a bridge he can cross later. Right now, Gareth is the hottest man he’s ever seen and he’s totally okay with that. 

Gareth’s back arches as another scream falls from his lips, this time, your name slipping out and you’re nothing but flattered, knowing that that is going to be replaying in your head on repeat, what you think of when you have no one around you to get you off. 

“That’s it,” Eddie says. “You’re both doing so good. Just like that.” 

“More,” Gareth slurs and you can’t help but laugh. You’re not even sure that he has any more to give.

“I think we’re done.”

“Done?” He slurs, as if he doesn’t believe you, but you’re already getting off of him and reaching for your dress and slipping it on. 

“We can do this another time, I promise,” you lean down and press a kiss to his lips before handing him his underwear and jeans. Again? As in he can fuck you again and Eddie can watch? God, Eddie really hopes he can watch. 

“Okay,” he smiles and gets his bottom half dressed as you reach for your bra before heading towards the door, the boys following closely behind like lost puppies. 

“Oh, you forgot this,” Gareth holds up your panties and you take them from him before slipping them into his back pocket before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. 

“Keep them,” you wink then turn and give Eddie a kiss as well.  “Don’t worry,” you tell him as you pull away. “You’ll get your turn next time and it’ll be so rough that you can’t walk.” For once, he’s rendered speechless and you just giggle and turn on your heel with your bra and heels in hand, completely oblivious that you’ve turned their world completely upside down.

[hoe4hotchner]

Epilogue

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: Lot of law and court case stuff, 18+, Smut, oral, heated kissing, P in V, mention of injury.

A/N: This is the end…… Please bear with me on this one, when I went to edit the chater I realized that I had swapped the genders of the prosecutor and the defense attorney from what I had writte 2 chapters ago 😭😭😭 I hope I caught all places where I swapped them.

Masterlist

It had been months since everything had come to light—since Collins had been arrested. Since you’d started to rebuild your life, your trust in people, in yourself.

But today, you had to face him again.

You flexed your fingers absentmindedly, feeling the slight resistance as your wrist protested the movement. The cast had been removed weeks ago, but the stiffness remained. You still wore a brace for support, still had exercises from your physiotherapist to regain full mobility. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was a reminder—one you couldn’t ignore, one that despite surviving Collins, your mind had not been in the right place which had caused you injury.

It was a reminder of everything you’d lost. And everything you’d fought to reclaim.

The air felt heavier than usual as you stood in front of your mirror, trying to steady your breathing. You smoothed your hand—your good hand—down the front of your blouse, not because it was wrinkled, but because it gave your fingers something to do.

No amount of preparation could stop the nerves from creeping up your spine, sending shivers through your body. This was new territory. A courtroom wasn’t an ice rink, and there was no routine to guide you through it, nothing that would've ever prepared you for it.

A sharp knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. You exhaled slowly, pressing your hands to your thighs before moving to answer it.

Hotch.

He stood there in his usual suit, his expression calm and composed—but his eyes told a different story. There was something searching in his gaze, in the way he looked at you, like he already knew exactly how you were feeling.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice gentle yet firm.

You nodded out of habit, but he wasn’t fooled. His gaze flickered to your hand, twisting at the hem of your shirt. Before you could tuck it away at your sides, Hotch reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before wrapping fully around your good hand.

The gesture wasn’t unfamiliar anymore. In the months since your injury, since everything had changed, your relationship with Hotch had shifted too.

It wasn’t sudden, not a single moment that flipped a switch, but something steady, something that grew naturally between shared late-night conversations and moments that neither of you wanted to end. You spent nearly all your free time together now—movie nights on his couch, long walks where he let you talk about everything and nothing, stolen hours where he made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Somewhere along the way, he had become more than just the man who had protected you. More than the person who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart.

He had become someone you didn’t want to imagine your life without.

And now, standing in front of him, his hand wrapped around yours like it belonged there, you felt that warmth settle deep in your chest.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured.

Your throat tightened, the weight of the situation pressing against your chest. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, searching for something—you didn't know what, strength maybe? Reassurance? Anything to help you breathe through the suffocating anxiety curling in your lungs.

“I just…” The words stuck, and you hesitated, swallowing against the growing lump in your throat. Your fingers curled slightly against Hotch’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see him again.”

Hotch’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, never that, but enough to ground you, to remind you that he was there. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, it felt like a promise without words, a promise that he would do all he could to keep you safe.

“I know,” he said, his voice was calm. “I'm not going to lie and tell you that it’ll be easy, because it won't. Collin's defense attorney will likely try to grill you on the stand.”

Your chest ached at his words. He usually always knew exactly what to say—not in a way that dismissed your feelings or brushed past them, but in a way that acknowledged them. This time was not one of them.

You inhaled, slow and shaky, trying to find your balance amidst the storm inside you. “What if—”

He didn’t let you spiral.

“He can’t hurt you anymore.” His voice was firm. “You’re safe. And I’ll be with you the entire time.”

Your breath hitched, and you blinked rapidly, willing the burn behind your eyes to fade. You hadn’t even realized how much you needed to hear that.

How much you needed to believe it.

Hotch watched you for a long moment. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding anything from you—just waiting, letting you take what you needed from him. Then, after another beat of silence, he gave your hand one final squeeze before gently letting go.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, even as your stomach churned, even as uncertainty clawed at the edges of your sanity. You forced your feet to move, to take that first step out of your home, out of your safe space, toward whatever was waiting for you in that courtroom.

The courthouse was colder than you expected, the chill settling deep in your bones despite the cardigan you’d thrown over your blouse. The air smelled like polished wood and old paper, it felt like a strange mix, but in reality, wasn't. The faint hum of voices echoed down the long hallway where you stood with Hotch and the rest of the team. The space was too bright, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh glow on the marble pillars and cream-colored walls. Everything about this place felt rigid.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt once more, it was a nervous habit from your early skating days that you had never quite managed to shake, even with all the time that had passed. You knew you had no reason to be afraid—Collins was locked away, shackled, and awaiting judgment, police officers would surround him at all times—but the knowledge didn’t stop the pulse of anxiety running through you.

Emily stood beside you, her arms crossed as she leaned in slightly. “You okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. “Yeah. Just—” You hesitated, exhaling through your nose. “Just nervous.”

Emily’s lips pressed together in understanding. “That’s normal. Even if you know the outcome, it’s still a lot.”

You appreciated that she didn’t try to brush it off or tell you there was nothing to worry about. She knew better than anyone that facing the past, even when it couldn’t touch you anymore, was never easy.

From your other side, Morgan tilted his head toward you. “You know we’ve got your back, right?” His voice was calm and steady, filled with the same confidence that you had come to admire about him.

“Yeah.” You offered him a small, appreciative smile. “I know.”

But even as you said it, you could feel the weight in your chest growing heavier with every passing second.

Without thinking, your gaze drifted toward Hotch. He hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, but he didn’t need to. He was watching you, his eyes looked calm, taking in every shift in your posture, every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He always saw more than you wanted to show, but for once, you didn’t mind. Today it was important that he knew.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just moved a little closer, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back. The touch was brief, barely even there, but it was enough to ground you.

Before you could say anything, the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hallway creaked open, and a bailiff stepped into the corridor. “We’re ready to begin,” he announced, his voice firm but not unkind. “You can take your seats.”

Your stomach clenched.

This was it. The moment you had spent months anticipating, dreading.

Your feet felt heavier than they should have as you moved toward the open doorway, but Hotch stayed at your side, matching your pace with quiet patience. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push—just walked with you.

The courtroom was just as cold as the hallway, the wooden benches polished to a shine, the air thick whispers. The moment settled in your chest as you stepped forward, your pulse drumming in your ears.

You could do this.

The judge’s gavel echoed sharply through the courtroom, signaling the start of the trial. Your heart hammered in your chest as you settled into your seat beside Hotch, feeling the tension of the room press in from all sides.

“Court is now in session,” the judge, a stern woman with glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, declared. Her voice was commanding, and as she took her seat at the bench, the room followed suit.

Hotch’s presence beside you was comforting, his hand resting just close enough that you could feel the warmth of it without needing to feel his touch. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. His proximity, his silence was enough.

The defense attorney was the first to speak, her voice smooth and confident, her movements deliberate as she stood up. A short woman in her mid-forties with graying temples, her tailored suit fit her well, a clear sign of the money backing her. She adjusted her tie, then turned to address the judge.

“Your Honor,” she began, her tone respectful but laced with a subtle arrogance, you already hated her “I request that we begin the trial by reviewing the charges against my client, Mr. Eric Collins. While the allegations are certainly serious, we intend to prove that the evidence against him is not as conclusive as the prosecution would like the court to believe.”

The defense attorney paused, eyes briefly scanning the room. She met your gaze for a moment, and though you didn’t flinch, your stomach dropped. She didn’t look at you like a person—she looked at you as a tool to be used, to be twisted into something to help his case. You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the judge.

The judge nodded, her gaze sharp. “We will proceed with the opening statements. Mr. Williams, you may begin.” She gestured toward the prosecution, and you exhaled, the sound barely audible beneath the murmurs of the court.

The prosecutor stood, a man in his thirties with short and neatly combed, blonde hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. He was dressed in a simple black suit, his posture straight and commanding as he turned to face the jury.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the case we present today is about the pursuit of justice for a victim of an atrocious crime. The defendant, Mr. Collins, is accused of a series of actions that have left an indelible mark on the life of the victim. We will present evidence that shows not only his guilt but his complete disregard for the consequences of his actions.”

Your throat went dry as he spoke, the words piercing you like shards of glass. It was all coming out—everything you had worked so hard to bury. And as the prosecutor continued, you could feel the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest.

The prosecutor turned slightly toward you, acknowledging you without actually speaking your name. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching slightly in the brace.

“Witnesses will testify, documents will be presented, and video footage will be shown,” the prosecutor continued. “By the end of this trial, the only conclusion you will be able to draw is that Mr. Collins committed the acts of which he is accused, and that he must be held accountable.”

He sat down, giving the jury a moment to digest his words. You could feel the weight of their eyes, their gaze locked on either you or Collins as they tried to assess the truth of what had been laid before them.

“Ms. Avery,” the judge said, turning to the defense. “You may present your opening statement.”

The defense attorney stood again, her hands steepled in front of her as she addressed the jury, her tone more calculated than Mr. Williams'.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what the prosecution would have you believe is a clear-cut case is not as simple as they make it appear. Yes, my client has been accused, but that does not mean he is guilty. The prosecution will present a case based on circumstantial evidence, on theories and assumptions that are far from conclusive.” Her voice was smooth and persuasive, weaving through the air like silk. It wasn't for nothing that Hotch had warned you about her, you thought, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat.

She paused, allowing the jury to absorb her words. “What they will not tell you is that there is no direct evidence linking my client to several of the crimes he's accused of. No confession. No forensic evidence that definitively ties him to these allegations. Instead, they will attempt to sway you with emotion, to exploit the trauma of the victim and push you toward a verdict based on sympathy rather than facts.”

Your chest tightened. The words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a little light-headed. You weren’t just a victim in the eyes of the defense—you were a symbol to be used, manipulated for their case, hoping you would mess up. You felt your hand tighten in your brace, the pain that came from the pressure was enough to keep your thoughts away from your mind.

Ms. Avery wasn’t finished yet. She paced in front of the jury, each step deliberate, as if marking the space she claimed as her own. “We will show that the prosecution’s case is built on conjecture. We will show that the victim’s testimony, while certainly painful, is not enough to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

She shot a quick glance toward you, her eyes calculating, trying to figure out your train of thought, before continuing, “We will show that the truth is not so simple.”

The words settled over you like a blanket of ice, and you had to force yourself to breathe, to crack free. You could feel Hotch’s hand move slightly closer to yours, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second.

The judge cleared her throat. “Thank you, Ms. Avery. We will now proceed with the presentation of evidence.”

The room grew quieter, and more focused as the trial moved into the next phase. A team of forensic experts, investigators, and even a few of your former teammates would take the stand. Each piece of evidence, each testimony, would build the case against Collins, piece by piece.

The process was long, but it was necessary. And as you listened, as you tried to hold yourself together, you found strength in the presence of those who stood with you—Hotch, the BAU, everyone who believed you.

This trial wasn’t just about a man who had wronged you, how he had wronged and murdered others. It was about putting together the pieces of your own story, confronting the damage he had done, and finally taking control of the narrative, hoping that you could flip the page and begin a new chapter.

The courtroom buzzed with a tense energy. The prosecution had laid their case, outlining the terrifying events of Collins' rampage, while the defense had attempted to argue his mental state, trying to paint him as a victim of his circumstances. But now, the stage was set for the witnesses—people who had been right in the thick of it, people who had lived through the investigation.

Hotch sat in the gallery, his posture rigid as always. The back of his neck tingled with the weight of the moment—the weight of the entire investigation, the lives that had been touched, and the trauma that lingered in the air.

"Agent Hotchner, please take the stand," the judge's voice echoed through the room.

You watched as Hotch stood, his broad shoulders filling the space as he made his way to the witness box. His face remained unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes. He didn’t flinch when the room fell into a silence, all eyes on him.

After swearing him in, the prosecutor began his questioning.

"Agent Hotchner," the prosecutor said, adjusting his glasses, "You were the lead investigator in this case. Can you explain to the court how the BAU approached the investigation?"

Hotch’s voice was steady as he began, each word measured and precise. “We began by securing the crime scene and identifying the potential connections between the victims. The first priority was to gather as much evidence as possible to understand the unsub’s motives, patterns, and any links to prior incidents. Once we had a profile of the suspect, we worked to narrow down potential suspects in the area and focused our efforts on tracking down Collins once we had identified him as our main suspect.”

His eyes flickered over the room briefly, but his attention remained fixed on the prosecutor. You couldn’t help but feel respect for him. His methodical approach, his composure—it was all so deliberate, so composed. Even in this moment, standing before a courtroom full of people, he was the same Hotch you knew from the investigation. How he did it you did not know.

"And how did you handle the situation when you discovered that Collins might be a danger to those closest to him?" the prosecutor pressed, his voice a little sharper.

Hotch’s expression remained unreadable. "We immediately began working with local law enforcement to put measures in place. The situation was time-sensitive, and we knew that if we didn’t act quickly, there was a real risk that Collins could harm more people—especially those connected to the investigation."

He paused for a moment, taking a breath, his eyes now narrowing slightly as he added, “It’s our job to not only stop the unsub but to protect the innocent. At all costs.”

The weight of his words hit hard, the room quiet except for the sound of a pen scratching paper. It wasn’t just a statement about his job. It was about everything—the responsibility that came with being part of a team like the BAU, the lives they were meant to protect, the people who trusted them with their safety.

