#audit every election

[dosesofcommonsense]

[dosesofcommonsense]

Oh yeah, tell me - again - there wasn’t any voter fraud in any election.

A second one caught

[awordsmith]

rained on with you 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you attend a few of Spencer's classes as an auditor for personal reasons and he calls you out in front of the class, and has no idea just how off he is.

katcember

who? spencer reid x college!reader when? s13 category: angst to fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: kidnapping of a sibling, mentions of sa (not you), anger, shouting, stress, public embarrassment, student/professor dynamic (you're not his student), Spencer being sexually harassed by female students, intense despair and sadness, self-loathing, guilt, thoughts of murder, happy ending, not proofed, reid with care word count: 8.7k a/n: my first post, be pleasant! this actually made me cry because I've had a teacher I trusted and felt comfortable with yell at me for something I thought was completely okay in front of not only my class, but another class. enjoy!

You cursed yourself, there was something about the dreary weather outside that had you rushing through the outdoor halls of the building that made everything worse, you thought perhaps it was because it perfectly resembled what you felt inside.

It's been a month, you'd told yourself the first time you'd decided to audit the first class. It was a sociology class by a woman you'd never heard of, it wasn't even a general class needed for your major, you could have taken it as an elective, sure, but by that time, the deadline to add and drop classes had ended.

You'd taken notes and must have read them a hundred times over again, the police were kind at first, understanding, but as you began to compile more and more information, they stopped listening.

Two months had gone by and they'd eventually labeled her as a runaway. It wasn't uncommon for girls her age, but you knew your sister, and it just did not make sense.

That's when you decided it was you or no one, your parents could not handle the thought of anything else, and they too–eventually–chose to move on. "For the better," they'd said, it had made you so angry and feel so incredibly helpless at the same time.

How could they–her own parents–give up just like that?

Not you. You would never forget your sister, nor her person. You had gone over the day multiple times in your head and yet could not wrap around the fact that she'd just vanished without a trace.

You were entering the third month of her disappearance in December, and coincidentally her birth month. You did not want to celebrate without her and though the mere thought of her threatened tears rolling down your cheeks, you couldn't stop. It was as if the guilt wouldn't let you.

During the day, you attended your normal classes, and at night, almost every night, including Friday–tonight–you'd attend a lecture-based class that surrounded around psychology, sociology, and criminology. You had become a regular in each of the classes, criminology being the last you started attending.

You took vicarious notes, and when you weren't studying for your course classes, you were cramming as much information you'd learned from your secret night classes into your head and pouring it into your sister's disappearance.

To quench your need for sleep, you'd taken up drinking a lot more coffee than one should normally take in a day. You had been running a little behind schedule, so when you walked into the lecture hall and all eyes–including the professor's–fell on you, you absently took a small step back.

"Sorry I'm late," you murmured, avoiding his eyes as you moved to take a seat in the front like you normally did. The hall wasn't that big and most students sat in the back-row, what few did sit in the front were pretty quiet and never said a word to you. The lights were always dim, but enough for you to see your paper and pen.

The scent of rain and coffee wafted through the air as you began the trek to your normal seat. A question abruptly stopped you in the middle of the row, you had passed all the other students and you normally would have deigned to go around them, but thought not to interrupt the prof introducing the topic of today.

"What's your name?" Called the professor. You were startled as you set your back pack on the floor and slid into a seat.

"My–my name?" you swallowed, wishing the floor would swallow you.

"Yes, your name." His voice was thick and laced with something more than displeasure.

You glanced up at him, biting your cheek for a moment, deciding how to respond. What could it hurt? You thought. You looked back up at him, meeting his eyes, they were soft, and for some reason you abruptly wondered how old he was, surely not much older than you. You mumbled out your name, then shifted in your seat to lean down and rummage through your bag for your notebook.

"I don't actually believe you're in my class," he glanced around the room briefly before his eyes returned to you, your head down. He waited patiently for you to lift it again and meet, "I'm not in the habit of being straightforward like this," he began walking toward you.

Your heart pounded in sync with each step he took. Was he made you hadn't asked him to audit his class? You should have just asked him, but he always seemed to be with someone, you even once tried to find him during his office hours, but you didn't really want to go into depth about why you wanted to listen to his lectures. You'd barely escaped the previous two.

Besides, he'd looked intimidating, just as he did now, hovering above you with his arms crossed, "tell me," you kept your head down as your cheeks grew red, knowing every one in the class had their eyes on you, "why do you keep coming back?"

When you didn't respond as you just didn't know how, he scoffed, "listen, I don't mean for this to come off as personal, but stop." You jerked your head upward, eyes pleading. He was the only professor that aloigned with your schedule.

He rolled his eyes, ran a hand down his face, and sighed. "Stop–just," he held bout a hand, a resigned and indifferent expression on his face, "girls like you are the reason I don't allow auditors in my class anymore. If you're not curious about the material, there is no reason for you to be here."

"But I am," came the tiny squeak of your voice.

He laughed, but tried to cover it up with a cough as he deigned to look at you again, "I have students here," he motioned toward the other students in the hall with his arms, "who I'm sure would appreciate their time and energy being respected, I know I do." His face fell flat, "so do us all a favor and–

"What?!" Came your realized reply. For as long as it took you, you were surprised the prof had not yet realized the mixup. You felt less embarrassed now and more–pissed. How arrogant can one person be? How big is too big an ego? "Are you crazy?" You couldn't help the shout as you stood.

To his credit, the prof–yeah, you didn't even know his name–and he thought, you scoffed internally, rolling your eyes on this outside, you took a few steps forward until you were in front of him. You shoved your notebook in his chest and waited for him to grab it before taking another step back, doing your best to ignore the number of eyes that were most defiantly flying between you and the prof.

"Look, I'm sorry I interrupted your lecture, and I'm also sorry for not asking to audit it, but to say that I've been using my free nights where I could be sleeping or working on her case to see you–" you took a breath, face flushed despite how you both wanted to laugh and cry and scream, "whatever," you shook your head, a scoff leaving your lips as you did so; you turned around, snatched your book bag from the floor, and stormed out, letting the metal door fall closed with a hard thud.

You only got a few paces away before tears began welling in your eyes and you plastered yourself against a nearby wall, the car lot you'd been at no more than 5 minutes ago right around the corner. "I'm sorry," you whispered, "I'm so–o, so-rry," you wiped your eyes, your voice trembling with and cracking with the weight of the day and the most recent events. You knew that it wasn't the last you'd see of that prof, you'd need to go back eventually to get your notebook back, that is–if he kept it, for all you knew he'd thrown it away already.

Whatever the case, just one last time, you'd need to talk to him just once more, if only to get your stupid notebook back that you stupidly handed over in a moment of dumbfounded and audacity-stricken. You just couldn't believe it.

You shook your head, swiping at the tears that had began streaming down you face. You'd go during one his office hours, perhaps he'll feel sorry or guilty. Good, you thought, he should.

Not tonight though, tonight, you were sleeping, you weren't going to think about anything. Your body was exhausted and you knew it; it had been for a while and yet you neglected it the sleep it desperately needed for favor of finding your sister and keeping up your normal schedule.

Just one night, you thought, making your way into the lot.

Huffing, you stuffed your hands into your pockets, it had been a few days now, you let Saturday and Sunday pass, Monday too, today, you couldn't handle it any longer. You needed your notebook, you were nearly there, you had gone over your suspect list, you had what you thought was a solid profile, though you couldn't be too sure, you were planning to go over it with the sociology professor when you had the chance, though you had no idea if she'd be able to give you anything more, especially if she didn't take it seriously.

You were just thinking that you could probably say it was a personal project, something to get your gears turning when you ran headfirst into someone. "Oh, I am so sorry," you backed away, reaching an arm out to steady the girl.

She glanced at you, tear-marks down her face, "it's fine," she huffed and held her head up, "it's nothing," she smiled painfully, "my fault really," she turned to you with an endearing expression, "thank you, though." She walked off quickly, no doubt wanting to get to her car.

It was such a strange experience, you had to rub your own head, thinking you'd hit it too hard and that's why you weren't walking in a straight line.

Nearing his office, you puffed out your chest, ready to stand your ground and demand your book back if necessary. You didn't believe yourself above the law, but spending a night or three in a jail didn't seem all too bad when only God knew what your sister was going through.

The smell of coffee hit you, like it always did, it became somewhat familiar in your routine, smelling it now–when you normally didn't–almost through you off.

You cleared your head and were about to clear your throat before stepping into his office, when you caught a sentence, he wasn't alone. You raised a brow and pressed your back against slightly ajar door, "please," it was the prof–his shaggy brown hair and puppy brown eyes appeared as a perfect image in your head, though his eyes were narrowed in your depiction. You glared back at the him from last Friday, then paused, catching the other side of the conversation.

"I–I don't know what you mean," murmured the student–a girl. You briefly thought of the girl you'd ran into, then through the image away in favor of eaves dropping. "I just," a char creaked and a heavy sigh came.

"Listen," the prof's gruff voice was lighter this time, he sounded almost...awkward. You smirked at it, now he was intimidated by a girl? An actual student of his no less? What kind of pathetic–

"I just was to know how I can please you, in the class, I mean," she corrected yourself, but the meaning was there and it made you cough, you'd covered it in time, swiftly moving your face into the inner side of your elbow.

"And I've told you," the prof's chair shifted, man he must be uncomfortable, you thought, feeling a little sorry for him. You had no idea–it just never crossed your mind–that he could have been yelling at you from a reasonable stand point.

You sighed and through your head back, prepping yourself for something you most definitely shouldn't do.

"I know what you said, Sir, but," the girls voice began to get pushy, which is when you thought it finally time.

You swept open the door all the way and stepped inside, arms crossed a sly smile on your face, "sorry to interrupt, oh," you let your eyes fall to the girls, "sorry I didn't know you were with someone, but," you had the decency to try looking regretful, "I'm sorry, this is really important."

It took a few seconds for the girl to register that you were now addressing her. She glanced at your dominating figure and then back at the prof, who looked both grateful and constipated. You bit your cheek to keep from laughing.

"Right," the prof said, turning to the girl who now went limp in the chair, "thank you for stopping by, I appreciate it I do."

The girl nodded solemnly, understanding this was a polite way of being dismissed. She collected her things gravelly, which is when you paused, she was young–fresh out of high school young. What was she doing trying to mess with a professor her first year in university?

Her face pinged familiar when she looked at you and you instantly made the connection from the girl you'd bumped into earlier. Your eyes widen and a just barely audible, "oh," came from you mouth.

When she was gone, you took a breath before turning back around, meeting his eyes in a silent, "so, that was crazy," his lips formed a line and his eyes almost shrugged for him.

"Does that happen a lot?" You didn't know why you asked, but you did, and well, he answered didn't he?

"More times than students come in with actually problems." He frowned, eyes fixed on the door left open.

"Maybe that just mean you're a good teacher?" You raised a brow, at least you thought he was, he did ramble sometimes, but it was enjoyable, seeing as how you were used to it. Well, you used to be, Your face tightened, "my notebook," you roamed your eyes over his desk before looking up again, "I want it back."

He nodded thoughtfully, watching you for a moment, "who is she?"

Your eyes fell, so he had read it, "my sister."

He nodded again, though you only looked back up when he pulled open a drawer. "I assume you..." his sentence broke off when heavy rainfall began.

He glanced at the door again, then at you, to which you smiled, though small, kind, "we can leave it open."

Relief filled his face and just for a second it made you angry on his behalf. Why hadn't he gone to the dean of his college? Surely it wouldn't be as bad as what he'd been going through now.

You opened your mouth to say something about it, but he spoke before you, "uhm, the case, it was dropped?"

You nodded, "yeah, last month."

"I assume you have a list? This was pretty detailed work," he held up your notebook.

"Thank you, but that's not all I have," you informed, "that's just my notebook for your class, which is incredibly insightful by the way, you should really think about becoming full time, your lectures aren't that hard to understand once you're comfortable and familiar with the material and usage of vocab..u...lar..y..." you dropped of your sentence, glancing away.

He chuckled, almost startling you out of your seat, "it's okay, I do that sometimes too."

You smiles slightly, "I know, you do it constantly during your lectures and seminars."

His smile cracked and he looked a little worried, "do I?"

You snorted, "Don't worry, they're interesting and most of the time relatable to the discussion or topic." He nodded, looking a little conscious. "So," you prodded, noting the book still in front of him.

"Oh, right," he picked the book up and handed it back to you, you didn't know what else to say, so you began to stand, "you know," his voice echoed through the office, though not large and with rain pouring down as if a hurricane was about to roll in, still clear, "if you want I can take a look at it, I am an FBI profiler."

You turned back to him and raised a brow, "what was your name again?"

He looked shellshocked, "you, you don't know my name?"

"Don't take it personal," you waved off, "I don't know my real professors' names, I call them all prof or professor for a reason."

"Do you call me professor?" He smiled, intrigued by the sudden admission. It was a little feeing, knowing that not only did he have a student in his office whom enjoyed his seminars and took detailed notes during his lectures, but who didn't have a single clue who he was. He'd written paper's, was on live television more times than he could recall–and he had an eidetic memory–and still, she did not know a single thing about him other than he taught twice a week once on a Wednesday night and once on a Friday night. He was honestly surprised he was able to get off work in time to head over to campus and set up.

"Prof," you said, grinning smugly, "professor isn't your style."

"Why not?" He scrunched his brows together.

"You're too young, it makes me feel weird and takes a hit at my pride," you grabbed your chest dramatically.

A snort came from his throat as he watched you reenact Romeo and Juliette, act 5, scene 3. He paused, referring to you as Juliette could be misinterpreted and he did not want that. He liked talking to you despite himself and he frowned as he recalled how he'd embarrassed you lat Friday, "I'm sorry," he tilted his head downward, watching your smiling eyes find his, "last Friday, that was uncalled for..."

You stared at him for a long while, trying to figure out how to say it, but eventually gave up and let your thoughts spill out, "yes, it was." He winced slightly at the harshness, you did too, you hadn't realized hoe hurt you still were, but you sighed, "at least I thought it was." He lifted his eyes and you averted yours, "look, it's not my place or anything, but what's happening is not okay, it's harassment. You should.." you bit your lip, frowned, and met his eyes through your lashes, "why haven't you gone to the dean?"

He took a breath and sat down in his chair, it squeaking on impact. You watched him run a hand through his hair, he looked contemplative, "I don't know...I just," he huffs, "they're kids, they have their entire life ahead of them, I don't know how I could just take that all away because of some silly crush."

The way he said "silly" instead of "stupid" or "annoying" made you smile. Your heart warmed and at the same time you felt sorry for him, but you were also beyond confused, "you said you were an FBI profiler?" He nodded, "then, how can't you tell the difference between–" you stopped yourself, that wasn't fair to him at all. "All right," you nodded, "if you won't go to the dean, that's your choice," you pressed your lips together, "but if you ever need a rescuing like today," you patted your arm, "I can be your superman."

His eyebrows furrowed, "don't you mean supergirl?"

"Nah," you smiled smugly again, "I mean superman."

He nodded, a grin falling over his face like it'd been waiting to break free, "okay, thanks. Oh, and–uhm," he pulled out his phone, "should I email you?"

You nodded, "as long as you let me continue auditing your class."

He smiled, eye alight with something you were certain you had never seen cross his face in the two months you'd been taking his lectures and seminars. "If you want me to look at your sister's case," he said quietly after you'd hit the door, "I'd be willing to mention it to my team."

Your eyes widened and you spun around, tears already in your eyes, you kept your hope down, but your thankfulness as clear as the notion you were going to get soaked before reaching your car was. "I would appreciate it greatly, even if nothing comes of it."

He smiled, "I'll let you know what they say after class tomorrow."

"Thank you," you swiped at your eyes, wondering how someone who you had never spoken to you up until now could make you cry so much.

You spun around, notebook covered under you shirt, and headed down the hall, where you were bound to face the wrath of the climate.

You worked out the finality of your suspect list, you could not narrow it as you'd have to actually interact with these people, and if you did, you could only think of what that meant for you sister. You didn't have all the information the cops had gathered, in fact you had significantly less, the only thing you had that the cops didn't was relation.

You threw your head back and groaned, you were hoping the prof had done his job. Yes, you still called him prof, it hit you a few minutes after ringing out your clothes before getting in your car, he'd never told you his name. You felt an urge to go back and ask, knowing it was going to keep you up at night, but as much shit as you talked, you were not brave enough to face the wind and rain again.

You were waiting for it to start hailing, thanking your school for having rooftops over their car lots. Sure enough it did bug you, but what bugged you more was what his team would say. Would they help? Would they roll their eyes and state that she clearly just ran away? Your sister was 23, her birthday was around the corner, you were just a year younger, though your birthday had passed already.

You slide out of your car, breathing in the fresh air, hoping the wind was all you got tonight. You felt someone watching you, knew you were probably just tired. It had happened a few times, so you weren't too concerned.

You were early, not wanting to cause any disruption like the last time you were here. It was a Wednesday, but at this time, the school wasn't as crowded, sometimes, if you were desperate you parked in the teaches lot and hopes no one would pay too much attention.

Your nose picked up the scent of coffee again and you couldn't help the cheeky grin that spread across your face, nor the welling in your eyes. What would he say? Would his team take the case? Would they try helping anyway if they couldn't? Despite yourself, you couldn't help but hope.

When you popped your face in, there were a few students already settled. Some glanced at you, some were too distracted by their phones, none seemed to be much affected by your presense.

"Oh, there you are," came a deep and yet squeaky voice. You spun around, finding the prof behind you, he tightened his lips, averting his eyes from your every time you found his.

Your heart failed, they had denied it. You gulped and prepared yourself, "it's alright–"

"So, they took the case–"

He startled at your disappointment as you startled at his shifty eyes. "What?" Your voice seemed octave, "what do they think?"

"Well," he stepped away from the door and moved you along using ah hand on your back so that a student might get through. You wondered what they thought of you, probably incredibly confused as to why you were still here, having an intimate conversation with their professor after he had so easily confirmed his distaste of you just a few days ago.

"What happened?" You prompted, "just tell me, I can take it." You nodded assuredly.

He huffed, stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned his back adjacent the wall, "how long has your sister been missing?"

"December 21 will make it a full three months," you stated, "what does it matter?"

"They've agreed to take the case, but they're concerned," he started, "they–" a few students passed us and entered the classroom.

You glance down at your phone, "we can continue after class," you spun around without a word and entered the class, half wondering why in the world his team took the case, you were pretty sure–from what you gathered in your night lessons–FBI profilers, BAU agents, only dealt with serial killings. It was a long shot really, and you knew there were likely cases that rendered more serious, but you just could not pass up the offer.

You didn't want to question it, but you did, the prof ended class early and that's it, you thought, I need his name, calling him prof isn't going to do it anymore.

You collected your things slowly, waiting for the hall to empty. When it was, you headed for his desk at the corner of the room. "They never found a body?" He questioned as soon as you braced your hands against his desk, back pack discarded to the side on the floor.

"No," you shook your head, eyes determined, "if they did, my parents or I would have been called in to ID it." You were sure she was still alive, you could feel it.

"If they haven't found a body, there's a good chance she's still alive," he affirmed your suspicions, in any case, I'm not really suppose to be discussing this with you...but I think we're a little past that."

"I'm superman," you remind him, chuckling away the pain in your voice "only kryptonite can hurt me."

He smiled, genuinely, kindly, "they've already started working on it."

Your eyes widened, "already? The police reopened the case?"

He faltered slightly, "not exactly...but...we have skilled...team members."

"My lips are sealed," you mimed zipping your lips.

"Did you bring your suspect list?" You raised a brown and he smiled smugly, as if to say, "come on now."

You pulled your book bag onto his desk as he stood and brought around a stool that seemed to have materialized from thin air. You moved out the way and allowed him to set it down, murmuring a thank you as you took a seat.

He was dialing someone on his phone as you slid over your list, when the person answered, he put the phone on speaker, "hey, Garcia, I'm gonna need you to run background check on a list."

"What'doyou got for me, Doctor?" Came a woman's voice from the other side of the line.

Doctor? You squinted your eyes, watching the man in front of you. Accomplished, was the world that boiled in your mind, this man was incredibly accomplished, how old was he exactly? It made you wonder, honestly. You were in your last year of college, ready to go full time after this year, but not without your sister. You still had so much you wanted to do with her.

The phone call ended, you had tuned out the entire time, "you're skilled teammate, I suppose," you raised a brow, your lis quirked slightly upward.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd make a one hell of a profiler." He grinned back, eyes lingering.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, oh no, your subconscious screamed, but your conscious replied anyway, "and what do you know, Doctor?"

He snorted, "alright, first of all, it's Spencer, second of all," he lifted and pointed a finger at your clothing, "you stress easily, you clean up neater when you're trying to mask something, probably juggling being a full time student and full time rookie cop," his eyes dipped to your bag, where a pin of a true crime show you loved sat perfectly, "you have interest in crime, but you'd hate the profession because of the long hours." He reached for your bag and instead of stopping him, you watched, amazed,"you prefer alone time," he placed your current read in front of you, "which means you're most likely single and have been for while," he glanced at you momentarily, then went back to rummaging, "you listen to music when you're trying to focus," he set down your headphones and sets your bag to the side again, "and I can't prove it on my own, but I guarantee if you open your phone right now and look at your purchase history, it'll have more than the average orders spent at the coffee shop across from campus."

You nodded and gulped, "a magician."

He tilted his head with a crooked grin and raised and eyebrow, "no, it's–it's just–"

"–fucking awesome?" You asked, amazement written stark across your face.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "well, anyway," he forced his gaze back down at the list in front of you when his phone rings.

It's the girl again, says a woman, Emily, had more information and thinks he may have a location. From what you got, your sister was most likely captured by a sex trafficking ring. Your heart sinks when you hear the new, hoping and praying they were able to find her, but you knew the probability, it had been months. "She could be half way across the world by now," your throat was raw and thick.

"Hey," Spencer placed his hand over yours, "it's going to be okay. I promise." But he didn't say they'd find her, he didn't say the probability of her being found at all could be a one in a million chance, and that's when you thought almost irritatingly, he is way too good at his job.

You stood outside the coffee shop a day later, watching the downpour of the day, huffing as you stepped inside the offered warmth of the shop. There was the usual barista at the counter, her smile genuine, "hey, I was just talking about you."

"Really?" You try for a smile, not wanting her to think your sour mood because of her.

"Yep, you want the usual?"

You nodded and stepped up to the counter, "actually can I add a chocolate croissant, too?"

"Sure thing," she rang you up and you sat down near a window to wait. Your fists strained against themselves, anger had racked your brain this morning. It was all you could think about, how you'd kill the people that hurt your sister, that could even think it okay–

You heard your name being called as the door to the coffee shop rung, you glanced up to see an odd looking abominable-Spencer, you snorted, "are you okay? What are you wearing?"

He approached you, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion as he shrugged off the giant, apparently rain- repellent coat, "it's a puffer jacket."

You smiled slightly, one of the realest smiles you've had since the kidnapping. "Did your team find something?" You asked as he placed the jacket on the chair across from you and sat down. You'd assumed so, since he had been the one to email you this morning during your fist class. The fog had cleared away, so you walked instead of driving, leading to regret as soon as you reached your destination, when the rain began to pour.