The prosecutor leaned in slightly, then spoke again. “And can you speak to the specifics of the threat Collins posed? How close did the situation come to escalation?"

Hotch's voice grew even firmer as he replied, "We knew that Collins was unpredictable, and his erratic behavior indicated that he was capable of extreme violence. We had no way of knowing when or where he would strike next, so our strategy was to close in on him as quickly as possible to neutralize the threat before anyone else was hurt by being present at major events regarding the athletes he was targeting."

The prosecutor nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer. The court seemed to hold its collective breath as he continued with his questioning, but Hotch stood strong.

As the questioning shifted to the specifics of the arrest and the team’s coordination, you couldn’t help but think back to everything that had led up to this moment—the fear, the adrenaline, and the quiet relief when Collins had finally been taken down. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the emotions were still as raw as the day it had happened.

And through it all, Hotch had remained the anchor—steadfast, always holding everyone together.

The defense attorney cleared his throat, standing and adjusting her suit before turning her attention to Hotch. She had spent the trial circling the BAU's methods, scrutinizing every step of their investigation, but now it seemed she was going for something more personal.

"Agent Hotchner," the Ms. Avery began, her voice smooth and probing. "I’d like to turn to a different subject. I believe you and Ms. [L/N] have developed a relationship over the course of this investigation. Is that correct?"

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift, his demeanor as professional as ever. He met the defense attorney’s gaze without hesitation. “That’s correct,” he replied evenly.

The attorney raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward as she pressed on. "And this relationship has become romantic, yes?"

Hotch didn’t flinch, his voice was controlled. “We did not become romantically involved until after the investigation was concluded. Before that, Ms. [L/N] and I were not involved in any personal way. We were working together to apprehend the suspect.”

The attorney’s lips curled slightly, clearly not satisfied with the answer, and she continued. "So you’re saying that your personal relationship with Ms. [L/N] has no bearing on how the investigation was conducted? You can assure the court that it didn’t cloud your judgment or affect the outcome of the case?"

“Absolutely,” Hotch responded firmly. “Our personal relationship developed after the case was over. During the investigation, I was fully focused on the task at hand—solving the case. My team and I conducted ourselves with professionalism, and that includes the way we handled every aspect of the investigation.”

There was no hesitation in his response. Hotch was calm, his posture unyielding, as if he had already anticipated the line of questioning.

The defense attorney took a slow step back, but her gaze remained sharp. “So, despite the nature of your personal connection with Ms. [L/N], you assert that the integrity of the investigation was never compromised?”

“My professional responsibility to the case, my team, and the victims, took precedence over everything else. The relationship didn’t come into play during the investigation. I assure you, and this court, that the focus was solely on gathering evidence and apprehending the suspect.”

There was a moment of silence as the Ms. Avery tried to gauge whether she should press on, but Hotch’s professionalism seemed to have deterred him. The attorney finally shifted her focus back to the case details, seemingly realizing that no further personal questions would shake the unit chief's resolve.

Hotch held his ground, his voice and demeanor a clear representation of the principles that guided his actions. The personal connection between he and you was secondary to the pursuit of justice. That was the truth, and nothing in this courtroom could change that.

As the defense moved on, Hotch let out a quiet breath. The questioning had been intense, but the focus was where it needed to be. His mind stayed centered on what mattered—justice for the victims, and closure for everyone involved. He didn’t need to explain anything further about his feelings for you; what mattered was what had been done during the investigation.

The air in the courtroom shifted as the bailiff called your name, a silence falling over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you had to fight the urge to let your hands shake as you stood, walking toward the witness stand with unsteady legs. You tried not to look at Collins, but you could feel his cold gaze on you, piercing through the room. Every step you took felt heavier, as though the weight of the entire courtroom was bearing down on you.

You took your seat and swore to tell the truth, but even as the words left your lips, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it together.

Ms. Avery was already rising, her voice smooth as she approached, an air of confidence that set your teeth on edge. Her tone was practiced, almost patronizing as she began.

“Ms. [L/N], you were once a student of Mr. Collins when you were just a child, correct?” She asked, her eyes cold and calculating as they locked onto you.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Yes.”

"And at that time, he was your coach, your mentor. You looked up to him, didn't you?" the attorney pressed, stepping closer.

You nodded stiffly. ���Yes, he was my coach.”

The attorney’s eyes narrowed, and you could tell she was starting to lay the groundwork for something far more sinister. “And throughout that time, you trusted him, didn't you? He helped shape your career. He’s the reason you’re here today, isn’t that right?”

The question felt like a weight crashing down on you, but you nodded again, trying to keep your composure. “He helped me, yes. He taught me.”

The attorney paced in front of you, her voice still smooth. “But now, many years later, you’re accusing him of sexual and verbal assault. Isn’t that interesting? You’ve had years to think about this, to come to terms with your feelings, and yet, after all that time, you choose now to speak up. What do you think that says about you, Ms. [L/N]?”

The words stung, her insinuations digging deep. “You’re suggesting, then, that what happened all those years ago, as a child, didn’t really matter? That maybe you’ve distorted the facts, or perhaps even created them in your mind?” She continued, her tone growing more biting.

You felt a surge of frustration building in your chest. How dare she? How dare she try to invalidate everything you had endured, everything you had carried with you all these years? Everything you had fought to get back the memories of?

You took a deep breath, your voice shaky but resolute. “What he did to me was real,” you said, your words coming out with a force you didn’t expect. “It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It was real, and I’m not going to let anyone, especially you, make it seem like it wasn’t.”

The defense didn’t back down, instead pushing harder. “But you were just a child. How can you truly claim that what happened was assault? You’re telling the court that everything Mr. Collins did to you, everything you experienced, was something you couldn’t handle, that you couldn’t have misunderstood?”

The question felt like a slap in the face, but you didn’t flinch. You stared at her, the anger rising within you, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “No,” you said firmly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m telling the court that I was a child, and he took advantage of me. And I’m not here to let you twist that, no matter how hard you try.”

There was a brief, tense silence in the room as the attorney stared at you, probably realizing that her words weren’t going to break you. Her mouth tightened, but you didn’t care. You had already said what needed to be said.

The judge’s voice rang out then, sharp and commanding. “This is a courtroom, not a place for personal attacks. Proceed with the questions, but remember your professional conduct.”

You nodded quickly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The defense attorney seemed to think better of pushing further for now, shifting the line of questioning. But the damage had been done.

You knew now more than ever that you could face whatever came next. Because the truth had already been spoken, and nothing they said could take that away.

The prosecutor stood up next, and the shift in energy was noticeable. The defense attorney had tried to discredit you, but now it was the prosecution’s turn to make sure your truth was heard. The prosecutor’s presence felt like a breath of fresh air after the tense exchange with the defense.

He approached the stand with grace. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to stand in your corner, but now, with the prosecutor’s calm, confident demeanor, you felt a small sense of relief.

“Ms. [L/N], I know this has been incredibly difficult, but I need to ask you to recount what happened at the Regionals, the events that led up to Mr. Collins’s arrest. Could you please walk us through what occurred that day?”

You nodded slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. You thought back to the competition, to everything that had led to that moment. It felt like it had happened so fast, like it had all been a blur.

“At Regionals... it was supposed to be the culmination of everything I’d worked for,” you began, the words coming out slowly at first. “I was focused, I had to be. But there was something about that day—something felt off.”

“The competition started, and I tried to push it all aside, tried to focus on what I was doing on the ice. And then he showed himself.”

Your breath hitched, but you kept going. You had to.

“He threatened me, tried to shoot. And I ran. Or rather skated off, trying to stay out of line not to get hurt.”

The room was silent, every eye focused on you. You took another breath, trying to steady yourself, but it wasn’t easy. The memories, the rawness of them, felt too fresh, too painful.

“And that’s when Mr. Hotchner and the BAU stepped in and took him down” the prosecutor continued, nodding toward Hotch, who sat at the back of the courtroom.  “Can you tell us how they were involved?”

You turned slightly, your eyes meeting Hotch’s for a moment. He was watching you, his expression soft but resolute. It gave you strength, knowing he was there.

“Yes,” you said, a slight tremor in your voice as you began again. “When I left the ice, I... I didn’t know where to go. I was terrified. But I knew I couldn’t go back. Once everything was safe again, Agent Hotchner came to find me to make sure I hadn't gotten hurt.”

“Hotch and the team... they made sure I was safe. They took my statements, and they didn’t waste any time. They found out everything they needed to, all the evidence, all the details.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pressed on. “I didn’t have to fight this alone. The BAU made sure of that.”

The prosecutor nodded, his voice reassuring as they continued. “And when Mr. Collins was arrested, how did that feel?”

You took a deep breath, the question pressing against you. “It felt like... like a weight had been lifted. Like I could finally breathe again. But it wasn’t just about the arrest—it was about what it meant. That someone believed me.”

The prosecutor smiled at you, though it was small. “Thank you, Ms. [L/N]. No further questions.”

As he stepped back, you felt a weight lift off your chest. You had spoken your truth, and you knew, deep down, that it had been the right thing to do. You had done your part.

And now, it was time to let justice take its course.

The courtroom fell into an expectant hush as the jury returned. Eric Collins sat in his chair, his expression unreadable, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, while you sat in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

The judge looked over at the jury foreman, who stood, a piece of paper in hand. The judge’s voice rang out clear and steady as he asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

The foreman nodded, his expression earnest. “We have, Your Honor.”

You held your breath as the foreman read aloud, “We, the jury, find the defendant, Eric Collins, guilty on all charges.”

The words echoed in the courtroom, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of the verdict settled into your chest. It was over. The man who had tried to destroy your life was now held accountable for his actions. The realization, though it didn’t erase the pain, brought a sense of closure that you never thought you would feel.

Collins didn’t react—he didn’t even flinch. But you noticed a small shift in his posture, a slight tension in his shoulders, as if the reality of the verdict was finally sinking in or if he was considering appealing the judgement. Regardless, he would pay for what he had done.

Hotch, who had been sitting next to you the entire trial, reached out and placed a reassuring hand on your thigh. You hadn’t even realized how tense you had become until you felt his touch. It was steadying, comforting, and you leaned into it, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

The judge addressed the room again, his voice firm. “The court will reconvene for sentencing at a later date. In the meantime, the defendant is remanded into custody.”

Collins was escorted from the courtroom, his face stoic. You didn’t watch him leave. Instead, you focused on the moment—the moment when the system had listened, and when justice had finally been served.

As the courtroom began to clear, you remained seated, the full weight of everything still settling over you. Hotch remained by your side, never once moving away.

"You did it," he said quietly, his words almost a whisper.

You managed a small smile, though the exhaustion was written all over your face. “We did it,” you corrected him softly, your voice hoarse from everything you had been through.

Hotch nodded, and for a moment, neither of you said anything more. You just sat there, a shared understanding passing between the two of you. It wasn’t over—not completely—but it was a step forward. And that, for now, was enough.

The kitchen was quiet, the only sounds coming from the hum of the fridge and the faint tapping of raindrops against the windows. The room was dimly lit, the warm light from the overhead lamp casting a gentle glow on the counter, where two mugs of coffee sat, cooling. You and Hotch had just returned to your apartment after the trial, everything still felt heavy, but there was a relief in the air now—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You stood by the counter, wrapping your hand around your mug. Hotch was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You could feel the pull between you, the unspoken understanding of everything that had passed between the two of you for the past couple of months.

“Do you ever think about how everything changed?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the delicate peace in the room.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every day,” he said quietly. “But I think it was for the better. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You swallowed, his words settling in your chest. “I don’t feel strong,�� you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like everything’s been... out of my control.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing against yours. “You’ve handled more than anyone should ever have to. But you’ve come through it.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded, taking a sip of your coffee to steady yourself. You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, Hotch had become someone you relied on—someone who made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against the side of your arm. His touch was gentle, but there was a warmth to it that sent a shiver down your spine. The space between you was shrinking, and you could feel his presence filling the room. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore—the way your heart was racing, the way your body seemed to respond to him without thought. You took a slow breath, feeling a wave of vulnerability rush through you.

“Hotch…” Your voice stuttered, but you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to leave—not now, not after everything.

He closed the space between you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “It’s okay.”

Before you could respond, he was kissing you—gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative exploration. Your breath hitched, and instinctively, you reached up, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, and the warmth between you intensified, the slow, gentle rhythm of it turning into something more urgent, more heated.

Hotch’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as if there were no space left between you that needed to be filled. You could feel the tension in his body, the same tension you had felt all throughout the trial—only now, it was different. Now, it was alive in the way his hands slid under your shirt, the heat of his touch burning through your skin.

You responded, your own hands finding their way to his neck, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to feel more of him. The kiss became more passionate, the need for connection undeniable. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low growl, his breath coming uneven.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes. I’m sure.”

And with that, Hotch’s lips crashed back to yours, and the world around you disappeared. It was just the two of you in that moment—no trials, no past, no uncertainty. Just him, just you, and the feeling that, for once, everything was finally falling into place.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as you pulled him back to you, your body pressing into his, responding to the intensity of the moment. His hands roamed down to your hips, pulling you against him, your body flushing with heat. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, each beat matching the rhythm of your own.

It was impossible to think of anything else—nothing else mattered except the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the connection that seemed to surge between you, stronger than anything either of you had ever known.

As the heat between you and Hotch continued to build, your kisses growing more passionate and urgent by the second, you suddenly found yourself swept up in his strong arms. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Hotch murmured against your lips, "Jump."

Trusting completely in him, you leaped into his embrace, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cupping your ass as he carried you out of the kitchen and down the hall to your bedroom.

Kicking open the door, he carried you inside, his lips never leaving yours as he lowered you gently onto the bed. You moaned softly as you felt the soft duvet beneath your back, the fabric a contrast to the heat radiating off Hotch's body.

He gazed down at you, his eyes taken in every inch of your curves. Slowly, teasingly, he trailed a finger down your neck, between your breasts, and over your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and husky. "I want to worship every inch of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body aching for his touch. Impatiently, you reached up to tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliged with a wicked grin, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. And soon your own clothes followed

You gasped softly as you took in the sight of his chest and the outline of his biceps, your fingers itching to explore every dip and curve. But before you could touch him, Hotch was on you again, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and chest.

He took his time lavishing attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple before he drew them into his mouth to suck and nibble. You arched beneath him, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him close.

Hotch's hands roamed lower, skimming over your hips and thighs. His fingers teased along the edge of your panties, dipping beneath the fabric to caress your already damp folds.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned against your skin, his voice strained with desire. "You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to be inside you."

His words only served to fuel your arousal, your hips bucking up against his hand in a desperate search for more. Hotch seemed to sense your need, quickly divesting you of your remaining clothes until you lay bare before him.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your naked form with a look of pure hunger. "God, I want to taste you," he rasped, settling between your thighs. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue."