"Yes, actually," he nodded, "my...they found the drop off, where the gils were being held. You would have perked up if you didn't know what the look on his face meant.

"You didn't find her," you amended, an aching sadness falling over you. You thought it might have been because you'd spent all this time looking for her, trying to prove she wasn't a runaway, and you were so close. Even though you knew the probability of finding her was slim to none, you couldn't give up, your heart and mind wouldn't let you, as long as she lived, and she was alive, you'd never stop looking.

"They're interrogating a few of the..." he cleared his throat, noting the glistening of your wet cheeks. "They, they're also going over what the victims remember, hoping it'll give them some clue as to where...uh, the others were taken."

You gulp, nodding. For a second, you felt an urge to say her name, to tell him, but that wouldn't be fair, "thank you, for everything, Spencer."

"Of course," he frowned, without thinking his hand shot out and lifted your face, eyes darting over you, he was analyzing you.

Your lip quirked, "are you profiling me right now?"

His mouth hung ajar for a moment, eyes searching, then, "no, I've already done that."

You nod, "right, last night, you know my favorite book."

"That's not what I meant," he sighed, then, as if just no realizing, dropped your face so abruptly, you had to catch it. He leaned back, then stood, "I'm...gonna go order."

You nodded, your mind racing with the thoughts of your sister. How you just wanted to hold her hand one last time, press her against you, and tell her how sorry you were. That you didn't mean it, any of it. You had no idea where she'd gone after she'd left your apartment, she had just left.

The fight was stupid, it could have been avoided completely if you'd just been a little more understanding. You hated yourself for that, how could you be so selfish, it was just one person! It wasn't even a boy, it was her friend. Your reasoning may have been a little justified, but just because you didn't know this girl–your brain stopped. Your head shot up and you wiped your tears, waiting eagerly as Spencer sat back down.

"What?" He furrowed his brows, "what did you remember."

Damn him and his profiling skills, "there was a girl, that day, my sister and I had got into a fight, we have our own apartments, but mine's closer to campus, so when she's tired she'll usually crash at mine, sometimes with friends. I only had two rules for that, one there could be no more than 2 of her friends, and that I had to know them. But I didn't know her, and that's why we got into a fight." You take a breath as you ramble out all this information, "I'd thought it was strange, I even told the cops, but they brushed it off–she–she would have never done that. She never broke my rules, that's why I was so annoyed–" you murmur, "H, her name started something with an H, I think," then you remembered.

You told Spencer her name and he had his skilled teammate, Garcia, run that name through the universities system. Of course there were multiple, so you began trying to recall things that stood out.

"Got her," came the reply, "running background check, Rossi's on the other line, brb my sunshine," a click and the call was disconnected.

You stared in awe at the phone on the table, and then you grinned, you lifted your face and was met with an equally proud expression. Your order was called soon after and you stood to grab it. As you passed Spencer his arm shot out and halted you, you looked down at him questioningly, he opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and let you go, "it's nothing."

You nodded, a little nervously. You suppressed the butterflies in your stomach, this could only end one way, he was comfortable with you, he was helping you find your sister, the entire reason you'd began auditing his class. You had told him it wasn't for him and it wasn't, but what would be the point if now...

No, you would find your sister and cease contact with him, that'd b how this ended. I'm his superman, you thought, cringing slightly, and unfortunately I only have one weakness.

They'd did it, they'd found your sister. She was being rushed to the hospital and you and your parents were doing your best to contain your relief. You couldn't help but yell at them. "I told you so, I told you!"

You had emailed Spencer the good news, though he'd probably already knew. You emailed on sing your personal emails, seeing as the university monitored the ones on canvas.

The rush of excitement and thrill was frightening. The bags under your eyes would now disappear and you could sleep again without having nightmares.

"Where is she?" You all but screeched at the receptionist, your parents took assertion, and you let them. It was evident, even to you that you were not in the right state of mind, nor were you physically great. It had taken them four days. Four days to find your sister, all this time you were out searching, it felt like a waste of time.

You couldn't face her, you took a step back, terrified of her reaction. As your parents rushed to the elevators, you stayed where you stood. You ignored their calls to you, you face unreadable in their eyes. As the elevator door shut, your took a shuddering breath. The hospital was full, which didn't seem unusual for the staff, but it was too loud for you.

Too loud, you wanted to scream, and cry, and break down, but you didn't deserve that. Not after all your sister went through.

"Hey, hey, hey," calm and gentle, his voice tugged at you like a life raft. You turned as and soon as you met his eyes the tears fell, you let out a loud wale as he wrapped you in his arms.

"She was–over two months!"

"Shh, shh," he rubbed your back and cradled your neck, you buried your face into his shoulder, "hey, it's not your fault," his voice went high for a second and then lowered again. You heart boomed in your chest–you loved that about him. The uncertainty in his voice, the way he didn't know if what he said was going to make the situation better or worse. In the single four days you had known him on a more personal level, he had grown and grown like a weed.

His presence made everything just a little bit bearable. Why, you didn't know, but you could not do this to him. You could not be the person he comforted on a daily basis because that's just what he expected of you, why he was weary and displeased with you in the first place. You could not feel this way about him, especially because it was almost mad–again you hadn't known his name more than three days.

"What did you mean?" You asked suddenly, pulling away, "when you said you had profiled me before?"

He pressed his lips together and used his thumb to wipe the tears that kept streaming down your cheek, the lights in the hospital seemed to dim and the nose seemed to filter out, "it's nothing, it doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me," you pressed, and then you thought his eyes held warning and you hated yourself all over again. "Right," you unlatched yourself from him, feeling caught it a lie, "I, I should go. Thank you for," you chuckled out a cry, but not for your sister, for you stupidity, and possibly the lost of your just formed friendship, "my families waiting."

He nodded and took–what seemed to you a bigger than necessary–step back. "See you later, then, superman."

You stifled a new set of tears and forced a smile to your face, and turned around, your face instantly falling. You stepped into the elevator, hyper aware of his eyes still watching you. You clicked the button, any button, just fo the door to shut and kept your head down, and when the doors closed, you fell to the floor, wrapping your arms around yourself.

A few floors later, you found your sisters and your parents. She was in bad shape, she had bruises all over her body, you watched your parents stand over her bed, trying to talk with her. It was okay at first, until the doctors brought out a rape kit, you just...you couldn't watch that. You needed air, you headed back toward the the elevator, your eyes rimmed red with crying and dark with the lack of sleep.

When you the elevator opened on the first floor, you kept your head down and your arms wrapped tightly around you, you walked swiftly toward the exist, too wrapped in your emotions to notice the person following you.

Once outside, you headed toward the side, where a small playground sat. You didn't know if you wanted children or not yet, or maybe you did want them, you couldn't think straight. The darkened playground comforted you. You found yourself coming face to face with a rock wall. Not too tall, but challenging enough for 10 year olds. You smiled to yourself and climbed until you reached the top, which was pretty disappointing, but it got you off the ground.

"I hope you're not thinking of jumping," his voice startled you, what was he doing here?

"Didn't you go home?" You questioned, you calfs coming face to face with the top of his head.

"I thought about it," he admits, his hand running along the wall, stopping as it finds one to grip, "but then I remembered," he hauled himself upward, "a friend I made just recently," he grunts as he pulls himself upward one final time, leaving a small space between you, "likes to watch the rain."

"What?" You your voice quivered as the word floated from your lips, but you were smiling...slightly.

He cleared is throat and held out his wrist, "one...two..."

You cleared your throat, trying to make is a bit firmer, "why are you counting–"

There, just the tiniest drop of water fell into you eye, you wiped it away, turning to him with widened eyes, "why didn't you stop me?"

You brace your hands against the rock to jump off, but Spencer stops you, grabbing you wrist, he called your name once and you made the mistake of looking into the big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

Soaked were you a few second later, Spencer too, though you weren't sure if that made up for it. There were no stars, clouds blocked them from your view. You smacked him on his chest shouting through the rain, "what the hell, Spencer?!"

"Technically, Hell is considered insanely hot by many of its believers!" He replies, earning another smack, this time to the shoulder, a laughing fit entangles the both of you as the rain fell around you and after a moment of absolute madness, you caught his eyes and you wondered if this meant what you thought it meant–what you couldn't stop your heart from hoping this meant.

"Thank you," you shouted once more, finding the courage to lean against him. It was odd, the colder you physically got, the warmer your mentally grew.

"Anytime, superman," he brushed strands of wet hair out of your face and you knew, you just knew what you felt, but it's not real, not to him. You were superman and Achilles said it best, "They never let you be famous and happy," and you knew how that story ended.

The weather seemed to ease up this morning, you were happy, two weeks had gone by and your sister was back at home in time to celebrate her birthday. You stopped auditing classes and seminar's, but you still found reasons to email Spencer. Yeah, you still emailed him, if he wanted you to have his number, he'd give it to you or ask for yours–besides, yo9u had grown fond of this way of communication, leaving everyone off with sincerely yours, superman.

He didn't seem to mind and alway replied instantly, he had become one of your closest friends, which awkwardly wasn't hard because–as he had stated previously, you preferred your alone time, which was a nicer way to say you didn't have many friends, but you didn't mind at all.

"Are you texting him?" Came your sister's question as she hopped next to you, wrapping an arm around you, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your screen.

"God–no," you grinned, standing up, pulling the phone out of her reach. "And it's emailing," you grumbled, heading into the kitchen.

"Emailing," she widened her eyes, following you to your kitchen, "honestly, I don't why you bother."

"He's more comfortable this way."

She took a sip of orange juice, nodding, "mm, right," she set the glass down, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, "because he's the hot professor girls were swooning over."

"It was harassment," you pointed out.

"Oh, right," she nodded, "and you just happen to come into his life at the perfect time." She put a hand over her forehead, "my savior, my superman." She giggle as you through a jolly rancher at her.

She dodged, "ow hey–those things hurt!"

You snorted, "mmhm."

"Ssss," she hissed holding her side.

Your rushed to her, worried eyes raking up and down her body to find the cause, "hey, are you sure you're fine? We don't have to go out tonight, like I said, Mom and Dad don't think it's a good idea either."

"H-hey," she laughed, but it was pained; you helped her get to her feet again, brushing a lock behind her face, "come one, I've been through hell and back, that basically means I'm invincible now."

You frowned, then smiled softly when she met your eyes, "okay, okay fine. But the second you seem off, we're coming home."

She nodded, "it's just an arcade, what worse could possibly happen that hasn't happened already?"

You frowned, glancing away, and bracing your wrists against the kitchen counter, "if you say so..."

She ran to your room and began picking out outfits, a few of her friends were meeting you at the arcade. You were kind of there to keep an eye on her, you still hadn't apologized for kicking her out that day with the girl–that witch. Too many times did you have dreams about wrapping you hands around her neck and squeezing until there was nothing left but dust.

You vowed to have Spencer have his tech genius friend, Garcia, run backgrounds on all of her friends moving forward. No one was safe anymore. Of course, you kept that bit to yourself.

"Come on, we're going to be late!" Your sister grabbed your arm, tugging you toward the front door, for a moment, your mind took you back to the day in the coffee shop around three weeks ago, when Spencer had grabbed your arm, he'd looked like he wanted to say something, and that was the first moment you realized you might've had a crush on him.

You frowned, feeling bitter about it. It was a shitty thing, a shitty thing for you to do, but you supposed you could not exactly control your emotions like you'd wished.

The day was clear and so far, the night was too, three of your sister's friends, ones you knew well and had more than once crashed at your apartment before, had met up with the two of you.

They headed into the arcade, getting halted do to a line. They pouted and poked fun at each other for almost running into a few children. It was a good time so far, and you were having fun, if not for you sake, for your sister's all the more, but there was an ache. Something was missing and you could feel it.

"You know," your sister fell back, letting the entrance to the arcade go, "he told me everything." You jolted, your gaze jerked watching her saddened expression. She watched the concrete, "you never stopped trying to find me," she lifted her gaze then, eyes sparking and frown flipping, "I guess he thought I should know because he probably knew you'd be too scared to tell me yourself."

Was she talking about Spencer? You couldn't breath, of course she was, who the hell else was there?

"Thank you," your heart melted at her words and tears sprang in your eyes, "and I forgive you, so don't worry about it. Besides, you're not the only one to blame." She threw her head back and snorted at herself, "I broke a rule, you've had them since the beginning. So don't be too hard on yourself okay?"

Her eyes caught on something behind you and her face lit up, "Spencer! Hey, glad you could make it."

He huffed, glancing down at you while you stared up at him in complete awe. "Magician," you murmured, his gaze settling on you for a second, "no, it's just me." He turned back to your sister, mouthing a 'thank you', then, "and happy 24th birthday."

"I should be thanking you, this way, she won't be analyzing everything I do."

The threw her head back and laughed, then slide through the door and found her friends in line again.

"Spencer?" You raised a brow, a half chuckle leaving your mouth, "what are you doing here?"

"Well," he stuffs his hands in his pockets, "I have...skilled teammates..." came his response.

"And that includes my sister?"

"No, no," he waved off, "I just was able to get her number." You raised a brow and he held his hands up. "After speaking with her in person–I thought she should know how much you cared–she invited me," he threw his hands up slightly, "here."

You connected the dots easily, this must have been after you'd told her about the people that found her, after you had told her a little more about the rude turned friend professor. Your cheeks burned, though the darkness hid it. As much as you loved and wanted to be around him constantly, it also hurt you, and you hated being around him because you knew, you knew you couldn't feel this way about him.

Except you did and you were bad at hiding it.

"What's that?" He sniffed at the air, turning around and walking toward the edge of the sidewalk, where concrete met blacktop, "it's...rain."

You threw your head back and groaned, "you're kidding."

"Nope," he laughed, holding out his hand where trickles began to fall.

"I have got to have the absolute worst luck," you huffed, smacking your hands to your cheeks.

"That," Spencer said, stepping in front of you, "or," he palmed your hands, pulling them away from your face, eye tracing every line–

"Please don't tell me your'e about to say something sappy." You cringed, then popped open one eye when he stayed silent.

He was huffing, trying to hold in his laughter, "no, no I'm just gonna," he leaned in, hands finding your face, and he kissed you. You'd thought about what it would be like and a few times you even caught yourself day dreaming about it, he smelled like coffee and rain, just how you preferred, and this was real.

Every part of you on fire, despite the wind that started pulling at the trees. Rain poured over you and you jolted, screeching, "no!"

Spencer laughed at you trying to pull him to safety, "what-what? Why?"

"Not this time," you grinned up at him.

"But–but that was the best part," he whined playfully, jabbing a thumb behind his shoulder, still letting you pull him by his hand under the roof of the arcade sidewalk. "I–I thought you loved the rain?" His voice went high, the low again, the way it always did when he was joking or nervous.

"I love watching the rain, I don't like to be in the rain." You corrected.

"But I love being rained on with you," he murmured, tilting his head; his big brown puppy dog eyes shining with affection.

"Maybe next time, Doctor," you huffed a laugh and he held the door open, and you stepped a small spin to walk in, using his arm as a dome.

a/n: (please let me know if there are any grammatical errors) I am so sorry I honestly did not mean for it to be this long when I thought of the idea, but when I began writing, I realized it would be way longer than I intended and actually is now my longest fic I have ever written. I hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it <3

[reiderwriter]

NSFW Prompt Requests - I’m in dyer need of 127 or 150 if you’d be so kind?🥵

A/N: I feel like I say "I got a bit carried away" in every single one of these authors notes, but this one I think I really did...

Word Count: 3k

#127: "I can taste myself on you."

#150: "Stop clenching, baby, you're already tight enough as it is."

Summary: You're hot for teacher. So is every other girl on campus. Your Professor, however, is absolutely oblivious until you spell it out for him...

Warnings: Professor x Student, age gap, oral (M receiving), face-fucking, no birth control/ condoms, creampie, male whimpering and moaning mentioned a lot, PinV sex, both of them are Switches idc idc 18+ MINORS DNI

Check out my other stuff on my masterlist!

You had been in his class for around three weeks when you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. If you were going to keep up your GPA and progress in your grad programme, you were going to have to either drop the class with Professor Reid, or persuade him to put you out of your misery. 

You’d been intrigued by the course to start with, of course, which is why you’d picked up the criminology elective when it wasn’t a required class. But it was only available this semester as he was only Guest Lecturing while on leave from his job at the BAU, and getting that kind of insight from an actual industry professional rather than an academic really couldn’t hurt, right? You’d thought that until you’d seen him. 

Expecting some older man with a stuffy tone and a disdain for modern technology, you’d been roughly awoken when he walked into the lecture hall on the first day and you found yourself hanging on to his every word as he read through your syllabus. You were spot on with the technophobia, but for everything else, you were blissfully incorrect. He was, quite possibly, the hottest man you’d ever seen in your life. You weren’t secretive about your thing for older men, joking all the time about your “daddy kink,” but you’d never had a thing for one of your actual professors before, and it was driving you insane. 

It didn’t help that the word had travelled around the entirety of your campus as well, with multiple girls turning up to audit the class after the first week. You’d been green with envy since you’d seen them mooning over the man, and you’d felt disgusted with yourself almost instantly. He was your professor, he was damn good at his job, but he was so deliciously tempting that you couldn’t find it within yourself to actually pay attention in his classes. You knew it was only a matter of time until the man, who you realised was obviously blind to how attractive he was to a bunch of twenty-somethings with a penchant for danger and a willingness to try all kinds of new things, would catch on to how many of his students were openly lusting for him.

You hoped that you had learned enough in his classes on behaviour that you could accurately hide your feelings and thoughts, however sinful and objectively obvious they were. Your hopes were crushed on that fateful day three weeks into the semester. 

You’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed already. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, your clothes were all still wet inside the washing machine in your apartment meaning you had to throw on a short skirt and pray you didn't flash anyone, and your roommate hadn’t closed the fridge properly the night before, so the milk you wanted to use in your morning coffee had spoilt. After dragging yourself into class, the last thing you’d wanted to see was twice as many students auditing the class as the previous week. 

To give it to the man’s obliviousness, he hadn’t noticed until about two thirds of the way into the class, when he asked a student why they weren’t taking notes.  He’d seemed confused. You were almost furious that he didn’t know what effect he was having on you, on every girl in the vicinity, but, more importantly, you. Unable to help yourself, you let out a scoff that gained his attention. 

“Is there something wrong with the class materials Miss…” he trailed off, waiting for you to supply your name to him. 

“Oh, no, uh, Y/N. My name is Y/N, there’s nothing wrong, sir. I’m sorry.” His lips twitched as you replied, but he went on with his class, as you sunk into your chair in shame. You were going to have to drop the class now. He must hate you, or think you were stupid, or think that you hated him, and your thoughts were spiralling so out of control that you hadn’t noticed the class had ended, and he was calling up at you from the lecturing desk. 

“Miss Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, and his goddamned eyes were filled with such concern you hated that every part of your body was screaming with desire for him. Unable to respond, he tried again. 

“If you have the time, would you like to come talk to me in my office? I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” You should’ve said no, just based on the ridiculous scenes filling your mind, but you didn’t hesitate to nod your approval. You picked up your bags and made your way down the steps to where he was waiting with all of his stuff near the front door. He opened the door for you, and you felt your heart race as you awkwardly slid by him in the doorway. He had to be a fucking gentleman, too, right? 

You followed him as he made his way to his office, staying silent the entire way. He looked like he wanted to make small talk but didn’t know how, choosing instead to just mirror your silence. When you reached his office, he apologised for the mess and showed you inside, letting you take a seat on the couch whilst he put all his things away. The room was littered with books of all sizes, and you noticed that the titles didn’t seem to have one common subject linking them all, or even, in fact, seem to be written in the same language. You spotted a beaten up copy of War and Peace on his desk next to an obviously used coffee mug, and some paper files that looked to be the reading from that morning’s class. 

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly plan on having guests, uh, make yourself comfortable?” He asked it as a question, and loosened his tie as he said it. You stared at the small patch of skin on his neck, your eyes lingering just a moment too long before you remembered you were in a room with an actual FBI Profiler, and that if your thoughts were any louder, he’d handcuff you himself. As tempting as that was, you really didn’t want your Professor knowing about all the ways you’d imagined him fucking you. 

“Professor Reid, I’m sorry, I have to leave, and- and I think I have to drop out of the class.” You stood up suddenly, and he stood up too from his place at his desk, shocked at your sudden anxious outburst. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, is there something wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked taking a step closer to you, but you took a step back again, accidentally pressing your back against one of his many bookcases in your haste to avoid him. 

“Yes! I mean no, it’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable. I’m not uncomfortable, really!” He had the look of a kicked puppy on his face now, and you realised this man would be the death of you. You weren’t even sure what it was about him that entranced you enough to stay and continue the conversation.

“I can’t focus in your classes, Professor,” you sighed out, letting your eyes drop with the embarrassing confession. 

“That’s perfectly fine, many people struggle to pay attention in college classes. Is there anything I can do in my lectures to accommodate to your needs?” Your eyebrows screwed up in frustration with his obvious professional kindness. 

“No, Professor, I’m sorry, unless you stop looking like that there’s nothing you can do.” You ran a stressed hand through your hair as you begged your mouth to shut and stay shut. 

“...What?” The confused tone in his voice let you know that he had no clue at all what you meant by your words, but he didn’t go further. You chanced a glance up at his face, and were met with a small blush rising to his cheeks, as you watched the words process in his brain. 

“Professor, every single person in that class that is attracted to men would kill to do absolutely sinful things to you. You’re like the campus’s collective wet dream right now. You had to know that, right?” You sigh out, finally putting the man out of his misery.

“Oh. No. No, no, I didn’t. Know that, I mean, I didn’t…Is that why there are so many people auditing the class? They want to…. Do that with me?” 

“Fuck you, Professor. They want to fuck you. You can say it, we’re both adults.” You resigned yourself to the fact that this conversation was probably going to haunt every waking hour for the rest of your life, and just let it happen, pushing through the cringe to help him come to certain realisations. 

“And that’s why you want to drop the class?” he asked finally, looking back up at you. 

“Yes.” 

“Because you want to…fuck me?” 

Your mouth dropped open at his words, as you desperately tried to back track, but all that came out was hot air and blubbering sounds as you felt your brain short circuit like his had just moments before. 

“I mean… I guess,” you finally stuttered out, your fight or flight instinct begging you to just run, but something deeper, something carnal planting you in position and making movement in that moment impossible. 

“Oh…. right.” He nodded at you, his lips spread in a thin smile as he nodded at you awkwardly. You stood there together in silence for a minute, but it became clear soon that the logical part of your brain was no longer in control of your mouth. 

“Can I?” you asked, almost startled at your own boldness. 

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice raising higher in tone at the incredulity of your statement. 

“Can I fuck you? If I do, maybe I’ll be able to, you know, pay more attention in class. Get it out of my system, you know.” Growing emboldened by your own words, you took another hesitant step towards him, reaching your hand up to gently touch his arm. His jaw clenched at the contact, but he didn’t move away, didn’t suggest you stop right there and forget this conversation ever happened. 