Before you could respond, he dipped his head, his tongue delving into your already dripping folds. You cried out at the first touch, your head falling back against the pillows as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Hotch lapped at you greedily, his tongue exploring every crevice and fold with precision. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you were writhing beneath him.

As your moans grew louder and more urgent, Hotch slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "That's it, baby," he purred, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Your hands flew to his hair, holding him in place as he worked you over. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate search for more.

"Don't stop," you keened, your voice hoarse with pleasure. "Please, Hotch. I'm so close."

He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, building and building until it finally crested over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him. He worked you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you were boneless and spent, collapsing back against the mattress.

But Hotch was far from done with you. Crawling up your body, he captured your lips in a searing kiss that tasted of your own arousal. You could feel his erection pressing against you.

Breaking the kiss, he reached down to undo his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. You bit your lip at the sight, your arousal spiking even higher than before.

"I need to be inside you," he groaned, positioning himself at your entrance. "I need to feel you wrapped around me."

You nodded breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He surged forward, burying himself deep inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other.

Hotch set a slow, sensual pace, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth in time with his thrusts.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moved above you. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way.

As the pleasure built higher and higher, you could feel yourself tensing, coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of his cock. "Aaron," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm so close. Don't stop."

He answered with a growl, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growing thicker and harder with each passing second.

"Come for me, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me."

His words were all it took to send you hurtling over the edge once more. You came with a silent scream, your body shuddering and convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. Hotch followed a second later, burying himself deep inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms. He pressed soft kisses to your face and neck, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, tangling your fingers in his hair. "More than anything."

He smiled against your skin, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. You nestled into his arms, your body still tingling with pleasure.

Hotch had his arm around you, his hand resting on your waist. You melted into his touch, your body fitting perfectly against his, the weight of the day and everything that had come before fading into the background. In his arms, you felt safe, as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You didn’t need to say anything. There were no words that could capture the quiet perfection of the moment, the way everything seemed to have fallen into place without either of you trying. The chaos of the trial, the fears, the insecurities—all of it seemed so far away now, replaced with the simple comfort of his presence.

His fingers gently traced circles on your hip. You could feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and grounding. Your own breath was slow as your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the past weeks, months even, finally catching up with you.

You shifted slightly, finding the perfect spot to nestle into him, his body surrounding you like a cocoon. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, and you let out a soft sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. Everything felt effortless now, as if the world had fallen into place with a single, perfect kiss.

“Goodnight,” Hotch murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand resting on your back, pulling you even closer.

You couldn’t help but smile as you closed your eyes. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

And just like that, with his heartbeat thumping steadily in your ear, you fell asleep. Wrapped up in each other, you both drifted off, finding peace in the simplicity of being together, knowing that everything was perfect.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie got a few hours of sleep in before the loud creak of their shitty door ruined it. He squinted into the dark, groaning quietly when he saw the time. It was late. Late enough to be early. Almost 4:30 am.

He stretched, patient enough to not try to go back to sleep yet. He was hoping Steve would come in here soon, something that happened more often than not when he worked late. He only avoided him when he was too tired to shower, a habit that Eddie was trying to subtly talk him out of. 

But instead of the lone sound of Steve’s footsteps coming down the hall, he heard his voice, “No, no. He’s asleep.”

Eddie paused his stretching, curious.

“I think it’ll be fine if I keep quiet,” Steve said followed by the creak of their couch, “I’m in the living room anyway.”

Eddie sighed, too understanding to be annoyed. It wasn’t Steve’s fault he thought he could get away with it. Eddie had been sleeping better since whatever this was started between them. Good enough for the shower to not even be enough to wake him anymore.

Who would have thought that regularly scheduled orgasms could be the cure for insomnia? It just so happened that the effect was lessened when Steve wasn't in the bed with him. 

“Shut up!” Steve laughed, loud and clear despite the walls between them.

Eddie got out of bed, deciding to fake a bathroom trip so Steve knew that he had an audience. Even if he was slightly tempted to listen in, his natural inclination to be a nosey bitch poking its head out. 

“He’s adorable,” Steve sighed, his voice dropping. Barely audible through his door, “I’m obsessed.”

Eddie’s hand paused on the doorknob. He could hear Steve getting comfortable on the couch, the leather creaking under him. He saw him in his mind's eye, laid back, his legs hanging over one of the arms. 

“It’s perfect,” Steve said happily, “His mouth is insane, dude. It’s so pretty.”

It was time to give up the act of proprietary. Eddie pressed his ear against the door, officially eavesdropping. 

“Obviously, I did,” Steve laughed, “It was the first thing we did and it looked obscene. I don’t even think he gets how hot he is?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He couldn’t- was he actually saying what it sounded like?

“Oh yeah,” Steve said easily, “That too. But I don't think he's lying about it. He's too shy. He just has a perfect dick and is a perfect sweetheart. All at the same time. Of course, it's good! Amazing actually.”

His face was burning, a mix of flattered and incredibly embarrassed. Steve had warned him that he told Robin everything but God. He went pretty damn far with it. He hadn't expected him to be so graphic. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Steve said suddenly, his tone shifting, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Wouldn't I know more than you?”

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat.

“He’s not seeing anyone else,” Steve huffed, “Yes, I know it for a fact! You don't even know him.”

Eddie wasn’t. Couldn’t even dream of it. He let himself sink to the floor, grinning ear to ear. The stretch of it almost uncomfortable. He probably looked as creepy as he was acting. Sitting in the dark, smiling like a mental patient with his face pressed against the thin wood of the door. He couldn’t even care, not when it felt like he just won the lottery. 

“I’m telling you it’s not a ploy! Attractive people can be virgins,” Steve groaned, “Why are you being so judgmental? Wha-I am not shitting where I eat, you ass! Why are you being such a pill about this?”

Steve didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Nothing outside of a few huffs and some mumbling under his breath. Eddie could only guess that he was on the receiving end of a long lecture. 

“Yeah, he’s going to be around for you to meet!” Steve eventually hissed, “I’m telling you, this is different. Oh yeah? Like your judgement’s so great? Fuck off.”

Eddie could feel the tension from behind the door. Then more wired quiet, Steve’s sounds of indignation softening by the second. 

“No. I think I’m…” Steve trailed off quietly. Tapering off into a sigh, “I don’t think either of us are playing around anymore.”

Eddie was suddenly starting to feel guilty for what he was doing. But not enough to stop. 

Steve’s voice got quieter, just above an audible whisper. Rightfully paranoid of being overheard. Eddie was straining to hear, “Yeah. I do. I know it’s soon but… I want him to know. I think I’m going to tell him.”

Eddie was praying those blank spaces were filled with what he thought. But part of him couldn’t believe that his life was this. It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t be lucky enough to have the love of his life just drop into his lap. With mutual feelings?

But then again, what else could it possibly mean?

The smile was back in Steve’s voice, playfully huffing, “Yes. I will always love you more, you freak. You should be sorry. Plus, if you don’t trust my word then I’ll prove it to you. Oh no! Too late to back out now.”

Eddie could hear the couch squeak under Steve’s weight as he got to his feet, “You’ll see what I mean.”

an excerpt from this fic

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 2

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: there is a line for people who want to kiss Mel's burn hand, and I'm the first in it.

Words: 5,7k

The comments and compliments I received for this work caught me completely unprepared. Guys, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

Fifteen people in the last twenty days.

Fifteen people have complimented Melissa's hair in the last twenty days.

In theory, everything was done the same as usual, but by someone else's hands. However, the universe decided to make the redhead feel even more guilty about everything that happened on her last visit to the salon.

First, it was Barb. The older woman touched Melissa's red hair tenderly in the teacher's breakroom, without any apprehension or concern about the second-grade teacher's reaction, and complimented the way it was colored, saying it looked brighter than before.

But it quickly escalated into something more significant.

Ava asked if she did anything differently, and the principal did so while telling a flattering joke asking where her Roger Rabbit was, which even made Barbara laugh softly. Next, it was Janine and Jacob who also complimented her hair, with a shy Gregory by their side who just nodded.

Then more and more parents of students joined the complementary wave of affection towards her. And then Melissa was hearing compliments from Abbott’s new stocker and vending machine operator, a handsome man with hair that was too long for her taste named Julian who now shares the heavy workload of the truck with Gary (causing the bald man with the mustache to blush before he softly agrees with his new co-worker).

Then there are a few random teenagers, grocery store clerks, who stop her to tell her she looks hot, quickly finishing the sentence with a “respectfully” before Melissa even has time to respond to them.

Normally Melissa would love all of this attention, and in another scenario, the compliments would have encouraged her to go out after work on some random Friday night looking for someone brave enough to try something more than a compliment. But this time the Italian woman felt her heart clench and her mind race a thousand miles an hour as she thought about the hairdresser who did that job every time someone complimented her.

So she actively swallows her pride and visits the Riverfront Roots Salon once again. Melissa would truly rather die than apologize or admit she was wrong. She memorized this from her family and she carries this learning throughout her life, but even someone like the redhead needs to admit that nothing can be applied in life without at least one exception.

That's why Melissa makes this visit to the salon on a Tuesday, after the school day is over since the darkness of the night could allow a little more privacy between her and Y/N.

As she parks her car in front of Riverfront Roots, the redhead convinces herself that it doesn't hurt to make sure that only the minimum number of people witness this display of vulnerability coming from a Schimmenti as she watches what seems to be the last customers of the night saying goodbye to the receptionist before leaving.

What will she say?

She has no idea.

But everything goes down the drain when the redhead's idea goes wrong. So when she returns home at night, unable to even talk to the hairdresser to replace the image of discomfort written on Y/N's face from her memory with an apology, Melissa decides to call her confidant and arrange to meet her the following weekend, using the next few days to gather courage and ask for advice from the one who never failed to give her the best of them whenever the teacher needed it.

“Oh, Melissa. How are you, dear? Don't get me wrong, cuz I figured I'd get your call, just not exactly as an invitation for coffee...”, Andrea's voice rings out as Melissa enters her favorite coffee shop, sounding happier than the last time the teacher saw her, and the redhead imagines that this is the result of the free time resting that the Italian woman must now have in abundance thanks to her retirement.

“What? Can't I invite my friend for coffee and ask her how her days are going without the sound of the hairdryer making her deaf?”, her voice sounds playful above all, which makes the answer she receives from Andrea come along with a laugh.

“Of course you can, silly girl!”

And so they talk for several hours, drinking coffee after coffee and hardly caring about how electric their bodies will be after ingesting so much caffeine while sharing pieces of their current lives. At first, it is strange to look at the woman in front of them and not see their own face next to that one, sharing a reflection in the mirror, but it is fine and the two women quickly get used to the new arrangement.

“Of course, you knew I would miss you,” Melissa says with a laugh, chewing gently on one of the best butter cookies she has ever eaten after taking another sip of her particularly hot coffee.

“Oh, I knew that. But, that’s not exactly what turned on the light bulb in my head,” the older woman says with an air of wisdom that only someone who has ever lived in the world enough to know too much can have, and after taking another sip of her coffee, she continued, “You see... Y/N called me a few weeks ago asking for permission to pass on the mix recipe I developed for you to another hairdresser... So, even though she didn't give me any details, I figured something had... happened.”

Melissa felt that the blood under the skin of her face was truly burning with shame.

The redhead thought about swallowing the coffee in her cup in one go, hoping it would burn her tongue with how hot the liquid was, and thus be able to escape from answering what Andrea clearly wanted to know.

She knew she was cornered and had been caught, with no intelligent way to escape. Shame and guilt mixed together, creating a bitter taste in the teacher's mouth even with the memory of the cookie so fresh on her tongue.

But, Melissa's usual response to these situations, loud and ready for a fight, doesn't happen here. Not with Andrea. Never with Andrea.

“What a big mouth... Jezz...”, is how the teacher responds, mumbling as she looks away from her friend in front of her.

“Something tells me yours is too.”

“I just... I was angry, okay?”, for the first time the redhead is honest even in the midst of murmurs, “And she’s different, and she kept talking so I... I freaked out and said what I shouldn’t have.”

Andrea remains silent, just observing the discomfort of the one in front of her with affection and understanding, and it’s this look that makes Melissa continue to speak.

“I know I crossed the line... But she did too!”, the words come out of the teacher’s mouth accusingly before she shares the whole story with Andrea, who smiles and shows surprise at every bit of her student’s encounter with Melissa shared with her, especially with the scissors.

“And what do you want to do now? I even know other hairdressers, but–”

“No! I just... I don't know exactly how I should apologize... Don't get me wrong, I don't want to apologize, but I really know I need to.”, honesty and vulnerability continue their journey between Melissa's mind and tongue as she speaks, “I stopped by her salon but they didn't even let me see her, they just gave me a paper with how many grams of each dye I need for my whole head and sent me away. But since you told me she was your pupil... Well...I thought that maybe...”

“Oh... I see.”, Andrea's voice has the most suggestive tone Melissa has heard in years, and thanks to the look the older woman gives her, full of knowledge, the redhead's cheeks blush.

“Please Andrea, it's not like that.”, the sentence escapes her lips just as her neck also begins to blush, with a speed that would be justified if Melissa were being tortured, trying to prove her innocence of a crime that the teacher definitely did not commit. But maybe she thought about it.

Or if she had enjoyed many generous sips of her coffee, even though she knew how hot it was.

“I didn’t say anything, dear. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Andrea can sense Melissa’s embarrassment, so she diverts her attention to the bigger picture, even though her knowing smile never leaves her lips, “Look… You know you’re a good cook, and you’ve gotten your fair share of favors that way. Maybe it’s worth trying your luck.”

After that, the subject goes back to where it was before, and the teacher actually tries to focus on Andrea saying that she’ll be spending next summer in Europe, but Melissa’s mind starts working in a completely different way. She silently goes over (in her memory) the most beloved dishes from the cookbook she inherited from her grandmother while listening to Andrea talk about how it would be a pleasure to have Melissa over if she decides to run away from her family for the upcoming holidays. And when they pay the bill for the coffee, Melissa knows what to do.

“And Melissa… Cut off an inch when you get the chance, my dear. It's getting a little.. uneven.”, this is the end of Andrea's farewell to the redhead after a tight hug and a sweet kiss on the forehead, but the words are said in a maternal tone, of genuine care for the teacher that makes Melissa, even without thinking, respond to the older woman with just an affirmative nod and a loving smile.

And, as she doesn't want to think about what happened when someone else suggested the same thing, at least not now, Melissa goes home with only that feeling in her chest.

When the moon took over the sky that night, Melissa was lying under the covers of her bed, staring at the ceiling of her room and completely giving up on falling asleep, while her mind went over and over her conversation with Andrea. The older woman was right, as always.

She could cook something for Y/N.

Cooking has always been her passion since she was little, and that was one of the things that made the redhead and her grandmother even closer. The fact that Melissa was very good at it only helped her cause of being her grandmother's favorite.

Most of the time the redhead cooks as a thank you, rather than an apology, but the change is small. And so, the fact that the idea of ​​cooking to apologize has not left Melissa's mind honestly shocked her.

Most of her guys are just people from all over Philadelphia who work in different places and when they hear about how good her food is, they actively choose to seek her out, willingly offering services (sometimes illicit) that the redhead might be interested in in the long run in order to have the opportunity to taste her seasoning, thus forming an alliance.

It's impossible not to take advantage of this after a few years.

Finding out and memorizing what her most skillful guys' favorite dishes are. Doubling or even tripling the size of recipes that were previously made for only ten people, making her thanks become something shared with more and more potential “guys” (thus increasing the number of guys offering their services to her) so often that the redhead has forgotten how to cook for just two people in the last twenty years.

Cooking is a gift that, unlike her job as a teacher, the redhead didn't have to choose. It was flowing through her veins.

Melissa knows that this is one of the simplest ways to get what she wants. And maybe that's what made her block this possibility until now.

There was a voice inside her head, not the part inflated by her ego for always getting what she wants thanks to how good her food is and how everyone who knows about her talent wants to appreciate it, but the insecure and confused one that whispers in a soft voice that Melissa wants to manipulate Y/N.

And for the first time in a while, she’s not bragging about doing it. In fact, she doesn’t want to do it.

For some reason that Melissa still doesn’t know but keeps scratching her insides, she wants to earn Y/N’s apology, not demand it with her food.

And it doesn’t help that it’s been a long time since Melissa apologized to anyone.

Knowing that she won’t be able to sleep anytime soon and taking advantage of the fact that tomorrow will be Sunday, the second and third-grade teacher gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen, wondering what she should cook.

It’s already the middle of the night, and she has a lot of grading to do for her students’ tests tomorrow, but Melissa knows she won’t be able to concentrate if she doesn’t do that first.

Wrapped in a dark blue robe and hoping that Jacob won’t come to check why she is up so late at night, the teacher carefully opens the refrigerator and checks the ingredients she has and the ones she bought the last time she went to the farmer’s market.

Orange juice... Half a bottle of wine... Milk... Eggs... Fresh mascarpone?

When her eyes focus on the sweet cream-colored cheese, a train of thoughts runs through her head. Melissa knows less than little about her new hairdresser – which is her fault, really – but who doesn't like a sweet treat after a long day of work?

The redhead has dark chocolate in the pantry. Coffee is always a must in a teacher's house. And her cousin gave her a cocoa powder so rich and velvety last Christmas that it could melt in her fingers.

So tiramisu it is.

It was a simple yet sophisticated dessert, full of layers of flavors and textures that the redhead hoped would be enough to convey the care and effort she had put into the dessert. And that would certainly be worth more than a few words, right?

When Melissa goes back to bed, she knows that this is a good idea, and, bathed in this certainty, the redhead can finally see herself falling asleep as she climbs back to bed.

"Perfect," is the word Melissa whispers softly to herself, as she finally gets the thing that was preventing her from sleeping off her chest.

The next morning, the redhead took a quick shower and went downstairs, deciding to organize everything she would need to grade her little eagles' work on the dining room table before taking a deep breath and heading to the kitchen.

She hadn't made homemade Savoiardi in years, always using the ones from the Italian bakery that sold her favorite cannolis. But today was different. Today, cooking would make her put her feelings in order, perhaps even directing her mind to a light that would clear her ideas for what the teacher should say when giving the dessert to Y/N the next morning.

The redhead begins to separate the ingredients she will need to bake the cookies quickly, already deciding that it would be smart to have the necessary ingredients on the kitchen counter even before she finishes making her coffee. Anticipating the company she will have when she hears the sound of lazy footsteps coming from the stairs, Melissa fills one more cup than she would if she were alone with the dark liquid and begins to grab her frying pan to put it in the stove and prepare what she's going to eat.

"Good morning Mel-Mel!", Jacob sounds as he enters the kitchen, hoarse and sleepy, leaning softly against the kitchen counter and observing the ingredients that are displayed there.

"Morning Jacob. There's coffee ready.", Melissa answers softly, pointing to the coffee cup next to hers, still full and steaming, waiting for the younger teacher.

"Thank you.", the smile Jacob gives her is initially full of gratitude, but quickly turns to curiosity when he continues, "Oh... what are you cooking?"

The teacher isn't sure what exactly this question refers to, but considering how curiously he was looking at her ingredients just a minute ago, Melissa gives Jacob two simple answers.

"Eggs, and then baking."

"That's cool. Let me finish this, you already made me coffee.", Jacob says as he gently takes the spoon from the redhead's hand, then grabs four eggs from the fridge and takes her place in front of the stove.

After he moved in with Melissa and this new and sweet idea of ​​friendship was born between the two teachers, what had previously been just a few cooking lessons here and there turned into an intensive course. But the younger teacher loved every second of it. Jacob learned so much about everyday food living with the redhead and even managed to succeed at it, making moments like that more and more natural in the Italian woman's kitchen.

Taking advantage of the softness of her replacement in front of the stove, the redhead begins to gently check if everything she needs to bake is there until Jacob's voice sounds again.

"Did you know that astronauts can bake bread in some space stations?", the man says the words with childish excitement, but still with his eyes attentive to the eggs he is stirring gently on the stove, exactly as the redhead instructed him weeks ago, "Wouldn't it be nice to eat warm bread while you watch the earth from afar?"

"First, I'm not baking bread. But yes, it does sound good to them, kid.” Melissa’s response is simple and sweet, not irritated like she usually would be when she hears silly things like that at work.

They ate breakfast in comfortable silence. Melissa knew Jacob was going on a date that Sunday, so from the moment she woke up to the moment she heard Jacob singing in the upstairs shower before he began to get properly dressed for the lunch he would share with Avi, the paramedic at the local Philadelphia fire station, everything was going according to the plan the teacher had until she started baking.

Melissa tried to focus on the methodical rhythm of her task. Crack the egg, pour the white into a jar, pour the yolks into the mixer bowl, and repeat. But her mind insisted on going back to what she had done a few weeks ago. The words she had said to Y/N were sharp and thoughtless, but what weighed on her like a stone in her stomach was the change in the hairdresser’s expression. "She may have already forgotten...", Melissa muttered to herself, trying to calm her mind. But she knew it wasn't true.

She knew Janine didn't mean to say that she was a bad teacher when Courtney was transferred to her class, not really. It was just the younger teacher's ego and naivety, both screaming and destroying Janine's judgment for having been actively chosen.

But Melissa also couldn't deny that her mouth turned bitter the moment she heard her colleague's words, even if they were whispered.

She would never say it out loud, not even to Barb, but that first night, after hearing that unexpected insult, the younger teacher's words remained too vivid in the redhead's mind when the lights in her room went out and she had to go to sleep.

Maybe I'm not a bad teacher. Maybe you are.

She really didn't deserve that.

The memory flashed through Melissa's brain so quickly that the teacher even lost her rhythm as she added more ingredients to her mixture, but she recovered enough to start beating the egg whites. However, the continuous noise of the mixer only made her remember how much she had thought about it, lying in her bed watching the sun rise through her window when she woke up before her alarm clock.

A bad teacher.

Sighing, Melissa thinks about how much it took for her to understand what was going on in the mind of the younger teacher back then, and then turns off the mixer and begins to mix its contents with the few that were missing.

As she spread the molds she would need on top of her table and, with the experience and speed of a chef, the redhead put the freshly mixed dough she had in her hands in a pastry bag and continued without even blinking as she remembered that little clash in Abbott.

When Janine got upset about being described as an inexperienced teacher in the teachers break room, the redhead hadn't even blink, and that was why she started teasing the younger woman.

Because, to the redhead, it was obvious that she was a more experienced teacher.

If Melissa, a teacher with over twenty years of experience, wasn't more experienced than a teacher with only three, then Melissa was doing something very wrong not only with her life but also with the lives of the children she taught. The fact that the two woman had different times to prepare and perfect themselves to where they were now, both in the same place (teaching Abbott Elementary as second-grade teachers at the same time), had nothing to do with Janine's qualities as a teacher.

Eventually, she managed to explain this to the younger teacher.

"Thank God.", was the muttered thought that Melissa let slip between her lips as she put her Savoiardi in the oven after sprinkling them with her mixture of sugar and cornstarch, automatically starting the timer.

Melissa forgave Janine because she knew she didn't mean it with all her heart. The younger teacher was foolish but not cruel. She couldn't be cruel even if she tried.

Melissa knew. But Melissa knew this because she knew Janine.

The problem was that... Y/N didn't know Melissa.

So what the hell was she going to do if the hairdresser didn't accept her apology?

And so it was over. Her mind was just taking away the possibility of a peaceful morning for Melissa. Because not even her grandmother's collection of favorite Italian songs would be fair competition for what was starting to form in the redhead's mind.

The redhead isn't someone who has a problem with someone she barely knows not liking her. Melissa sometimes even triumphs over this idea of ​​being disliked by people close to her, so someone she doesn't know should simply mean nothing.

When Uncle Archie says she's his least favorite in the family, it doesn't mean anything. It's an honor, really, and the words of her mother's brother would never keep her awake at night. And he is family.

Now among people she knows, Schimmenti loves the idea of ​​being seen as unreachable, distant and unsociable. But there is something about that hairdresser...

With a huff, Melissa simply grabbed a cloth within her reach and began to clean the counter of her sink, ignoring the insistent sound of the timer that finally went off, still lost in all these thoughts.

Maybe it's because the hairdresser really didn't deserve those words... Maybe it's because the poor woman was just doing her job... Maybe it's because the hairdresser is connected to Andrea... Or maybe...

When the smell of sugar began to intensify, Melissa finally realized that the time had passed. With a start, the redhead opened the oven, letting out a wave of heat so intense that it made her eyes water. The teacher hurriedly pulled one of the baking sheets out of the oven, her bare fingers touching the hot metal before she realized her mistake.

"FUCK!" she groaned loudly, backing away quickly, knocking the tray onto the counter. One of the cookies fell to the floor with a dry, crunchy sound, while her instinct forced her to hold her hand against her chest, her eyes watering.

The burning heat pinked up her palm like an immediate punishment, and defeated Melissa finally turned on the kitchen faucet, placing her red hand there.

"MELISSA??" Jacob's shrill voice sounded faster than she imagined. And more desperate too.

For a moment, the older teacher stood there, staring at the cookie on the floor and feeling the buzzing in her throbbing skin as she felt the flow of water. The pain was real, but it served only as a reflection of something greater: guilt.

“I’M FINE, JACOB!” the redhead yells back at her roommate, even though she knows that from the sounds she hears upstairs, he must be desperately putting on the first piece of clothing he can find and then coming to check on her.

By the time he appears in the kitchen, as out of breath as Janine had been running around in her early years as a teacher, the pain has already subsided. But the younger teacher doesn’t care about that, or the fact that Melissa honestly tells him that she used to get burned all the time when she was younger and that heat tolerance is in every Italian woman’s blood, as he gently rubs some burn ointment from his personal first aid kit onto her burned fingertips.

After repeating what she imagines to be a thousand times that she is fine and perfectly capable of being alone, Jacob finally leaves her alone and goes on his date, giving Melissa the space she needs to sit at the kitchen table. She doesn't want to sound insane, but the savoiardi, perfectly shaped but with some slightly over-brown, seemed to judge her silently.

With a fork and using her non-dominant hand, Melissa tried to transfer all the cookies she baked to a covered container as soon as they cooled and went to her living room.

Finishing the corrections of her students' tests with her non-dominant hand takes longer than she imagines, taking up most of her morning and afternoon. But at least she is back in the kitchen when Jacob returns from his meeting, with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, a sweet smile and lost eyes as he asks her if her fingers still hurt.

She softly denies it, with a smile on her face and thankful for Jacob's concern written in his eyes. He understands even the words she doesn't say, and she is also thankful for that as she grates some of the dark chocolate she will need to finish her recipe the next day and puts it in a covered container.

On Monday morning, Melissa gets up ready early.

If asked, she would say that she set her alarm to wake her an hour and a half earlier, but the reality is that her nerves did the job without the help of technology.

Calmly, Melissa took the mascarpone from her refrigerator and began to make the cream that would bring the entire recipe to life. She beats the egg whites with the egg yolk, and uses the mixer to first mix the sugar, then the mascarpone and finally the carefully beaten egg whites.

When everything was ready, the redhead took a deep breath and, next to the precious dish she had chosen, arranged on her counter the Savoiardi cookies made the day before, the grated chocolate, the mascarpone cream and began to assemble the dessert. She dipped the cookies in a little room temperature coffee, one by one, taking care to make sure they were just the right amount of wet so that she could arrange them on the bottom of that precious glass dish, creating an even base and trying to ignore how much she wished the hairdresser could see the care she put into it.

When Jacob finally came downstairs, she was already spreading the fourth layer of the mascarpone cream, smoothing it with a spatula to ensure that each part of the dessert was perfect. When she finished, the redhead noticed that it was exactly ten minutes before the time she and the younger teacher left the house every day, so the redhead took her time sprinkling cocoa powder on top delicately, as if she were drawing an invisible message to Y/N.

Forgive me. I'm sorry.

Melissa wasn't sure.

But what she knows for sure is that Jacob is practically melting with curiosity in his passenger seat as he holds the dessert in his lap.

The Italian woman wanted to rest the tray on her back seat, as she always does when she needs to take something important to school. But he asks so genuinely to carry it that Melissa doesn't have the heart to tell him to take the bus that day. Especially after his ointment worked wonders by almost completely healing the burn on her hand.

At least not inside the car, since she takes the tray from the younger teacher's hand and is the one responsible for putting it in the refrigerator in the teacher's break room.

"Oh. This is a...”, Janine's voice is uncertain as she inspects the tray that prevents her from storing her sandwich on the common refrigerator shelf, already stretching her fingers to get a better look at what it was.

“It's mine. Do you have a problem with it?”, Melissa says rudely just so that there are no additional questions, but, as usual, Janine doesn't get the hint.

“That's beautiful. But can I—”, Janine starts again only to be interrupted.

“It's not yours. So don't touch it.”

After that, a heavy silence takes over the break room for a few moments.

“She spent the whole day yesterday making it... and she even got burned and then she was putting it together this morning.”, the youngest man in the room mumbles to his friend, not as quietly as he imagines he did since everyone in the room hears Jacob's words even with the news on the television.