“Please, Professor Reid. Please fuck me,” you trailed the hand up his arm and back down his chest as he stood there just watching you beg for him. You discarded your bag on the chair, and keeping your eyes focused on his, trailed both of your hands down to his belt, slowly enough that he could push you away at anytime. 

“Do you know what you’re doing, Miss Y/N?” He asked quietly, and you smiled, finally happy to get a reaction from him. The smile had dropped from his lips and there was something suddenly dark in his tone that had you clenching around nothing. 

“Yes, Professor,” you said, letting your hands start working on his belt, undoing it agonisingly slowly as you watched him control his breaths. When you finally had it undone, you finally looked up at him again, and gave him a smile as innocent as you could muster. 

“You have my permission,” he whispered into your ears as he gently put a hand on your head and pushed you down to your knees, perching himself on the edge of the desk. You wasted no time then, desperate to live out each and every single one of your fantasies with him. Reaching into his pants, you found him already hard and pulsing, and you released his cock from its confines quickly. Spitting into your hand, you gave him a few quick strokes as you watched him grow even bigger under your touch. 

Letting out some sinful breathy moans, you looked up at him, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut as you finally reached your tongue out to lick at the tip of his cock. He twitched at the contact, and you felt the warmth pooling between your legs as you watched his each and every reaction. Finally wrapping your lips around him, you decided to put him out of his misery, sinking down on his dick an inch at a time until he was hitting the back of your throat. He was delightfully vocal the whole time, moaning and whimpering so much that you almost pulled off him completely and begged him to fuck you raw. But the taste of his cock was intoxicating and you wanted more and more of him. After a few minutes of your agonisingly slow pace, you felt his hips beginning to buck up to match your pace as he began to face-fuck you. He grabbed a handful of hair, and you did your best to relax your throat, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his thigh and sinking deeper into your open hips on the floor. 

His eyes were still screwed close, but he was moaning out your name now, with a few expletives thrown in too, having done a complete 180 from the few minutes earlier when he’d hesitated to even say the F word in conversation. You felt he was getting close when he started thrusting deeper, sloppier in his movements and more breathy in his moans. He suddenly pulled out of your mouth and lifted you to your feet, bringing you face to face with him. 

“We didn’t… we didn’t say where I would, um…” he tried to say but you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a hot kiss to his mouth, your tongues quickly twinning as he returned it in kind. You stood there, lips locked and breathless in that space for quite some time, neither of you caring about the lack of oxygen you were getting. Finally, using the hand that was still fisted in your hair he pulled you away from his lips, and you whimpered pathetically at the loss of contact. 

“I can taste myself on you,” he panted into your neck as he held you close, the words sending a shiver down your spine and forcing another moan out of your mouth. The pain from his tight grip in your hair only heightened your pleasure as he moved his lips back to your exposed neck and continued his ministrations. 

“Please, professor….” you begged again, desperate for his attention. “Please fuck me.” 

Without removing his lips from your neck, he quickly moved the two of you back to the couch you’d been sitting on before, guiding you into his lap, his cock still hard and free from his pants. Your skirt spread open, and your hard landing meant you could feel all of him pressed against you. You thanked the gods for your suddenly well-timed laundry efforts as he grabbed the base of his cock and started teasing you through your panties. You were sure they were soaked through as you sat in his lap, grinding down on his perfect cock, his mouth still pressed into your neck. 

“Fuck me, please fuck me,” you moaned, and he complied, finally hooking a finger under the seam of your panties and moving them to the side as he pushed up into you with another throaty moan. 

“Yes, thank you. Thank you Professor, thank you.” You moaned out in bliss as you sank further and further down on him, pushing further than any man had been. before. 

“Stop clenching, baby, you’re already tight enough as it is,” he ground his teeth in a hiss, and you moaned at his words, the pervertedness of them shooting straight to your core. 

“Can’t…help myself. You feel so good, sir.” He started moving then, holding your waist as he started lazily thrusting upwards. After having your mouth wrapped around him, he knew that too much too soon would mean that this wouldn’t last long, and you had begged him nicely, so he wanted this to feel as good for you as it did for him. Gripping one of your hips tightly in one hand, he let the other fall under your skirt, and started pressing into your clit. You threw back your head at the contact and started riding him, matching each of his upward thrusts with a downward thrust of your own, letting his thumb gain speed as it followed you up and down. 

“Fuck, professor, thank you…I’m gonna cum, fuck, thank you so much,” you stuttered out as you could feel your orgasm rip through you, collapsing into his arms as he thrust quicker into you now. 

“Y/N, where… where should I….” His voice trailed off, and after a few seconds regaining your sanity after your climax, you finally answered the question he’d been desperately trying to answer.

“Inside… Inside me, Professor Reid, it’s okay…” he whimpered at that, at each thrust he pushed into you, his head falling to the crook in your neck and your hands stroking the hair at the base of his neck as you clenched around him again, finally pulling the desire out of him. He came noisily, even with his face buried in you, moaning so delightfully you knew the sound would be your new distraction for the next three weeks. 

When he finally regained his composure, he let his hands drop from your waist, his head rolled back on the couch, and you fell with him, wrapping yourself around him as if  you never wanted this coupling to end. You stayed there, head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and drifted to sleep. 

You awoke an hour later, but there was no sign of the Professor. He’d cleaned you up somehow, because there was no unpleasant feeling between your legs, and he’d wrapped a blanket around you as you slept, making sure you were comfortable. Collecting your things and making to leave, you almost convinced yourself that it had all been another fantasy, and that you were becoming seriously delusional about the man. As you approached the door, however, you spotted a small note taped to the handle, and quickly pulled it into your hands. 

Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for visiting me today. I hope you decide to stay in the class, I certainly could learn a thing or two from you. 

- Spencer Reid. 

P.S. You’re lucky I’m an MIT Graduate with a job in the FBI. There’s a security camera in my office. 

[sweetracha]

Give Them a Show

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT!)

Allergy Warning: Felix x Reader, OT8 Moments, Public Sex, Sex with an Audience, Humilation, Felix acts like a Ringmaster in some ways, Secete Relationship, Overstimulation, Spanking (a few smacks), Pussy Spanking (once), Squirting, Felix really likes showing you off.

Pastry Description: Felix and the reader keep their relationship a secret from the rest of the members. What happens when they walk in on your little make-out session? Felix is always one for putting on a good show.

Dating an idol was difficult, you knew that going into this relationship. You had always had a crush on the freckled Aussie since you first met him back in high school. Taking Baking 101 as an elective was probably the best decision you had ever made. After graduation, you two kept in touch and soon enough you watched your own personal starlight turn into radiating sunshine for the world.

Felix made an effort to text and call when he could. However, it was inevitable that the hours turn into only a few minutes. Trips back home from Korea seemed to get shorter and shorter. He used to plan days worth of stuff for the two of you to do but it became lucky if you could even meet his family for dinner. It seemed like your crush would only burn on your end.

Then, after the Sydney show, when the boys were all running off of post-concert highs Felix suck you out. You had no clue where the two of you were going, you moved out of the city years ago at this point. Then it all became familiar. The road up the little hill you had taken many times before was tattooed in your memory. Felix and you would sneak off at night to meet here, to get away from it all. This is where he confessed his dreams of being an idol to you, where he told you he was going to audition, where he came to cry to you when he was eliminated, and ultimately where he told you that his life was about to change forever.

This spot was also where you spilled your innermost thoughts to your best friend. Tears were shed, laughter was had, and even anger was shown. You kept many more things locked away however, Felix's glow was sometimes too blinding. The same night he showed you the one-way ticket to Korea was the night you shoved your love letter deeper into your purse.

You drove up here when you called Felix and told him about your date.

And when you mentioned you were moving out of the city with your new partner.

and again when you unveiled your engagement.

The last time you were here, you sobbed over the phone as you explained the last few months you endured as they left you. Felix wished more than anything he wasn't in Korea that night.

Sitting in his mom's borrowed car Felix poured his heart out to you. He explained how life has not been all he made it seem. That he only ever told you about the glamor because he knew you would worry. His rambling was cut short when the roof light caught your eye just right. The shine from your now tear-welled eyes sparkled. Felix wondered if he had hurt you until he saw the faint cat smile that graced your lips. It was the same one he saw every time he made you feel safe. The world seemed to still in the moment, telling him he was where he needed to be. Leaning over the center console his lips took your cat smile away. Then the world moved around you two again.

It kept spinning and spinning. You two never officially asked each other out but it was an obvious thing. Even his members knew you were off the menu. Felix would never confirm your relationship though, mutually agreeing it was best to keep it to yourselves for now. The little moments you two got alone were few and far between. However, you always savored every moment. Heavy make-out sessions lead to sensual petting which always turned into dry humping like college students until one of you finished. Sex was rare, almost a myth in your relationship. Felix didn't do quickies, no he made love to you. He treated the bedroom like a stage and Felix was never one to put on a bad performance.

That's why it was so surprising to you when he came back early from his schedule. You were staying with the boys while you waited for your apartment in Soul to be completed. Felix cried the day you sent him a picture of a matching one-way flight.

He walked through the front door and searched for you. It didn't take long for him to find you lounging on the living room couch in his old tee and some sleep shorts. Before you knew it he had you thrown on his lap with his hands up your shirt. Desperate eyes met yours, begging to let his inner desires free. That cat smile gave him all the permission he needed. Felix attacked your lips rather ungracefully but the need he had for you turned you on more than any good kiss could.

Cold hands chilled your burning skin as they crept up your back. The kiss deepened when he placed one of his hands on the back of your neck, wrapping it around the base. His other found your hardening buds and began to play. A particular tweak to your nipple made you throw your head back to moan out his name, but the hand around it got firmer making it so you couldn't move away.

Felix had this way about him. He was so soft like a teddy bear but dominated anyway. Every degradation was laced with praise. Every bite was kissed away. Every smack was smoothed. Every tear was wiped away. No one knew this side of him, only you.

So captured in this heated exchange neither of you heard the door open. Clouded minds silenced all noise. All but one loud gasp.

Felix pulled away, it was a sound he had never heard from you before. He searched your face for pain but only saw traces of what he described as embarrassment. If that wasn't you gasping then it must have been…

"LEE FUCKING FELIX! YOU LIER" Hyunjin yelled out.

All your worst fears came true. Here you were sitting pretty and posed on your secret boyfriend's lap while all his members barged through the door. You wanted you run away and hide but you froze. It wasn't until Felix tapped your cheek for attention.

"Baby, go to the bedroom for me, yeah? Let me talk to the boys." Felix helped you up and made you as decent as possible. A hand on your lower back ushered you away.

You don't know what possessed you to look up. Catching eyes with Chan did something to you that you couldn't describe.

The gasp, the way they stood there, their eyes on you imprinted into your mind. Seungmin wore a cautious smirk. Changbin's seemed proud. Jeongin couldn't decide if he wanted to look at or away from you. Han chose the latter. Hyunjin's dramatics turned his face a bright red. Lee Know acted as if you weren't in the room. But Chan? Chan looked hungry.

One after another their faces played on a loop in your mind. Each one makes your panties a bit wetter. Why was this happening? You loved Felix. You wanted Felix and only Felix. The thought of being with anyone else made you die a little inside. You would never want to fuck any of the other guys, but something made you feel like you wanted them there.

Felix came back into the room and kneeled in front of you. His hands cupped around your puffy cheeks. He looked into your eyes before he spoke.

"Baby Doll, I'm so sorry that happened. I checked all of our schedules three times over. I wasn't aware they canceled tonight's practice."

"It's okay, sunshine." Your voice told a much different story.

"No, it's not. I had to tell them everything. They want to apologize and to tell you that they think this is a good idea, we are a good idea. Baby, can they come do that?"