“Did she give you a piece?” Janine mumbles back to Jacob, now curious. He shakes his head at the younger woman, purposely leaving out the fact that Melissa left a fair amount of the cream she used for that tiramisu in a small bowl, next to some of the homemade cookies just for him this morning. And that’s why Jacob gets a slap on the arm from the redhead along with an irritated look as he passes her on his way to the coffee maker to refill the dark liquid in his cup. Finally, intrigued by the younger man’s groan of pain, Barbara looks at the refrigerator that Janine still has open, trying unsuccessfully to put her lunch inside, and sees the reason for everyone’s commotion. A big tiramisu. But she also sees something that no one else does.

Something that cannot be questioned is that, out of everyone there, Barbara knows Melissa like no one else and is able to figure her out without even trying. And, with a small look at the glass dish in question, she had already figured her friend out.

That was one of a set of five glass dishes that Barbara Howard had heard about and only seen from a distance. Before her third year of marriage, the redhead's ex-mother-in-law, who was battling lung cancer although she still refused to give up smoking, distributed her most precious possessions to her family. And among them was that set that had been desired by all the women in Joe's family for many years.

As expected, four of the dishes were divided among Mary Alice's four daughters, but, surprising the redhead in a way she never imagined possible, Melissa was given the last one of the set, much to the despair of Joe's older brother's wife. Melissa's ex-husband's mother told the teacher that her talent for cooking would give a better destination for the last piece, unlike the idiotic fight that the sisters would probably start over the unequal number of the set.

Even after the divorce, the heartwarming gift was never claimed by Joe.

So Barbara knew that the tiramisu in question, taking up a huge space in the refrigerator of the teachers' break room on the first floor of Abbott Elementary, was not like any other.

"Girlfriend?" Barbara says softly to get the redhead's attention, speaking again only when Melissa's green eyes are looking directly into her dark ones, "Don't get involved in anything dangerous, please."

"I won't..." Melissa's voice no longer has the bite it had when she spoke to the other teachers, "I swear! It's just... an apology."

"For Joe?", the first-grade teacher knows she might be pushing, but she can't help but ask.

"No!", it's almost a scream, the redhead's tone of voice sounds scared and indignant, but it calms the teacher next to her.

And that, for now, is enough.

At the end of the day, with the tiramisu neatly packed and in her passenger seat, Melissa got into her car and drove to the salon where Y/N worked. The teacher's heart was beating fast as she parked and walked to the entrance, holding the dessert tightly even though her hands were sweaty. As she entered, the sound of scissors and the buzz of conversation seemed to fade in her mind. Her eyes searched for Y/N, who was distracted by a client and she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The last time she tried to talk to the hairdresser, Melissa gave her name right at the entrance and the receptionist automatically started searching through her notes for the note addressed to her, but now the redhead knew better.

"My name is not important. Just say that someone really wants to talk to her."

"Y/N!" the receptionist shouts the hairdresser's name loudly, using her vocal cords without any remorse, "There's a redhead who wants to talk to you."

“Is she hot?”, the sound of Y/N’s voice rings out from a distance to Melissa amidst a laugh, at the same time that her rhythmic footsteps echo on the floor of the salon, as if the hairdresser wasn’t exactly running, but in a kind of hurry and curiosity to know what was waiting for her at the reception.

When the Brazilian woman turns the glass corridor and finally appears in front of the redhead, with a soft smile on her face, Melissa can’t help but think that Y/N is even more beautiful than the first time she saw her.

But that smile doesn’t last long because, the moment the hairdresser’s eyes meet Melissa’s green ones, Y/N’s soft face turns into a frown as she asks harshly:

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

[x-aefx]

Hey there beautiful, I have a request if that's okay!

We’re a bartender at the local bar where Billie lives, and it's been a rough day for us. We’re not in the best mood—until we spot a stunning woman sitting at the bar: Billie.

Curious, we make our way over to chat with her and soon learn that she’s only there because a few of her friends dragged her out for the night—even though she doesn’t drink. Despite that, we immediately hit it off, sharing laughs and good conversation. By the end of the night, we’ve even got her number!

STRANGER - BILLIE EILISH X FEM!READER

A/N: sorry this took so long but I hope you like it🤍

No warnings.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

You scrubbed the bar with a cloth harshly, going over spots you had already done as irritation pooled inside you. Everything was annoying you today, you didn't know why.

Perhaps it was because you were supposed to have today off, or because you really hated working in this shitty place, or maybe it was the men who constantly eyed you down just a few seats away.

You knew those men of course, you knew every person in this bar by name. It was a local place, filled with local people you had talked to or seen at some stage of your life.

Your arm began to get tired as you rubbed the cloth in circular motions against the counter top. A strand of hair fell in front of your face as you pressed firmly against the wood.

"Ahem." One of the men cleared his throat loudly to get your attention. "I want a refill." He called over to you.

Knowing if you showed any kind of attitude your boss would be told immediately, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a second, calming yourself before you went over to the man. You threw the white cloth over your shoulder as you approached the other end of the bar.

Wordlessly you took the man's glass and began refilling his beer, his third in an hour.

"Brighten up sweetheart and give us a smile." He laughed and soon the other men did to.

You sighed, placing the now full glass in front of him, more harshly then you intended, and turned away from them wordlessly. Your hand reached for the cloth over your shoulder, you planned to continue on cleaning.

As you walked, you spotted an unfamiliar figure sitting at the very far side of the bar. Unlike everyone else in this place, you didn't recognise her.

Discreetly, you tried to get a better look at her to see if maybe you did recognise her. You pretended to wipe down the counter beside you as you stole quick glances at her.

Her hair, from what you could see from under the black beanie she wore, was black. Her skin was pale and clear, her lips a rosy hue of pink.

Who was she?

You tried to forget about her as you kept yourself busy. It didn't work. You chatted with customers as you served their drinks, but your eyes always strayed to her.

What was she doing here alone? Who was she? Why has she been sitting in the one spot, and not talking to anyone or dancing? She wasn't even drinking any sort of alcoholic drink, only a can of coke infront of her which she barely drank from.

As the night went on customer's became scarce, most people too drunk to even stand, yet the mystery woman remained sober as ever, in her seat where she had been all night. Occasionally a few people would try get her onto the dance floor or to have a drink, but the girl always refused, assuring them they were alright.

When there was nothing left to do and curiosity got the best of you, you decided to go over to her. You just wanted to figure out who she was and why she looked so unhappy to be here.

You bit your cheek as you approached, leaning against the bar opposite her.

When you stopped before her she immediately looked up, meeting your gaze.

You were going to say something but stopped yourself. Her eyes were the most unique shade of blue you had ever seen. They were beautiful and hard to look away from. Something about the way she was looking at you made you lose all your thoughts.

Billie sensed you approach. She fought back her cocky smirk when she saw you get all nervous when she met your eyes, though ultimately she couldn't hold it back.

You snapped out of your trance when the girl cleared her throat, your cheeks becoming red when you seen her smirking face, knowing you had been caught staring.

You cleared your throat, too, standing up straighter, trying not to come off as nervous as you now felt under her piercing stare.

"You've been sitting here for some time, never ordering a drink, never talking to anyone, are you waiting for someone?" You asked the question that had been nagging at your mind the whole night.

Billie paused. After a moment of thinking she looked behind her to the dance floor, her two friends that she had came here with were dancing, holding eachother up as they were both drunk, she turned back to you, sighing.

"This isn't really my scene, but my friends convinced me to come." Billie confessed, "I'm not really the drinking type, and I'm not in the mood to dance. That's how I found myself here."

You smiled. "That's how you found yourself talking to me." You corrected her, trying to lighten the mood. Billie said nothing but she had this smirk on her face that had you wanting to keep this conversation going.

"Yeah." Billie sat up straighter, her eyes never leaving mine. "What's your name?"

You smiled, "y/n" you responded, "you?"

"Billie." She said.

You tilted your head to the side in thought. "I've never seen you around. Are you from here?" You frowned. You were sure if she lived close, you would have seen her at some point.

Billie laughed quietly to herself. "Yeah, I do." Billie said. You frowned, making Billie laugh again. You couldn't help but smile at the sound of her laugh. "What?"

Billie shook her head. "Nothing, nothing."

You frowned again, "No, you have to tell me!" You begged playfully.

Billie leaned in closer to you, her eyes dropping momentarily to your lips. "I'm just not used to these types of interactions, going this kind of way." She shrugged.

You stared at her, completely puzzled, left asking yourself , 'either she's really smart or I'm really dumb.'

"Ok, what the fuck does that mean?" You said bluntly, her words not making any sense to you.

Billie laughed again but this time, this time it was a full belly laugh, she threw her head back as she laughed with a full smile, her perfectly white teeth on display.

Billie shook he read again, dismissing your question.

"Fine, keep your secrets." You playfully pouted.

"You'll figure it out." Billie waved her hand, "I assume you live near once you work here."

You nodded your head in confirmation. "Born and raised." You said proudly.

Billie smiled. There was a pause. Billie just admired you for a second, her face tilted as her eyes searched yours before travelling down the whole of your face.

You felt giddy under her gaze, in her presence in general. Maybe it was her beauty, or maybe it was her confidence, you didn't know. There was also an air of mystery around her that pulled you in, made you want to get to know her more.

"I can't believe I've never seen you around before." You said in disbelief, "we live in the same neighbourhood!" You giggled.

Billie smirked again. There was something sparkling in her eyes, mischief, trouble.

"I travel a lot." Billie said simply.

You raised a brow, "holidays or for work?" You questioned.

"Work." She answered with a small nod of her head.

"How much travelling exactly are we talking?" You continued your questions.

Billie thought of her answer for a moment.

"Uh." She pondered, "it changes year from year, currently it's for majority of this year with short breaks here and there."

You blew out a breath, impressed. "What job do you have and where do I apply." You joked.

Billie laughed at your remark. She rested her head in her palm, looking at you with a soft shake of her head. "You don't want my job." She reassured.

You scoffed. "You're travelling for most of the year, of course i want your job."

Billie stayed quiet for a second.

"So, what job do you have?" You couldn't deny you were intrigued.

Billie smiled teasingly, leaning closer towards you in her seat.

"Guess." She said lowly.

You sighed. You wanted to know more about this mystery woman, but you didn't have the patience to solve riddles to find everything out.

You groaned, your head falling back as you watched her find your annoyance amusing. "There is not a single job that requires this much mysteriousness."

"What can I say? I'm a mysterious person." Billie faked a bow.

You chuckled, accepting she wasn't going to reveal all her secrets.

"Fine, fine, I'm done snooping." You raised your hand in surrender.

Billie pouted, her brows furrowing. "Hey I didn't get to ask you questions. " She said in a playful, babyish tone.

"I think your friends need you over there." You pointed behind her to where two girls were trying to gain her attention, successfully avoiding her question.

You smiled at her triumphantly, because you knew you had won whatever little game the two of you had been playing.

Billie looked back at them, mouthing something to them, before turning back to you with her hand out.

You looked at her hand questionably, not understanding what she meant.

"Your phone." She prompted, sounding too confident yet you gave it to her anyway.

You bit back a smile as you watched her type in her phone number quickly. She she had finished she went to give your phone back to you, but stopped, she looked up at you slyly before going on your phone again. You saw her exit the phone app, that was all you saw before she had held the phone closer to her, blocking your view of shat she was doing on it.

You watched her, completely and utterly confused as she started typing.

This woman remained a mystery to you, but still you found yourself being lured in.

She stopped typing and instead of handing you back your phone, she left it flat on the bar, the screen facing down but you could tell it wa still turned on from the light reflecting on the counter.

"I'll see you around." Billie winked at you with a proud smile. As soon as she said those words, she was gone. You watched her enter the sea of people to where her friends were. You watched as she helped them walk through the crowd and out of the bar, out of your sight completely.

You blew out a breath once she was gone. Your eyes flickered down to your phone and you remembered watching her type something whilst hiding it from you. You figured you could find put what she had been doing by checking your phone history.

When you lifted your phone it was still turned on, immediately you were met with a Google search Blie had made. Your eyes found the I.age first before any writing. An image of her.

Your eyes widened as you recognised her. Why was she on Google? Then you quickly read the search, Billie Eilish, it read. Reading further, you quickly realised she was famous and had googled herself for you to see since you hadn't recognised.

You found an article titled, Billie Eilish tour dates released!

Your mind went back to the conversation you had with her.

I'm just not used to these types of interactions, going this kind of way.

She wasn't used to people not recognising her.

I travel a lot.

She goes on tour.

You wanted to slap yourself for being so slow and not catching on.

"That motherfucker!" You muttered under your breath as you continued reading everything about Billie. Although the corners of your lips lifted as you stopped yourself from smiling, you remembered how she had given you her number. You remembered her smirk and pretty blue eyes.

You shook your head with a smile, needing to get back to work. "That motherfucker. " You repeated, this time with a giddy smile as you replayed the interaction in your mind, your stomach filled with butterflies.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

[myloveer0]

My lovely darling

Girlfriend Ambessa Medarda X Fem!reader

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Summary: You were just trying to survive your family reunion when Ambessa Medarda—your girlfriend—showed up unannounced. Now, you have no choice but to introduce her to your entire clan. What’s got you nervous isn’t just introducing any partner—it’s the fact that you’re dating a woman who also happens to be twice your age.

💋 Enough with the smut we need sweet girlfriend Ambessa💋

Well… I didn’t expect everyone to like it that much, but anyway, here’s part 2. Part 3 will be last and be upload the day after tomorrow.... Enjoy reading!😊😉

Part II

This was not how tonight was supposed to go.

You had it all planned out—show up to the family reunion, smile through the awkward small talk, dodge questions about your love life, and make a graceful exit by faking a headache. The perfect escape. Then you'd be back to your regular life—your job, your apartment, and most importantly, your girlfriend.

Simple. Easy. Safe.

But Ambessa had other plan.

Amazing? She literally flew from the other side of the country just to see you—because she missed you already. Like you’d left her and promised to be back after two weeks.

And now, here she is, showing up before those weeks are even over… and demanded to meet your parents. You should’ve run. You should have. But with Ambessa’s hand wrapped firmly around you telling there was no turning back.

So now, here we were. Standing on your parents’ porch, the warm glow of the house lights peeking through. You could still hear the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from inside, but all you could focus on was the weight spinning on your mind.

“You nervous?” Ambessa asked, her voice low, amused.

You shot her a look. “You think?”

She chuckled softly, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple. “Relax. They’ll love me.''

You release a nervous laugh. You weren’t so sure about that.

Standing in front of the double doors, the weight of what was about to

happen doubled this time. You turned to face Ambessa, your heart pounding so loud..