You instantly nodded a frantic no.

"Then what are you baby? Turned on?" He laughed at his joke. Then noticed you were not.

"Doll, why? What's wrong? Your face is so red, it's okay to be embarrassed" You and Felix swore you would never lie.

"I'm not embarrassed."

"Oh. I'm sorry baby I didn't mean to upset you." a gentle hand ran up your thigh comforting, but was quickly met with a wet patch. "Baby? What is--OH! Baby…did it really turn you on?"

"Felix I'm sorry! I would never cheat! You know that, promise me you know that!"

"Oh, I know baby. You can't help being turned on by all the eyes on you. The attention is addicting baby, trust me." His voice got impossibly deeper. "The idea of them all watching, wanting, craving you, but they can't have it. Sounds delicious to me. You would get to be the star I always knew you could be. The leading lady in her own debut performance. What do you say, Doll? Why don't we give them a show?"

Some of the guys looked away the second they entered the room. A few looked at your body but away from your face. Then there was Chan, hungry eyes looking directly into yours.

It was clear that you agreed, the cat smile reappear on your lips. He saw this pretty little sub fall right into place at the idea alone. Felix held you for a second, kissed your head, and then left. It was about 15 minutes before he returned, with 7 blushing faces behind him.

"Take a seat anywhere, there are no bad options. Every view of my baby is the best." Felix spoke in a lower cadence and held the tone of a narrator. The chill that ran up your spine was seen by everyone.

Felix sat behind you, pulling you in close and slowly caressing your sides. You know this move. He does this when he wants to keep you on edge, wet but not yet ready to cum. He was planning something.

"Welcome to the show, I hope you all enjoy it. There are a few rules before we get started. First off, no flash photography or filming of any kind, this is a private show after all. Secondly no talking during the performance. Lastly no touching…not even yourself" His voice turned scary at that last line.

"Failure to follow these rules will result in a permanent ban from our theater. Understood? Good. Any questions?"

"When you say no touching--" Surprisingly, the voice that spoke up wasn't Chan's, rather it was Jeongin's.

"No jacking off, no palming, no rubbing, no grinding, and no lap sitting" Felix shot that part directly toward Han and Minho.

"Shall we begin?"

Felix first removed your shirt and shorts to reveal a set of lavender lingerie underneath. His hands slowly roamed your body, obviously showing it off. Once his hands reached your chest he pushed your boobs together, earning some groans from the men in front of you.

Being so openly on display made you burn from embarrassment, but in a way that was so addicting. You didn't dare make eyes with any of the boys, that would be too much. The attempts they made to stifle any moans were already enough to make you crazy.

"Oh, what do we have here" Felix moved one hand to your thigh while the other cupped your chin. Simotaniously he forces your legs open and your vision forward. "Looks like my baby might be enjoying this, huh? Atta girl, loving the attention. I knew you would. Look at that dark spot right in the middle of your panties. I bet if I just--" He dragged a finger right across the spot in question. "I was right, you are fucking soaked."

His hand kept your face forward and he pushed your panties to the side. You were forced to take in every face in front of you. Han was as red as you had ever seen him yet he didn't look away. Seungmin and Jeongin both bit their bottom lips. Minho's pointed glare made you want to hide. Hyunjin looked as if he was in awe. Changbin seemed more focused than ever. And Chan, well Chan looked hungry.

Felix was quick to slip a finger inside of your cunt and set a brutal pace. He was only ever quick like this if he was determined to make you cum. From the growing erection on your back, you were sure he was as desperate as you were. Two more fingers entered before you realized and more were making short figure 8s on your clit. You threw your head back as you held in your moans.

"Nuh uh baby, that won't do. Go on, sing for our guests." Felix purred in your ear.

A crying whiny moan left you. Each one after was higher in pitch. You were so close, right on the edge of bliss. Then Felix pulled out. You didn't have time to complain however as he landed a slap to your soaked cunt and vigorously rubbed four flat fingers back and forth. In a matter of seconds, the bed in front of you was soaked as you screamed.

Most of the boys had to sit on their hands to not break Felix's rules. They were not about to risk missing the second act of this performance. A few moans and groans and even a whine from Jisung escaped but Felix let them slide. He was focused on you now.

"Color babygirl" He whispered for only you to hear.

"Green" it was shakey and quiet but Felix got the idea.

A gentle hand seductively ran down your front before he flipped you around, giving all the guys a great view of your ass. He smacked it a few times before smoothing out the red.

"How's the show so far? Worth the wait?" Felix projected out to the crowd.

"I see some are enjoying it…and others are REALLY enjoying it" He snickered as Changbin choked on a fake cough.

"Sometimes a bit of color looks so good on you baby."

He laid you back slowly, inching your head so close to the edge of the bed. Just enough that when you looked up you could see everyone. This position was dizzying enough but adding the weight of Felix's cock at your entrance made you spiral.

"Please" you whined out

"God baby, that's all I needed to hear"

"Come on baby, you can do better. Show them how a real starlet begs."

"Please Felix, please fuck me. I need it. I need your cock in me, fuck me like they aren't here"

And with that, Felix set long deep strokes into you. He knew you better than anyone else. You liked to feel yourself being taken apart, feeling every inch sink in and out.

Every time he thrust into you, your head got closer and closer to tipping over the edge. Every time it happened you were closer to falling over your own. Felix let out a startlingly loud groan as your walls contracted around him.

"Fuck that's it, baby, Keep going. Fuck, keep squeezing me like that and I'll show the boys how pretty you look with cum leaking out of you." The pad of his thumb met with your clit and sent you over the edge.

As you came hard your head slipped over the bed. Unside-down you saw 7 sets of dark lustful eyes ready to take you. At least three of them came untouched. You overstimulated yourself at the thought that you could do that to someone.

Felix slowly pulled out of you and gently turned you around. Your body was putty at this point, making it easy for him to mold you just how he liked. He spread your legs as wide as possible and pushed down on your lower stomach. His cum mixed with yours as it began to leak out of you. He pushed a bit harder to make it flow.

"Good job baby, everyone clap for the star of our show."

The clapping added to the intoxicating humiliation you already felt.

"But the show must go on! What is a performance without an encore, am I right?" Felix sat you up.

"I think we need help from the audience for this next part. Chan, do you mind coming up on stage?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Chan said.

He looked hungry.

The Sweetest Batch: @goblinracha, @xx3rachaslutxx, @j-onedrabbles, @lixiesweetbrownie, @marrivmel,@lyramundana , @raaaaaaahhhh , @the-geese-shall-dominate

Was your guess right? : @moonlightndaydreams, @seungminsapuppy, @krishastumblernow, @lyramundana,@s9fit3, @sluttylilbunbun, @seungmins-secret-thoughts, @seo--changbin

[dosesofcommonsense]

It doesn’t make sense that people would work to keep the voter roles dirty UNLESS they’re working against the American people.

Tell me you intend to cheat, without telling me you intend to cheat!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Radley Balko at The Watch:

Since the election, a number of readers have asked how worried we should be, and what we should be looking for in the weeks and months ahead. My general answer: pretty worried! At this point, I see little reason to think that Trump won’t at least attempt his most authoritarian and destructive campaign promises. Whether he succeeds will depend on how much resistance he gets from the courts, Congress, the federal bureaucracy, and the rest of us.

Trump’s nominations to cabinet positions so far are a clear indication that he’s dragging his party further into a nihilist cult of personality. It isn’t just that so many of them are unqualified, corrupt, or destructive (though it’s also all of those things). It’s that they’re uniquely unfit for the specific positions he has appointed them to hold. He’s daring someone to stop him, and learning from what follows.

The Matt Gaetz pick for attorney general was bad, but it wasn’t even his most dangerous. Appointing crank conspiracy theorist and Trump/Assad apologist Tulsi Gabbard to the most sensitive national security position in government is a direct threat to national security and a reflection of Trump’s own fondness for authoritarians. Department of Defense pick Pete Hegseth has never led more than a dozen or so people (the one small nonprofit he did lead, he ran into the ground). As a National Guardsman, he was barred from working security for Joe Biden’s inauguration because he has a tattoo common to white supremacists. He lobbied Trump to pardon war criminals who had been reported by their own platoons, and believes the U.S. military should ignore the Geneva Conventions.

Then there’s the fact that the leader of the QAnon party, a man himself found responsible for rape and credibly accused of sexual assault or misconduct by dozens of women, appointed four — four — cabinet level officials accused of engaging in or covering up sexual misconduct. There’s Gaetz, of course. RFK Jr. has also been accused of sexual assault (he didn’t exactly deny the accusation). The sexual assault allegation against DOD nominee Hegseth are particularly credible. And Linda McMahon, Trump’s pick for Department of Education, was accused in a lawsuit of covering up a ringside announcer’s sex abuse of a boy while she and her husband ran World Wrestling Entertainment.

None of this is all that surprising, given that Trump’s party keeps nominating and electing sex creeps up and down the ballot. Nor does it seem to bother Trump’s congressional supporters. Instead, they’ve decided to single out and bully the first trans woman elected to Congress, barring her from using the women’s bathrooms on Capitol Hill . . . because she’s a “threat” to women. (We’re still waiting to hear which bathrooms male Republicans neutered by Donald Trump will be permitted to use.) Trump is also refusing to subject his nominations to FBI background checks, and his campaign says he won’t release the names of donors to his transition. Both are clear signs that he has no intention of making himself accountable or transparent to anyone. Nearly everything he’s done since the election points to a president who not only intends to buck every norm, convention, and check, he won’t even pretend to try. It’s just open defiance.

In the coming days, I’ll look at the free press and the First Amendment, immigration, and crime and criminal justice. But today, I’ll focus on Trump’s openly-stated plans to weaponize the government against his critics and enemies. I fully expect to see Trump follow through on his promises to seek retribution against people like Jack Smith, Liz Cheney, Adam Schiff, Alexander Vindman, Anthony Fauci, and countless others. Whether he’ll do it by ordering the DOJ to make sensationalist arrests and criminal charges or use subtler though still pernicious tools like IRS audits, subpoenas, or parading people before Congress for public ridicule, is hard to say. But investigations alone can ruin lives and careers.

Let’s start with the DOJ. I’m not sure that the Gaetz debacle provides much instruction on whether Senate Republicans have the backbone to provide any real oversight. (It did show us, however, that House Republicans were willing to remove their spines, gift-wrap them, and hand-deliver them to Trump.) I suspect Gaetz’s tendency to anger and insult members of his own party hurt his nomination more than his extremism, sex pestery, and utter lack of qualifications.

Trump’s new AG nominee, Pam Bondi, is less abrasive than Gaetz, but every bit the devout MAGA loyalist. As Florida Attorney General, Bondi was at one point set to join other states in suing Trump University (Florida has more “alumni” than any other state). Shen then mysteriously pulled out of the class action after Trump made a $25,000 donation to her PAC — a donation that came from Trump’s “charity,” by the way — and then held a fundraiser for her at Mar-a-Lago. (Bondi has a long history of that sort of pay-to-play.) Bondi quickly became a full-throated supporter. She’s not only a 2020 election denier, she was part of Trump’s legal team in his bid to overturn the election. She actually stood next to Rudy Giuliani at Four Seasons Total Landscaping.

Bondi has also already made clear that she fully supports Trump’s plan to weaponize the agency he has nominated her to lead.