“Bess…” you began. Ambessa raised an eyebrow, waiting. “B-before we go in, I need to say this. No matter what happens—no matter what my parents say—I’m still with you. Nothing will change, okay? We’ll stand together, even if they’re started to go against us.”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a smirk, but her eyes softened. “Of course, dear,” she said with that same effortless confidence, like there was never a doubt in her mind. Like nothing could shake her.

Was she even nervous? She was about to meet your parents for the first time, and yet she looked so calm, so in control while here you are looking like a frightened wet penguin. Wasn’t meeting the parents supposed to be the most terrifying part of a relationship? Even more nerve-wracking than getting married?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you reached out to adjust her suit. Your fingers brushed against the lapels, but you didn’t realize they were trembling until Ambessa's hand gently closed over yours.

You already imagine all the worst-case scenarios before the night would end, and none of them sat well with you. You could possibly lose Ambessa. Or your family. Or worst, both. Just the thought of it made your chest tighten painfully. You didn't want to choose between the people you love.

The mere possibility of it was unbearable. You don't know if you can take it.

Ambessa's touch was grounding, steady, like everything you needed in that moment. Ambessa gently cupped your chin, guiding your face toward hers.

“Little one… look at me.”

You met her gaze, and the calm, steady confidence in her eyes was enough to slow your racing heart.

"Calm down... Everything’s going to be alright. We will be alright." Her voice was soft yet steady "Don’t be nervous—I’m right here, okay?"

You nodded, swallowing hard, and she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Before you could chicken out, you took a last deep breath before you swung the door open. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you both stepped back inside, and it felt like the entire world paused.

Every conversation stopped mid-sentence.

Every fork froze halfway to someone’s mouth.

Your uncles, who had been lounging on the sofa watching football, paused mid-game, their attention snapping at your direction. Your aunties, mid-gossip, fell silent, their eyes narrowing at the front door. Even the children, who’d been running around shrieking with laughter, slowed to a halt, retreating to their parents like they were afraid on something.

Every pair of eyes—at least thirty family members crammed into the living room and dining area—snapped right to you and your unexpected guest. A shiver ran from your toes all the way up your spine, your heart pounding in panic.

You were just introducing your partner to the family, like your cousin did, but they never gave that kind of attention—the way they’re staring at you and Ambessa now.

It was like time had hit the brakes.

And how could they not?

When the woman beside you was an attention grabber, what more Ambessa was intimidating. She stood taller than the average man, her broad, powerful frame impossible to ignore. Every movement she made was deliberate, exuding a quiet authority that demanded respect and commanded attention the moment she entered a room.

Even board directors didn’t dare challenge her—no one did. Her employees were even terrified of looking onto her eyes or crossing path with her.

You blinked multiple times, trying to steady yourself, before glancing at Ambessa. Not a single hint of nervousness crossed her face. She stood tall and composed, completely unbothered by the dozens of eyes glued to the both of you. You could practically hear the collective whisper ripple through the room.

It wasn’t nice being gawked at, especially by this many people, especially when their eyes keep on shifting from you and Ambessa.

Ambessa was dressed in that perfectly tailored red and black suit—one that probably cost more than your car—she stood out in the best way possible. It was just a casual family gathering, and yet, there she was, looking like she’d stepped off the cover of a high-profile magazine.

And then, through the stunned silence, you spotted her.

Your mother. Eyebrows shot up so fast you thought they might hit her hairline.

You could feel your pulse in your ears. This was it. No turning back now.

Your mother’s brows knit together, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight of you and Ambessa standing side by side. She didn’t miss the closeness between you— and the way your hands brushed together.

Like she knew.

Like she had already put the pieces together but was desperately hoping she was wrong. But then, with a practiced calm, she clapped her hands together and forced a smile.

“Alright, everyone,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Let’s not hover. Go on, continue enjoying your food.”

Slowly, like someone had hit play on a paused movie, people started moving again. Conversations resumed, but not without the occasional glance thrown our way. You could feel them peeking, eavesdropping, pretending they weren’t doing exactly that.

And then your parents moved in.

You drag Ambessa as you led toward the dining room. Your mother stood by the table, stirring the salad with slow, deliberate movements. She didn’t look up right away. Your father appeared behind her, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked from you to Ambessa—and then back again

Meanwhile, your mother’s gaze turned laser-focused as you both stopped in front of her. Her eyes immediately darted down to yours and Ambessa's intertwined fingers.

Which made your palm run ice cold. Ambessa must’ve felt it too because she tightened her grip slightly, giving you support as her warmth seeping into your skin.

You glanced around the room, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole. Why was everyone staring at you like you were the evening’s drama? You could practically feel the tension crackling in the air.

Your mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And who,” she began, her voice deceptively polite, “might this guest be?”

Before you could say anything, Ambessa took a step forward.

“Ambessa Medarda,” she said, offering her hand with the kind of poised confidence that could melt glaciers—or in this case, try to thaw your mother’s frosty demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet Y/N's parents.”

Your mom stared at her hand like it might bite, but she eventually took it—barely—but then turned to you, her eyes pointing dagger demanding an explanation. Your Dad, still buffering, finally shook himself out of his daze and gave Ambessa a quick handshake.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. "Ambessa, this is my mom and dad. Mom, Dad… this is Ambessa."

...

"She’s… my girlfriend," you added, your voice softer but clear.

For a moment, it felt like time itself had stopped.

You could feel the shock ripple through the room. Eyes widened. A few audible gasps echoed in the sudden silence, and you swore even the ticking clock on the wall seemed louder than before.

You understood their reactions perfectly. Your whole life, they had known you as a straight woman—never once had you hinted otherwise. You were so good at hiding it. And now, here you were, standing before them, introducing your first-ever lover… who just so happened to be a woman.

It wasn’t just introducing Ambessa; it was, in a way, coming out. Tearing down the version of you they thought they knew and revealing something they’d never expected. You could see it in their eyes—the shock, the disbelief, the scrambling to process what this meant. And being the only gay person in the family? It was a whole new revelation for everyone.

And as much as you tried to steel yourself for this moment, you couldn’t help the nervous knot twisting in your stomach..

Your mom’s eyes widened,

''G-girlfriend?” she repeated, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard you right. The word hanging in the air like an accusation.

She immediatly stopped on what she was doing. Then, with a disbelieving shake of her head, she let out a sharp little laugh. “Since when did you have a lover? And her? really… a woman? Y/N”

You felt like you were going to be sick. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to nod. “Yes.”

Her lips twitched—not a smile, more like an involuntary reaction she couldn’t quite control. “Are you being serious? Right now?”

Before you could answer, Ambessa’s voice cut in.

“Yes,” she said firmly, her gaze locking onto your mother’s “We’re serious.”

From the look on Ambessa's face, she was clearly quite upset by your mother’s tone.

Your mother was just about to start arguing when your father gently pulled her aside, murmuring something to calm her down. Surprisingly, she let him, though the tension in her face made it clear she was far from pleased.

“Now, now… save the conversation for later,” your father said smoothly, shooting you a look before turning back to Ambessa. “A-ambessa right? Have you had dinner yet? I bet you haven’t. Why don’t you grab a plate and help yourself?”

Relief flooded you, and you shot your father a grateful look. He only smiled, giving you a quick wink.

You were about to guide Ambessa toward the food when you noticed she hadn’t moved. Furrowing your brows, you turned to her. “Bess…?”

Before she could answer, you caught movement from the corner of your eye—Ricktus, her ever-loyal guard, stepping inside, both hands occupied with something.large.

“Before that,” Ambessa spoke, “I’d like to give something first.” She gestured toward the items in Ricktus’ hands. “I brought some gift baskets. It’s not much, but I didn’t realize Y/N had quite a big family.”

All eyes turned toward the baskets, and you could practically hear the collective shift in the room. These weren’t ordinary gift baskets—they were luxurious, the kind only the wealthy could afford. Even from a distance, you could see the careful arrangement of imported wines, artisanal chocolates, and items that looked far too expensive for anyone to afford.

Your father let out a nervous chuckle, offering a polite tone “Ah—thank you, you didn't need to but that’s very kind.” He reached out to take one, but Ricktus didn’t let go. Instead, the guard gave a small, respectful nod.

“Forgive him but they’re quite heavy,” Ambessa said evenly, her tone smooth yet firm. “Let my men carry them—just tell us where you’d like them placed.”

....

The meal was tense. You could barely swallow the food in front of you, your stomach knotted with nerves. Other than Ambessa, the martini in your hand was the only thing giving you strength. Your mom was definitely more upset than you had imagined. She had been demanding for years that you finally introduce someone—and here you were, doing exactly that. But clearly, this wasn’t what she had expected. What a way to suprise everyone..

It had been hour, and the crowd had thinned as the night stretched on. A few of the younger kids had finally tired themselves out, curled up in corners or carried off to bed by their parents. The once lively energy had settled into something quieter, more subdued.

Some of your aunts had struck up light conversation with Ambessa—mostly out of curiosity, you suspected—but you could tell they were still hesitant. And then there was your mother.

She hadn’t said a word to you.

Not since then. Not since everything.

She wasn’t throwing a fit or making a scene, but that almost made it worse. The way she moved around the room, politely engaging with everyone except you—it was deliberate. A silent cold shoulder. Like you hadn’t just been laughing together at your uncle’s joke moments ago.

And damn, it hurt.

Meanwhile, Ambessa? the unbothered queen, savoring every bite like she was at a five-star banquet instead of sitting in the middle of this emotional minefield.

She was even enjoying your mother’s homemade mac and cheese, which was shocking considering how picky of an eater she was. Even a world-renowned chefs had to bent over backward trying to impress her, and yet here she was, casually indulging in a simple family recipe.

You sat beside her leaned in slightly, your elbow resting on the table, your head propped up by your hand as you watched her. Seeing her eat—actually eat, rather than picking at her food like she usually did—made you happy. It was such a simple thing, but it meant something.

Your voice was low, “I like what you did to your hair.”

Ambessa's usual free-flowing curls were now braided back into a triple dutch braid, weaving tightly along her scalp in thick sections into the center one. A few white strands near the front contrasted against the dark, adding a striking edge to her already commanding presence. She looked good. No—she looked ridiculously good.

Ambessa paused mid-bite, glancing at you. “Ah, yes, little one… You did say you liked it this way.” She smirked, setting her fork down. “So, I had it styled before I got here.”

Your lips parted slightly. “You did it… for me?”

She hummed, taking another bite, as if it was no big deal.

Your heart stuttered, and heat crept up your cheeks. “Well, I do like it,” you admitted, staring at her shamelessly. “I can see your face clearly. You look so—”

Ambessa cut you off, her gaze sharp and knowing. “I see what you’re doing, little one.” Her voice dipped lower, teasing but firm. “But don’t flirt with me right now. You might not like what I do to you in front of your family.”

You choked on your drink. Your cheeks burned as you quickly averted your gaze.

What is wrong with this woman?!

Ambessa just chuckled, sipping her wine like she hadn’t just sent your brain into a tailspin.

You were lost in your little moment, completely wrapped up in Ambessa’s teasing, when someone cleared their throat. You both turned, and it was none other than the devil itself—your mother.

Your stomach dropped. Shit.

How could you forget she was sitting just two seats away? You had been so caught up in Ambessa’s presence that you completely overlooked the fact that your mother had full view of your shameless flirting. You could only hope she didn't hear any of it.

Wine glass in hand. Then your mother began to approached and took a seat—this time, directly in front of you. The shift was small, but it was enough to make the entire table fall quiet.

A few of your family had noticed it too.

Your mom wasn’t done. You could feel it. Maybe she was just waiting for the crowd to subside, which, in a way, was a relief—at least you wouldn’t have to endure her torture in front of an audience.

Your mother, set down her drink with an audible clink and looked directly at Ambessa “So,” she began, “Ambessa… what do you do?”

You winced internally. Here we go

______

Taglist:) @jhyoos @dakotapaigelove @daenerysluvrr @marve1stranger @angrywhisperslove @ghostie1131 @natsaffection @vyvvycg @euphoricnyctophilia @cloudstoday @imconfusrd @chezze-its

[autistic-value]

Let's talk about Catra and Hordak

Since this is where most of the drama comes from

It's no secret that Entrapdak shippers are anti-catradora and vice versa. Why? Mainly, the issues people have within these ships are not the ships themselves, but the characters within them; mainly Catra and Hordak. Entrapdak shippers hate Catra because of the toxic relationship she had with Entrapta and other characters. Because of what she did to Entrapta, tasing her and sending her to beast island, and how she just got worse and worse in season 4.

The same could be said about Hordak, regarding the Catradora shippers who despise Hordak for most of what he's done. It's no secret he took over the scorpion kingdom, created the Fright Zone, and brainwashed and conditioned a lot of Etherians into believing the cause, just as Horde Prime did to him. And a lot of that was the cause of a lot of Adora and Catra's issues.

Here's the thing though

I really think Hordak and Catra are similar in a lot of ways. Both grew up in a abusive environment forced to portray themselves as perfect in order to no longer face any abuse from their respective "mentors".

But both Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime would never see either of them as nothing but inferior.

They both suffered years of abuse, Hordak perhaps even longer. And yes, the actions of Hordak had contributed to Catra's abuse as well, but it is a cycle. A cycle they both decided to break.

Catra overheard Shadow Weaver telling Adora that she was a distraction to her, then leaving. Leaving, because she wasn't going to be a part of Shadow Weaver's manipulation any longer. And yes, she may have left due to that very manipulation, but eventually she stays, at the very end, together with Adora.

Then there's Hordak

Ever since meeting Entrapta again, he chooses to hide his returned memories this time and at the end, when Entrapta is being held in front of him and prime, finally he sees the error of his ways, breaking the cycle quite literally. By throwing prime off the ledge.

He does this great speech about giving himself a name, a life, making a friend. He defies Horde Prime's will and finally, FINALLY breaks the cycle and gains control of his independence. And yes, there's that whole thing that happened after, but that was Prime, not him.

My point is, we should stop hating on each other and the characters because people, it's just a show, these are fictional characters with flaws that any person in real life would go through. Not to mention, again, how similar Catra and Hordak are.

If we hate on Catra for the things she did, we have to hate on Hordak for the things he did too. And vice versa. They both had terrible pasts, a long list of crimes, but they're making up for it in their own ways. Redemption is a long road, but it's a good one.

Anyway, this is just my opinion and analysis on the whole thing, you don't have to agree, but let's try to get along alright? Fandom fights and shipping wars are never fun and I really think you guys take defending and attacking a fictional character from a fictional show way too seriously.

I still love Entrapdak so much but I'm not gonna attack Catradora or Catra Enjoyers over it. And if they say something about Hordak or Entrapdak I don't like? The block buttons right there. There's really no need for so much drama guys.