[...] We’ll see an important test of Trump’s power shortly after he takes office. He plans to fire FBI director Christopher Wray and replace him with Kash Patel, a vengeful loyalist wholly unqualified for that position. The FBI director is supposed to serve outside the political influence of individual presidents. It’s why the position comes with a 10-year term, and why an FBI director can only be fired for cause. Remember that when Trump fired James Comey, Jeff Sessions considered it a serious enough abuse of power to appoint a special counsel. We’ve become so accustomed to Trump’s power grabs that it’s now just widely expected that he’ll fire Wray for pretextual reasons and install an unqualified lickspittle like Patel — a guy who has vowed to imprison journalists and critics. If the Senate allows that to happen, I fear dark days lie ahead. (Trump is also reportedly considering appointing Patel to a position that doesn’t require Senate approval, but which could still give him the power to act as Trump’s retributive hammer.)

[...] Trump is also already planning to devote DOJ resources to “uncovering” evidence that he won the 2020 election, and to prosecuting state officials who resisted his attempts to coerce them. Expect to see a full-throttle effort to rewrite history about that election, only this time Trump will have more power to force federal agencies to provide faux credibility to his bullshit fraud conspiracies. Watch to see which agencies fall in line.

[...] The Post and other outlets have since reported that one of the key architects of Trump’s plan to purge federal agencies of institutionalists is Russ Vought, Trump’s former head of the Office of Management and Budget — one of the most powerful under-the-radar positions in government. Vought was also a key architect of Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation-led blueprint for a Trump II administration so deeply unpopular that Trump repeatedly claimed during the campaign that he had nothing to do with it. That of course was a lie: last week, Trump nominated Vought back to his old position.

[...] Finally, one particularly pernicious pattern we’ve seen from Trump officials and MAGA pundits is the targeting of not just politicians and public officials, but everyday people they see as representative of their enemies — at which point the MAGA faithful swarm with threats and harassment. We saw Trump-loyal publications repeatedly try to dox whistleblowers who exposed corruption and abuse. We saw them upend the lives of people like Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss, along with countless other 2020 election workers who signed up for the sort of nonpartisan positions necessary in a functional democracy.

They did it to doctors and nurses during COVID, healthcare workers who treat trans people, and of course to the Haitian immigrants in Springfield — along with any local residents who dared to defend them. The Libs of TikTok account on X run by Chaya Raichik basically exists solely for this purpose — to sic an army of online followers to heap hate and invective on people she has deemed to be on the wrong side of the culture war. Trump’s “co-president” Elon Musk has been particularly eager to weaponize the social media platform he bought for this sort of targeting. Shortly after purchasing Twitter, he selectively released emails, internal documents, and other private correspondence to a few hand-picked “journalists” to create a dubious narrative about public-private censorship. While there were certainly some examples of improper government pressure on Twitter, most of the claims were wildly overblown. More worrying, the whole project — along with the complicity of Republicans in Congress — led to harassment and death threats against former Twitter employees, whistleblowers, misinformation researchers, and others caught in the crossfire.

Radley Balko wrote a great piece on how the incoming Trump Misadministration seeks to weaponize government agencies to be sharp tools to help his authoritarian masturbatory revenge fantasies.

[dosesofcommonsense]

Why would anyone want outdated, or non dated, faulty ballots to be counted for an election, UNLESS they were trying to steal an election?

We can put a number on every real paper dollar and every digital currency. Why can’t we do the same with election ballots? Cause some don’t want numbered ballots; cause they can’t win with numbered ballots.

[idhren]

Remember election night results are always unofficial. While the focus on election night is on who won and who lost, those races are called by the media, not election officials. In the days and weeks to come, election officials will count every eligible ballot, including ballots cast in-person on or before Election Day, mail ballots, provisional ballots, and ballots cast by military and overseas voters. Accurately counting millions of ballots takes time and it is important to be patient. Some races will be close and may require a recount or a recanvass. Many election officials will also con­duct audits to verify the accuracy of the results. We implore all Americans to understand these pro­cesses are normal and done in accordance with state and territorial law.

[dosesofcommonsense]

Yep.

[ajortga]

lead, part 1

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

a/n: I don't know how to work this, it's my first story on tumblr, i use wp and I found this story so interesting, so I wanted to try tumblr out, we'll see how this goes!

in which, you get paired as a lead with your crush, jenna ortega.

part 2

-

Theater.

That's where home is to the heart.

It's just so captivating. You never want to let go of it. You know you won't.

You want to do it forever when you're older.

It all started when you were in 6th grade, you can remember it like nothing could ever be forgotten. Your teacher told your class that you would be visiting the high school and experiencing their performance of Matilda. You sat in the second row, next to your friend as the shining lights began to dim and the chatters quieted.

You can just remember how captured you were in the performance. Part of it was the actors, the freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors that worked together so perfectly. Your focus was on them, the setting, everything. But you knew that day, something changed.

You remember telling yourself,

You want to do that for the rest of my life.

You remember thinking of directing or acting whenever your parents asked what you wanted to be when you were older, those careers were one of the only ones that stuck each time. Sure you knew it wasn't going to be easy, but a part of you told you that this is what you wanted. That's why you were trying, even after every time you were told no.

So you applied, 9th grade year. You remember crying to your parents when they rejected the dream of acting.

You had never cried so hard more than how much you did that day. Even when you knew your parents weren't so supportive of your film future, you just..

You just wanted to try.

So you did. Then you got into advanced theater and that was all it took for your passion to grow.

You auditioned, you sang okay, you loved to act, you wanted to do everything with film.

–

Today was the day of terror.

Well you wouldn't say terror, more like the anticipation was killing you.

Middle of sophomore year, which was now, you had auditioned for the lead role. Before you only got ensembles or tech, well there was a reason, you never had the guts to audition for a lead role.

The whole day you were shaken up, biting your nails, your heartbeat quickening whenever you heard even a mention of the musical.

During your film elective, right before theater, you were nearly dying.

Not even taking in any of the teacher's words, they were translated into musical songs. You shouldn't be so excited or afraid, you were in theater already, you were certain to get at least one role.

Something was different though.

You wanted the lead.

"Nervous feelings for the theater, huh?" It was a soft, sing-song voice next to you.

You turned to see your classmate, Jenna.

She was a small brunette with pretty wavy dark brown hair and warm caramel eyes that you could drown in.

You couldn't tear your eyes off of her, she was so pretty.

You glanced at your shoes, "Yeah.. Yeah sure, I wouldn't say nervous though."

She laughed, looking at you for a moment, "You know, I was there when you auditioned, your vocals were on spot and your acting was captivating to say the least."

You broke into a small smile, "Well thanks Ortega. I'm not used to compliments, especially in theater. You auditioned for which part? I saw you practicing lines the other day."

Now it was Jenna's time to smile, she looked back at you, "Yeah, it was pretty quick, I auditioned for one of the lead's too, not your part though. I just went through my script real quick, I honestly feel that when I look at scripts once, it sticks to me."

You were going to respond but the bell for last period rang, it was the moment of truth.

You held your breath, exhaling a sigh after a moment and turned to Jenna.

"Well I think this does it, good luck then?"

She nods, grinning, "Goodluck y/n."

Wait a minute, isn't the only other lead role the love interest?

Now that you are in theater, with everyone talking, you decide to grab your headphones and click play on your spotify.

You eased, you shouldn't be so nervous but you were. If you didn't get the lead, it would show your talent and you would under look any of your true abilities in film. If you got the lead, it meant that all eyes were on you, you would be playing next to Jenna.

Your heart sang.

Lie.

Not a lie.

Stop!

Your legs bounced up and down as your classmates were waiting for your theater teacher's response for the cast of the musical.

Your teacher, Mrs. Jenn went around the classroom, almost all of your friends getting ensemble or background roles, could it be any worse? The small roles were taken by your much more talented friends, didn't that mean that you could get a small role too? Or was it just life telling your oblivious brain that you were going to get the lead?

The teacher turned to you, grabbing a card from her basket, and made eye contact, she smiled.

"I loved your audition y/n. You depicted and portrayed the part perfectly, you got the lead role along with.. Oh! Ms. Ortega! Congrats girls!" She clapped her hands together, "Alright team, rehearsals start after school starting next week on every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday! Let's wrap it up, I'll be handing you your scripts that we'll memorize in class."

Your stomach flipped, your heart was jumping out of it's chest, you got the lead you wanted!

That is what you wanted...

Right?

Then why is your heart beating so quickly?

Maybe it was knowing that the girl you developed puppy love for was going to play a love interest to you.

As Mrs. Jenn came up to you, she handed you a script that held lots of pages..

A specific page caught your eye, a scene where you and Jenna had to kiss, your eyes widen, nearly choking on nothing.

This was going to be a big problem..

[contemplatingoutlander]

Jack Smith is really, really good at explaining why Trump was indicted. This annotated copy of the indictment from the NY Times is worth reading. Here are a few highlights:

3. The Defendant had a right, like every American, to speak publicly about the election and even to claim, falsely, that there had been outcome-determinative fraud during the election and that he had won. He was also entitled to formally challenge the results of the election through lawful and appropriate means, such as by seeking recounts or audits of the popular vote in states or filing lawsuits challenging ballots and procedures. Indeed, in many cases, the Defendant did pursue these methods of contesting the election results. His efforts to change the outcome in any state through recounts, audits, or legal challenges were uniformly unsuccessful.

4. Shortly after election day, the Defendant also pursued unlawful means of discounting legitimate votes and subverting the election results. In so doing, the Defendant perpetrated three criminal conspiracies: a. A conspiracy to defraud the United States by using dishonesty, fraud, and deceit to impair, obstruct, and defeat the lawful federal government function by which the results of the presidential election are collected, counted, and certified by the federal government, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 371; b. A conspiracy to corruptly obstruct and impede the January 6 congressional proceeding at which the collected results of the presidential election are counted and certified (“the certification proceeding”), in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 1512(k); and c. A conspiracy against the right to vote and to have one’s vote counted, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 241. Each of these conspiracies—which built on the widespread mistrust the Defendant was creating through pervasive and destabilizing lies about election fraud—targeted a bedrock function of the United States federal government: the nation’s process of collecting, counting, and certifying the results of the presidential election (“the federal government function’).

[eugenedebs1920]

Donald Trump has conned nearly half America into thinking that with over a dozen failed business, 6 bankruptcies, and defaulted loans, that he’s a successful businessman. He’s conned nearly half America into thinking that despite having multiple wives, with multiple children, that he cheated on all of, while settling rape cases out of court, being adjudicated for rape, bragging about sexually assaulting women, that he’s a moral Christian man. He’s conned nearly half America into thinking that despite his only accomplishments while in office being a massive tax break that only benefited the upper 11% of earners, lowering Americans standing around the globe, dividing this country like no president ever has, that he was a great president. He’s conned nearly has conned nearly half the country into thinking that despite losing the last election by huge numbers, then refusing to concede, makes a scheme to create fake electors to defraud the American electorate, when that doesn’t work then he tries to intimidate local officials to “find” votes for him, all the while he’s been removing nuclear secrets, war plans, state secrets and classified documents, when he knew he lost the election, to hide at his various properties, he baselessly claims the election is stolen, even though he filed 64 lawsuits, recounts and audits in every state contested, riling up his base in false accusations, incites a coup to stop the certification of the election he lost, betraying his oath to the Constitution, that he should be president again!

He hasn’t conned us! We see through his con and call bullsh*t! Donald Trump is a failure, a rapist and a traitor. He certainly doesn’t belong in the White House.

Vote Kamala Harris and Tim Walz at the top of the ticket, and blue all the way down, if you want to see the change in this country we deserve!

[ggjunkie]

Showmance

27,318 words

Adam x reader

Musical theatre! AU; College! AU

For anyone who'd rather read it on here:

You straighten out your clothes, fingers brushing off invisible lint as you take a deep breath, the excitement bubbling just beneath your composed exterior. The echoing sounds of chatter and nervous footsteps fill the audition room lobby, where a group of hopefuls wait for their names to be called. It's finally musical season at your university, and you’ve jumped on the train with unrestrained enthusiasm.