Thanks for listening 🙏🙏🙏

[stuckonmark]

accidents. mark lee

10. where are the drinks bitches!

before coming into college, you never thought you’d have time for parties in general. you thought volleyball would consume your life and it did, but now that you were injured, you had a little more freedom. going to parties was never your type of vibe, but it was fun going every once in awhile. meanwhile, mark and his friends were upstairs playing beer pong and messing around.

“you fucking bitch! i made the shot fair in square!” haechan whined, as he threw his arms in the air. “we’re doing eye to eye first stupid.” jaemin yelled back.

there was a lot of chaos going on upstairs. mark was just drinking his beer and watching his friends goof around. his life finally felt at peace. he had nothing to worry about. basketball was going extremely well, his friends were joyful, and things were good with you so far.

“where the hell did winter go!” you were practically yelling because of how loud it was. music was blaring into your ears, while people were dancing and socializing. “i think she went upstairs!” karina looked like she was trying to have a good time, but bodies were starting to get pressed up on you and her. “let’s get out of this mess, yeah?”

you and karina made your ways upstairs and lo and behold, there was winter with some boy near the beer pong table. you walked up to them and winter immediately embraces y’all. “there you guys are! let me introduce you to my new friend haechan! he’s the best guys.” winter was pretty much slurring on all her words.

“wait aren’t you the guy that keeps replying to my tweets..” the boy just chuckled, but he had no shame. “that’s right! lee donghyuck at your service, but you can call me haechan. i am notably known to be the manager of the basketball team and the ladies love me!” you couldn’t help, but awkwardly laugh at his introduction. you knew he was friend’s with mark, but you didn’t see mark anywhere yet.

“honey, if you’re looking for mark. i’m sure he’s here somewh-” you turn your head and see mark on the couch, talking to mina with his hand on her waist. they looked like they were enjoying each others’ company. the last thing you heard was that they weren’t seeing each other anymore and that was coming from mark. you were confused and kind of hurt that he lied to you. you quickly shook it off, as you were starting to feel uncomfortable. you turned back to your friends and haechan, who were waiting for your reaction.

“let’s get this party started! where are the drinks bitches!”

after a few shots and a couple drinks go by, haechan decides to pull a few people to play seven minutes in heaven. you weren’t really excited to play, but you were too out of it to go do something else. your thoughts got interrupted when the first bottle spin lands on you.

“looks like yn got picked! now, who’s the lucky person gonna be!” haechan spins the bottle again and it felt like all eyes were on you. you could feel everyone’s eyes piercing through your skull. you were watching intently too, hoping not to get some weird g-

“would you look at that! it’s mark lee! okay you two, head into the room and get your freak on for seven minutes!” everyone cheered, while you and mark were basically shoved into some random room. you and mark just awkwardly seated yourselves onto the bed.

“so.. i wasn’t expecting you to come out tonight.” mark softly chuckles, while he scratches the back of his head.

“yeah, me neither.” you dryly reply, as you were looking for some way to escape.

“look we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. i promise i won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” “i know mark.” things were getting a little awkward between you two. the silence was so deafening that you could hear the conversations going on outside of the room.

“is everything okay? i swear we were literally good yesterday.” mark was trying to find some sort of way to meet your eyes, but you wouldn’t budge. “i’m fine mark. don’t push it.”

“look, i’m not the guy that everyone makes me out to be. i’m a good guy, yn and i just want us to get along. i know i don’t have the best reputation, but everyone doesn’t know who i really am. i don’t really like the spotlight being on me. i’m just constantly in it.” mark was pleading for any response from you. you hadn’t noticed it, but he had inched closer to you.

you felt for mark. you understood how he felt. no one should have to go through something like that. maybe mark was different. you were just too scared to let him in.

“i promise you, mark. there’s nothing wrong with you. i understand how you feel. i’m just scared. people have done me dirty in the past and i’m scared you will too.” you were looking down at your hands, like you were always doing. fiddling with them always gave you comfort

“just let me in, yn. i’m not going to hurt you.”

“but how do i know that..” you wanted to believe mark, but your past tells you that you shouldn’t trust him.

“i promise, yn. i’m not here to hurt you.” you hadn’t realized it, but mark had cupped your face and lifted your head up to face him. you looked into his eyes, down to his lips, and back up at his eyes, while mark’s eyes were following yours. you did not know what you were feeling, but your body was definitely not listening because you were leaning into mark.

“OKAY 7 MINUTES IS UP! COME ON OUT!”

previous — m.list — next

notes. happy valentine’s day everyone! for the special day, y’all get an update haha 🤍

taglist. open! @mmjhh1998 @haluenx @urlocalbeaner5 @cloudmrk @dudekiss3r @iluv7tn @jae-n0 @kikookii @remgeolli @lyleo @wumutititititi @kittydollzz @nctdreamchaser @kodasity @sibwol @worldwidecutiemaya @bbykaixx @luvsooby

[staranghae]

baby you drive me crazy

summary. seokmin and reader meet at a young changemakers convention because that's how filthy rich people have meet-cutes. :)

pairing. nepo kid ceo! l.sm x self-made ceo! fem! reader genre. fluff, crack., meet-cute warnings. profanity, mentions of alchohol w/c. 1.4k a/n. ah yes. finely marinated fanfiction, delicious. ( i mean this in all seriousness, this has been in my drafts since august of last year so...) song recc. unlock it (lock it) by charli xcx and jay park

seokmin really needed to start finding better ways to get out of these events. his age old excuse of "there's a really important project for the quarter due in a few weeks and i'm utterly clueless about it" was starting to wear thin considering the fact that half of these parties happen towards the end of the year when his company has already wrapped up their projects.

but then, this particular convention didn't seem like the rest. it was the annual "young changemakers" convention, his first one since he took over the company. he'd talked to a grand total of six people his age in the few hours he'd been there, and all of them had done nothing but brag about their money and wealth! not one of them seemed actually interested in the business aspect of the well, you know, running a business. to seokmin, this was better than being surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged people asking very invasive questions about his private life.

as he kept wandering about the convention, making small talk here and there with a few familiar faces, he spots you, sitting on one of the corner tables nursing a glass of chardonnay. he quickly calls over his secretary,

"minghao, come here. i need you to do something for me."

xu minghao, seokmin's secretary of the past seven years, was quite accustomed to his boss' peculiar requests. despite being the same age, minghao was far more perceptive and mature as compared to seokmin. he finishes off his glass of wine and walks over, exasperated.

"yes sir, what is it?"

"do you happen to have any idea of who that is?" he says, pointing to you.

minghao looks over at you and back at seokmin.

"are you seriously telling me you have no idea who she is?" questions minghao, annoyed by his boss' lack of ability to remember crucial information during networking events such as this one.

seokmin looks over at him, completely clueless about your identity.

minghao answers with a sigh,

"that's y/n, the ceo of l/n enterprises. i specifically mentioned her to you because she's the only person here without a family business. her company was completely built by her and her alone. also, her achievements are exemplary, she made the dean's list at harvard and is one of our major shareholders so technically speaking, she's kinda like your boss."

seokmin blinks at him. "in commoner words, please?"

"basically, she's the only one here who isn't a damn nepo baby and happens to own a good chunk of our company."

"ah! got it."

"so if i'm done here, i will take my leave."

minghao turns on his heel and leaves before seokmin has the chance to say anything. he just chuckles to himself and starts walking towards you when he hears minghao call after him,

"also, i didn't tell you this but your father has been trying to set up a blind date with her for you. something about you being incapable of making her fall for you on your own or something."

now, more determined than ever, he walks over to you and sits down across you.

"hi, i'm seokmin, ceo of lee enterprises, and you are?"

"y/n, your blind date for tomorrow evening. although i'm guessing your father hasn't told you about it yet."

he looks away, flustered. you laugh and he might as well have gotten whiplash with how fast he turned his head to look at you.

"he might've. i get quite a few of those, so i tend to lose track."

you stare at him incredulously. you knew about him from your uni days, the only nepo kid in oxford business that gave a fuck about his academics enough to make it onto the dean's list. now, here he was, sitting in front of you, looking and acting every bit the cocky brat you didn't expect him to be. you voice this thought out loud,

"i didn't expect someone who ended up on the dean's list at oxford to act like this but apparently, appearences can be deceiving after all"

seokmin visibly lights up at the mention of the dean's list. you see, only a handful of people actually bothered to find out about him as a person rather than as just an extension of his father and lee enterprises. so, when someone generally tried finding out about him, the dean's list was one of the first things that would pop up.

"you know about the dean's list at oxford business?"

you roll your eyes, "well yeah, obviously! we were required to know who we would be competing against in the industry so we had to find out about the dean's list of most ivy league b-schools"

seokmin has never admired someone as much as he admires you in that exact moment.

"so, about that date..."

you look at him over the rim of your wine glass, "what about it?"

seokmin can't believe it. he's about to ask someone out on a date. like a normal person.

"um, well, instead of, y'know, letting my dad decide the time and place and everything, i was wondering if i could take you out. as lee seokmin, business nerd, not as lee seokmin, ceo."

you chuckle at his description of himself.

"business nerd?" that's an interesting nickname to give yourself."

"i didn't give it to myself, my best friend did. we weren't in the same university but that didn't stop us from being absolute headaches to each other from opposite ends of the world."

"best friend? is it someone in the industry or..?"

"oh, he's the heir to jeon and kim associates."

you've heard the name before. jeon & kim.

"wait, is your friend mingyu?"

seokmin is surprised at the mention. he nods excitedly, looking like an eager poodle.

"d'you know him?"

"know him?! i studied with him! the two of us always partnered up for group projects because we meshed so well together," as you're rattling off about your memories with mingyu to seokmin, you remember it.

"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE! YOU'RE MINNIE?!"

seokmin snorts his soda at your sudden outburst. he's still coughing and sputtering as you apologise to the people who had turned around to stare at you while passing him tissues to clean himself up. once everything is back into the lull it was in previously, you elaborate,

"you're minnie, right?"

seokmin recalls his friend constantly calling him that when on call with him so he nods, a wave of nostalgia washing over him at the fond memories. he really needs to catch up with gyu soon. maybe he could get minghao to set up a meeti-

"i always thought he was talking about his girlfriend whenever he talked about 'minnie'. turns out it was you, huh? funny."

seokmin pauses mid-sip to give you a look that says 'are you kidding me?'

"okay, first of all, he already had a girlfriend when he was in college to whom he got married to last month. secondly, if the two of you are so close, then how come i didn't see you at the wedding, huh?"

"probably because i was the maid of honour and busy making sure it was perfect, but y'know, who cares."

seokmin vividly remembers the maid of honour at mingyu's wedding. and it was not you.

"okay, i remember that day really well and know for a fact that the maid of honour had red hair, and you don't."

"ever heard of hair dye, seokmin?" you reply dryly.

seokmin lets out a laugh at that and you become mesmerised for a moment because wow! how is a person so pretty and handsome and smart at the same time?

finally out of things to talk about, you and seokmin look around the room, trying to find something to keep the conversation going. seokmin gives up first, finally asking the million dollar question,

"d'you wanna get out of here? i'm honestly just bored at this point."

you look back at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes,

"you wanna go on that blind date right now? the food here isn't all that great and i know a really good seafood place nearby."

seokmin could really go for some seafood right about now. he nods and gets up from the table, and you follow suit. the two of you manage to make it out undetected, much to the disappointment of your secretaries, who only find out about your escapade through the headline of the dispatch article released the next day.

"Mated for life or just another fish in the sea? CEOs of L/N Enterprises and Lee Enterprises spotted on a romantic date at seafood restaurant."

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[reblogandlikes]

Sometimes I sit back and think about how the IC holds Nesta's "mean words" against her during their time in poverty. A meanness that Feyre herself stated she gave back.

Sometimes I sit back and think about how the IC hates on Tamlin for "ignoring Feyre's needs" despite the BOTH of them deciding to not express too much. Or when they're mad at him for "locking her up" when it was a way to prevent her following him into a ongoing danger that required him to help his people against a direct threat, but she was too stubborn and even refused to take the other options he was presenting to her. Or when he "abused" her due to a magical outburst; ya’know, the same one Feyre had during the HL meeting. Ya'know, the same one Azriel had to protect humans from because Rhysand was mad at Nesta for giving away HER weapon.

The IC, and particularly Rhysand, holds others' actions they view as a slight against Feyre as the worst sin. It doesn't matter the reason. Because "abuse is abuse" and "failure is failure" as many IC stans would probably wholeheartedly agree with and swear before the Mother with that statement.

And then, sometimes I wonder what the IC would do or think if they found out what Rhysand did the Feyre UTM. Because THEY DON'T KNOW. Not once has anyone been told and I find that to be an interesting choice, because why exactly don't they know. The shadow twins were there and literally painted her and yet they didn't inform Azriel? Weird. What's wrong with physically coercing another into a bargain with violence and getting them drunk until the point of blacking out and body being weak? For Feyre to be sexually exposed in front of Amarantha and everyone trapped night after night for 3 months straight? Well, I guess the sexual exposure wouldn't be a big crime for them; I mean, look at the recreation of the scene when they all went to HC and no one bat an eye lid.

All this to say that bad actions, no matter their intentions from other characters are unnecessarily dragged out. But the very bad action of Rhysand in that single moment (nevermind the rest - he has a lot) is never brought up or made public knowledge to his "Family." I'd want them to react. To be disgusted. But whats sad is that they'd probably just excuse it away anyway. I could already predict it. "He had to." "Rhys had a plan." "There was no other choice that could have been made." Know this for certain because look at how they all defended him when it came to knowing that Feyre would literally DIE during pregnancy and how DANGEROUS a non Illyrian carrying an Illyrian child IS. But I bet if they knew about that death pact earlier they'd be more up in arms - because then HIS life would be at risk, Feyre would want to know and should have a CHOICE when more would seem to be at stake. I think she'd risk shifting, ultimately choosing her mate than just willing to risk herself in a "complicated pregnancy."

The IC irritates me. And if someone comes to talk about grey morality, I'd like to remind them that for that to be true, the narrative would treat horrendous behaviour the same across the board. Not try to retcon or openly minimise it in a pointless monologue while simultaneously not giving the same grace to others. All or nothing, baby. Otherwise, I can't take anything presented to be as "right" seriously. Especially when it comes from a hypocritical camp.

He didn't have to do that to Feyre UTM, he chose to. And Feyre wouldn't have died due to infection, because though Tamlin couldn't physically help, he had Lucien do what he couldn't. LUCIEN would have helped Feyre, but Rhysand just got there first and scared her. She agreed to a bargain under duress. Rhysand wanted something to irritate Tamlin with. Not just to "get him angry" (Rhysand's help was not required for that), but to overwhelming punish him over his mother and sister's deaths even he doesn't have the full story of, nor us as readers. Rhysand is petty and didn't care about Feyre at all - he didn't know her to care. They didnt have lovely sit down conversations during the time of her recovering from a drunken stupor night after night to build a beautiful connection they always knew was there, let alone anything to fall in love with, tf. I don't know why SJM has him lie this badly. I don't know why some fans get angry when you point this out.

Anyway, the IC holds everyone else accountable but each other.

[moonmunson]

pas de deux

to the anon that requested this, i know this isn't exactly what you asked for, but inspiration struck. i hope you like it.

cw: wally certified yearner and loverboy, me not knowing how to describe dancing, allusions to reader being murdered in a very traumatic way by her dance partner but no specifics, sfw

wc: 3k

Wally knows that what he’s attempting to do is misguided at best, and probably disastrous at worst. 

The idea came to him a few weeks ago. He’d been sitting with Charley and Rhonda, shooting the shit in the gymnasium before their meeting with Mr. Martin, when he’d asked, “Is it possible to break a ghost out of their loop?” 

To Charley’s credit, he’d attempted to take the question seriously. Rhonda had just rolled her eyes, removing the ever present lollipop from her mouth before interrupting.

“Again with this? Come on, loverboy. Not gonna happen.” 

Charley sighed, tutting at Rhonda before turning back to Wally, a sympathetic look on his face, “There’s always a chance it could work, but if you’re talking about who we think you’re talking about, I’d say they’re pretty slim.” 

“More than slim, I’d say,” Rhonda butts in again, “I’m surprised she hasn’t worn a hole through the floor, with the way she dances. Like a ballerina in a music box.” She spins her lollipop through the air, follows it with her eyes before shoving it back into her mouth. 

“Have I ever told you your attitude is annoying?” Wally asked, sinking back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring the scoff from Rhonda’s direction, “I’m just saying. We’ve never even tried. What if she’s like, aware in there, like in her mind.” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair - a nervous tick he hadn’t lost, even in death. 

“Does it matter? She’s still stuck here like the rest of us. Better to spend eternity dancing than dealing with the banalities of high school.” 

Mr. Martin walked in then, effectively ending the conversation. Through the whole meeting, Wally couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d seen you in the auditorium before, looping over and over, stuck in an endless dance for two but lacking a partner. It’s a rare thing for a ghost to act the way you do - there haven’t really been any other deaths at the school that were traumatic enough to warrant a loop like yours, and he’d been determined to break you out of it. Screw Rhonda, he’d thought. He could do it, he just needed to figure out how. 

The problem was, Wally knew nothing about dancing. He's not the smartest guy. He knows that, but he’d been brainstorming different ways to break you out of your loop for a while now, with nothing to show for it. It’d been grating heavily on his nerves.

In a moment he’d regrettably look back on, he’d gone so far as to join you on stage to attempt a fake out. When he’d lunged at you, and you hadn’t even blinked in his direction, he started to think Rhonda was right. You couldn’t see him, you couldn’t hear him. You were stuck up there, doomed to spin around the stage for God knows how long and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Then one day, something really fucking weird had happened. 

—

He’d taken to sitting in the audience, to watch you dance. It was weird, more than a little morbid and slightly obsessive, but watching you move was captivating to him. 

He found some similarities between dancing and playing football - the finesse needed to dodge and weave through people trying to tackle him was one thing - but he’d never seen anyone move the way you do. Every move you made had purpose. The lines created by your arms and legs, the softness with which you carried yourself from one end of the stage to the other. 

Preoccupied with the pressures his mom applied to him, the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’d never taken an interest in dancing, other than the awkward slow side to side swaying he’d done with his Junior year girlfriend at the prom. Now, he wishes he could dance with you - wishes you could teach him to move like you do. 

You’re stuck there, like a spinning top that refuses to fall - unable to fall. Except, as he was watching you, something unthinkable happened. 

You were looking at him. Like, looking straight at him. 

It took him more than a few seconds to realize what was happening, and even then he couldn’t believe it. Charley had talked to him about dancers having a spot to look at when they’re spinning - how it keeps them from falling over, keeps them from becoming dizzy and messing up. Was it possible Wally just happened to be in the seat you used as a spot? 

He couldn’t tell if there was recognition in your eyes, if you were really looking at him or seeing right through him, the way a living person would. But your gaze was fixated on him either way. And your face, it… you just looked so sad. If he didn’t know better, Wally would’ve thought your expression was pleading, looking for help. It only lasted a few seconds, before you turned your head in a different direction and your body followed. It sent him reeling. 

He found Charley and Rhonda in the library, and told them what happened. Charley sat up in his chair, struggling to understand what he meant. 

“What do you mean she looked at you?” 

Wally went to explain it to them again, hoping they’d believe this was out of the norm, “I mean she looked at me, dude. She was up there spinning like she always is, and I was just sitting there watching -” 

“You were watching her? Voyeurism doesn’t suit you, loverboy.” Rhonda’s arms were crossed over her chest, legs folded over each other - closed off, like she always is. 

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Wally sighed, exasperated, “It was weird. At first I thought she was using me to spot, while she was twirling, but the way her face looked? I don’t know, dude. It was just weird.” 

“There’s a chance she was looking at you, don’t you think? We don’t really know how looping works, so,” Charley’s endless kindness is a relief to Wally - especially when he says things like, “I think it’s good, what you’re doing. I wish we could help more.” Charley looks over in Rhonda’s direction, nudging her to say something to Wally. 

“Yeah. As much as I give you flack for it, your whole -” Rhonda waves a hand in Wally’s general direction, “boy savior thing, I do wish there was something we could do for her. It sucks. Not having a partner to dance with.” There was a glint of remorse in Rhonda’s eye, more than Wally ever thought he’d see from her. 

A spark lights up in Wally’s head, a hidden spotlight finding its mark onstage  - landing on you, your flawless form.

“Do you think if I dance with her, that it could break the loop?” Wally asks, looking back and forth between his two friends. 

“It’s definitely worth a shot,” Charley shrugs, gaze turning to his left, “Rhonda? What do you think?” 

The beatnik pauses for a second, long enough for them to see the cogs turning in her brain. 

“Look, I’m not saying it’ll work. Probably won’t. But maybe,” Wally starts to smile, “Just maybe, if you try to connect with her on her terms, instead of trying to force some logic onto the situation, something might change.” 

“I don’t know how to dance, though. I don’t even know where to start.” Wally drops his head in his hands, shoulders hunched over. Charley reaches over, splays a hand on Wally’s back and rubs back and forth. 

“Think of it like football maybe? You’ve got your plays, right?” Wally nods, sitting up and urging Charley to continue, “Those are like the steps. Formations could be the positions you take, and in dancing, timing is everything. The same way it is in football, at least from what I’ve gathered of the rants you go on. Rhonda’s right. Maybe if you learn how she moves, you can try communicating with her that way.” 

Wally sits up, throwing his arms around his two friends, ignoring Rhonda attempting to push him away before jumping up from his spot on the couch. He nearly trips over himself to sprint out of the room and down the hall, towards the auditorium, shouting “Thank you!” behind him. 

—

Wally stood in the echoing auditorium, the stage lights illuminating the otherwise dark room. Every day for the past week, he’d come to you - trying to decipher a language he did not speak. He watched you, trapped in your endless pas de deux. Gliding through the same steps, turns, your desperate yearning clear up close. 

At first, he’d just tried to mimic you. Clumsy and tripping over his own feet, he’d stumbled through the basic positions, frustrated with himself. His movements were jerky and awkward, a stark contrast to your effortless grace. He felt silly - like a hulking figure trying to copy something delicate and precise, something that took years and years of training. 

Slowly, things started to shift. He stopped just watching and copying, instead starting to feel the music that wasn’t there. He began to understand the reasoning behind your movements, the emotions they expressed. He started to see the gaps in your performance, the place where someone was supposed to fit, to complete the cycle you’d been stuck in. 

He started to see the places where he could fit. 

He wasn’t just mirroring anymore, he was learning the language. Each day he got a little closer, a little less clumsy, a little more in tune with the phantom rhythm that filled the empty auditorium. He was still a football player, and he always would be, but he was learning to use some of that training to become a dancer, too. For you. 

Wally knew this might not even work. He’d been in his head about it for a week at this point, and not even Charley or Rhonda could break him out of the loop he’d pulled himself into. He stopped going to the life support meetings in the gymnasium, much to Mr. Martin’s dismay - instead going to spend all of his free time right there next to you onstage. 

He put more effort into practicing for this than he ever did for one of his football games, a feeling of true purpose guiding his every movement. 

When the day finally came, Wally felt calm. He felt ready. 

He walked onto the stage, ready to put his rehearsing to the test. Ready to run the play, to score the winning point. You began your routine, perfect and meticulous and haunting as ever. This time, though, Wally didn’t just watch. He joined you. 

He didn’t try to lead, didn’t try to impose himself or change your dance, he simply became your partner. He matched your movements as best as he could, trying to feel his way through the dance. Trying not to be too robotic, but instead trying to move with the same empathy and yearning that he’d watched you dance with over and over. 

As you reached the point in your dance where your partner should have joined, Wally was there. He wasn’t a perfect dancer, not by any metric, but he was present. He was the missing piece. 

As your movements intertwined, a visible shift occurred. You, you who had been trapped in this endless cycle of longing, suddenly seemed to notice him. Your eyes, usually fixated on some distant point, flickered - focusing on Wally for the first time. Genuinely seeing him. Your eyes filled with tears, and as one of them dropped onto your cheek, Wally went to wipe it away. 

The music, which up until this point had only been an idea in Wally’s head, suddenly seemed to fill the auditorium, bouncing off of the walls and echoing around the two of you. Your dance became a true pas de deux, a conversation of movement and emotion. 

As the music started to slow, Wally found himself on unsure footing. He hadn’t stopped to think before about how the dance was supposed to end, but it didn’t matter. Grasping his hands in your own, taking the lead and guiding him through the end, the two of you moved in perfect harmony. Spectral echoes of each other, gazes connected and satisfaction blooming. 

The yearning in your movements softened, replaced by a sense of completion. The music faded, leaving the two of you in silence. For half a second, Wally thought you’d cross over, leaving him onstage by himself. Instead, you turned to him, a small smile gracing your lips. You didn’t fade. You were still there - as solid as he was. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, “You helped me finish.” 

Wally stood stock still, surprise still echoed on his features. He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. You looked around the empty auditorium, eyes tracking over the seats before landing on him again, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to finish that dance.” 

“I’m glad I could help you,” Wally stutters out, a pink flush on his face, “I know I’m not the best dancer.” You laugh, a sweet, girlish thing. In the five minutes that had passed since the dance finished, Wally swore he could see the weight being lifted from your chest. 

“You were perfect.” A flicker of sadness crossed your face, quickly replaced by gentle acceptance, “I… I don’t think I’m going anywhere, I’m still here, but…” you emphasized, palms open and gesturing to the stage around you, “but, I think it’s different now. I’m not stuck anymore.” 

“That’s good!” Wally’s face lit up, empathetic and gleeful. 

Your own smile brightened, affected by his sheer amount of happiness for you. You took his hand, solid and steady in yours. 

“What do I do now?” you asked, eyebrows turned up and inward, “Do ghosts sleep? I feel like I need to sleep for a month.” 

Wally giggled, leading you down the side stage steps and down the rows of seats, out of the auditorium, “We don’t need to sleep, but you can if you want to. You want me to show you my hiding space?” You nod, following him down the hallway.

When he passes the teacher’s lounge, and Charley and Rhonda see whose hand he has grasped in his, he winks at their shocked expressions before continuing down the stretch of linoleum and lockers. 

—

Life - or, afterlife, you suppose - has been weird since Wally broke you out of your loop. The first couple of days were extremely rough, spent trying to understand just how long you’d been up on that stage. A new member of Mr. Martin’s life support group, everyone has been extremely welcoming to you. 

Because ghosts don’t need to sleep, you haven't experienced any nightmares, something you’re exceedingly grateful for. Even so, you wake up from your naps feeling uneasy. Flashes of the end of your life playing in your mind, reminding you of the circumstances surrounding your death. 

You’re not ready to talk to the group about it, but Wally hasn’t left your side since he’d woken you from your reverie. You tell him about it in bits and pieces - about your dance partner, a shy, kind boy, turned cold blooded killer. The specifics of it don’t matter anyways. He can’t hurt you anymore, and according to the computers in the library, he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore -  following you into that good night soon after the police had taken him away. 

You learn that your family moved out of Wisconsin a decade ago, in an attempt to escape the media following them around and shouting questions at them, about a court case that didn’t happen because there was nobody to put on trial. You hope wherever they were, that they found some semblance of peace. 

Wally has been an incredible influence on you, and after settling into what the rest of your eternity might look like, you’ve had the same effect on him. He didn’t expect you to dance again any time soon, if ever, but he’d catch you by yourself sometimes - stretching your legs, sitting on the floor with your arms poised in that certain way. 

Then, after a year spent together going to meetings and finding hidden corners in the school to make out like true teenagers, he’d found you in Split River High’s newly minted dance room - sock covered feet gliding over the lacquered floor, hope and joy baked into your movements instead of the grief and melancholy he’d become so accustomed to in your previous routine.  

Out of the corner of your eye, when you’d seen him peeking through the window, you’d beckoned him in to join you. You started to truly teach him how to dance - guiding him through Pliés and Relevés and giggling at him when his lanky legs got in his own way. 

“You’d be better at this if you were shorter, I think,” you’d said, a smile unable to hide taking over your face, “but you look pretty good.” 

“Pretty good? These legs saved you, babe,” Wally scoffed, wiggling his toes to get you to laugh.  He always succeeded in that. 

“You’re right, you’re right,” you walked over to stand nearer to him, eyes angled upward to meet his honey brown ones, “the prince to my sleeping beauty, how could I forget?” 

“Damn straight, I’m your prince,” Wally’s warm hands grasped your cheeks, his mouth lowering to meet yours for a few seconds before gently shoving you away, “now show me how to do that thing again? I think I’m finally getting it.” 

—

Rhonda would never admit it, but she’d been especially proud of the effort Wally had put in to drag you from your loop. She knows everyone thinks she’s cold hearted, and she agrees to a certain extent, but she’d known the agony Wally felt when he thought he couldn’t help you. She’d never tell anyone this, either, but she’d snuck into the auditorium the night that he’d broken your loop - woken you up from your neverending nightmare. She’d stood alone, in the back and out of view, a smile etched on her features.

“You go, loverboy.”

a/n: tysm for this request! this was honestly the most fun i've ever had writing something. the inspiration was crazy and even though i know nothing about dancing i hope this is readable and easy to follow because i'm immensely proud of it. anon if you liked it pls lmk! I'm having such a fun time writing for wally so PLS send in any requests you have!!!

also, don't forget to like and reblog!