This semester’s show is Little Shop of Horrors, a classic choice that feels like putting on a comfortable pair of your favorite pants—familiar and comfortable. Though it's a basic pick, you definitely aren’t complaining; this is your chance to shine. For weeks, you’ve been meticulously preparing, working with your private vocal and acting coaches, honing every note and every intonation for this audition.

As a musical theatre major, a spot in the chorus is practically a given, but you’re not one to settle for just that. No, no, no. You have bigger ambitions. Your eyes are set on Audrey II, the mysterious talking, and singing plant. It's a role that demands charisma, vocal prowess, and a certain je ne sais quoi that you’re confident you possess. Or at least you really, really hope so.

Of course, you also understand you aren’t guaranteed a role! It’s really no biggie, you’re just excited.

Although theatre wasn’t always your passion, taking the class in middle school had spurred something in you. Since then, you’ve worked hard at your craft. And it’s definitely paid off! You managed to make it into multiple audition-based schools. At the memory, you pat yourself on the back.

Middle school was where it all began. You still remember the thrill of your first performance, the way the stage lights felt warm and comforting, and the applause that followed. It ignited a spark in you, a passion that has only grown stronger with time.

In high school, you faced more challenges. The competition was fierce, and the stakes were higher, but you rose to the occasion. You worked tirelessly, attending acting workshops, vocal lessons, and dance classes. You balanced your schoolwork with your theatrical pursuits, often sacrificing sleep and social activities to chase your dreams.

When it came time to apply for colleges, you aimed high, auditioning for some of the best programs in the country. The acceptance letters that followed were proof of your hard work and dedication. You had made it into multiple audition-based schools, each one a testament to your talent and perseverance.

Now, standing here, you can't help but feel a swell of pride. You've come a long way from that middle school elective. You've faced rejections and setbacks, but you've also experienced triumphs and growth. Every step of the journey has been worth it, and you're excited for what lies ahead.

Eventually, you finally hear your name called, pulling you out of your thoughts. You smile at the runner, a freshman eager to get their required hours in, and hand them your resume. They take it gratefully, glancing over the neatly printed sheet as they lead you into the audition room. It’s a black box theater, a square room with black walls and flooring. The stark simplicity of the space serves as a blank canvas, allowing the directors to transform it into whatever they need, just as they have for these auditions.

Their table is set up near the back, papers and coffee cups scattered across its surface, giving them a perfect vantage point to observe and take notes without being overheard. They chat quietly among themselves, their voices a low murmur that blends into the background hum of the building. You can feel their eyes on you as you step into the room, the anticipation almost tangible in the air.

Near the door, a piano sits, and at the bench is what you can guess to be your accompanist—a tall, chubby brunette with a messy sort of look about him. He’s honestly kind of cute, but you can’t afford to focus on that right now. You have an audition to nail.

You greet the directors with a confident smile and a nod, then march over to the piano. Handing the accompanist your binder, you ensure it’s open to the marked sheet music. Like a seasoned performer, you’ve already highlighted the 32-bar cut of your song, clearly indicating where he should start and stop.

As he scans the music, you take a moment to explain your plan. You point out the precise places where you’ll be taking breaths and describe the tempo you have in mind. He listens attentively, nodding along as you speak, his fingers instinctively moving over the keys as if mentally rehearsing the piece.

You glance over at the directors, expecting them to be ready, but they’re still shuffling papers and folders on their desk, likely comparing notes from previous auditions. A flicker of impatience might cross another's face, but not yours. Instead, you smile, savoring the rush of adrenaline that auditions always bring.

The anticipation heightens the moment, and you use the extra time to center yourself even more. You roll your shoulders, subtly release the tension in your hands, and take another calming breath. The hum of quiet activity behind the directors' table, the muted clink of pens and rustle of paper, only amplifies your focus.

"So, got any plans after this?"

You frown, snapping back to the present as you turn to the accompanist. "Excuse me?"

He smirks, leaning in slightly. "I can take you out on the town, show you a real good time. My roommate is even out for the night, if you know what I mean." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You scrunch your nose, not appreciating the distraction from your audition. You need to get in the zone and focus, but he’s throwing you off. You can entertain the idea after the audition, not during. However, at your reaction, he takes it as a no and furrows his brows. He starts to say something, probably something rude, before you walk off.

You head to the tape marking your spot on the floor, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement mingled with nerves. The directors stare at you blankly, their faces giving nothing away, but you know better than to let it get to you. This is your moment.

Taking a deep breath, you slate in, introducing yourself with a clear, confident voice

“I’ll be performing the song ‘Jenny’s Blues’ from ‘It Shoulda Been You,’ and a monologue from ‘Confrontation’ by Kelly Powell.” You smile before dipping your head, breathing in, and starting your piece. Your voice is strong, resonant, effortlessly sliding into the comfortable range of the song. Each note is delivered with precision, every word infused with emotion. You make sure to breathe deeply, expanding your diaphragm to support your powerful vocals.

However, halfway through your audition cut, you hear the piano falter and fumble, the notes coming out jumbled. You pause for a split second, a flicker of concern passing through your mind, but you quickly regain your focus. Mistakes happen, and you're determined not to let it throw you off. You press on, maintaining your composure and delivering a flawless performance despite the hiccup.

As you reach the climax of the song, you hold out your money note, pouring every ounce of emotion into it. The accompanist manages to catch up, albeit a little off rhythm, but you don’t let it deter you. With a final flourish, you finish the song.

You manage a quick glance at the accompanist before looking back– but wait, hold on. You look back again. That fucker has a smug smirk plastered across his face. His eyes twinkle with amusement, and suddenly it all clicks into place: He tried to mess you up on purpose because you ‘rejected’ him. Any chance you had with him suddenly goes straight down the drain, and now you're fuming.

You grit your teeth, trying to tamp down the surge of anger that threatens to consume you. How dare he sabotage your audition like that? But you refuse to let his petty actions derail your performance. Instead, you channel that newfound adrenaline, that simmering rage, into your audition.

With renewed determination, you throw yourself into the monologue, each word dripping with raw emotion. Your voice crackles with intensity as you inhabit the character, every gesture charged with conviction. The room seems to pulse with energy, your presence commanding attention as you deliver a performance that's nothing short of electrifying.

Well, not like you’d think as much.

You perform your piece, and as you finish, you try not to beat yourself up about it. It was… okay. A little frustrating, perhaps, because you ran more on muscle memory and pettiness than actually existing in the moment, but the dedication and hard work you had put into it still shone through. You remind yourself that perfection is an elusive goal, and what truly matters is the passion and effort you poured into your performance.

As for the song, you try not to dwell on it too much. Otherwise, you know you’ll get stuck in your perfectionist head, picking apart every single detail until it drives you mad. Instead, you choose to focus on the positives, reminding yourself of the moments where you truly connected with the material and let your talent shine through.

You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you now that the audition is over. Whatever the outcome, you gave it your all, and that’s something to be proud of.

You thank the directors, offering them a quick but polite goodbye, and head over to the piano to retrieve your binder. The pianist smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hands you the binder. But as you reach out to take it, he doesn’t let go. You tug gently, expecting him to release it, but his grip remains firm.

Your frustration mounts as you give the binder another tug, but still, he refuses to hand it over. With a growing sense of annoyance, you pull harder, and finally, he lets go. But instead of handing it to you properly, he lets it slip from his fingers, and it drops unceremoniously to the floor with a thud.

This bitch.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your cool, you bend down gracefully, feeling his eyes linger on your backside, and pick up the binder. Straightening up with a sense of quiet determination, you shoot him a subtle, sour look, and exit through the door.

–

You needed to be pinched awake.

There it was, plain as day—your name listed next to Audrey II. The role you'd yearned for, sweated for, poured your heart and soul into securing. And now, here it was, yours for the taking. You stare at the cast list, almost disbelieving, as if expecting the letters to rearrange themselves at any moment. But no, there it remains—your name boldly printed beside the coveted role.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the excitement threatening to bubble over, you find yourself remarkably composed. It's as if a serene calm has settled over you, masking the tempest of emotions swirling beneath the surface. You're totally normal about this, you tell yourself, even as your heart races with exhilaration.

But inwardly, you're anything but calm. You're ecstatic, over the moon, practically floating on air. It's a dream come true, a validation of all the hard work, late nights, and sacrifices you've made in pursuit of your passion. And yet, there's a sense of quiet gratitude mingled with the jubilation—a recognition of the privilege bestowed upon you, the opportunity to bring this iconic character to life.

As you continue to scan the rest of the cast list, a few of your friends approach, their faces beaming with genuine happiness and excitement for you. They pat you on the back and offer heartfelt congratulations, their words a chorus of support and admiration. You take it all in stride, offering each of them an easy smile and a gracious thank you. At one point, you even go as far as to herd some of them into a group hug.

As you continue down the cast list, you recognize a few names, but none that you're particularly close with. Still, you can't help but feel a sense of optimism as you imagine the bonds that will form over the course of rehearsals. After all, there's nothing quite like the camaraderie that comes from working together towards a common goal.

One name stands out among the rest—Quinn, the guy playing Seymour. Memories of your collaboration on a project in Theatre History come flooding back, and you can't help but smile at the thought of working with him again. You remember how seamlessly you worked together, bouncing ideas off each other and complementing each other's strengths. With any luck, that chemistry will translate into a dynamic partnership on stage.

You can already envision the two of you bringing Seymour and Audrey II to life, each playing off the other's energy and timing. It's an exciting prospect, and you can't wait to dive into rehearsals and see how your dynamic evolves.

And then there's the puppet—your puppet. God, you were so excited for your puppet.

Still riding high on the euphoria of landing the role, you feel as light as a feather. It's as if you're floating on cloud nine, sipping Shirley Temples and being pampered like royalty. Every step you take feels effortless, every breath filled with a sense of elation. You glide all the way to rehearsal, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin.

But as you step into the rehearsal room, the bubble of bliss threatens to burst. There, standing before you, is the accompanist from before—the same one who tried to sabotage your audition. Instantly, the weight of reality comes crashing down, dragging you back to earth with a resounding thud.

You can feel his gaze boring into you, a silent challenge in his eyes. You roll your eyes in response, refusing to let him see how much his presence rattles you. At least he doesn’t seem too thrilled to see you either, his lip curling into a sneer as if he were growling in disdain.

Redirecting your attention back to the room, you notice that seats have been pulled to create a circle, a common setup for read-throughs. Your eyes scan the space, and you catch Quinn's enthusiastic wave, his smile infectious. You feel a sense of relief flood through you, grateful for the easy decision on where to sit, and you make your way over to join him.

"Hey!" he greets, his excitement palpable. "Congrats on Audrey II!"

You return his smile, the warmth of his congratulations washing over you. "Thanks! And congrats on Seymour! You definitely deserve it," you reply, genuinely happy for him.

The two of you strike up a conversation, the easy rapport between you quickly filling the air with laughter and shared excitement. But as you chat, you can't shake the feeling of someone's eyes on you. You glance around discreetly, your gaze landing on Adam, who's peering at you with a curious expression.

You lean over to Quinn, a puzzled frown creasing your brow. "So, why's the pianist here?"

Quinn follows your gaze before turning back to you, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Adam? I think he's getting extra credit for this. He's a music major, so... It's kinda cool."

You shrug your shoulders, a bemused expression on your face. It makes sense that Adam would be here for extra credit, but what doesn’t make sense is why he's glaring daggers at you. All you did was turn him down, and then get upset because he tried to sabotage your audition. What a dick.

"Are y'all exes or something?"

You shake your head, a perplexed frown forming on your lips. "No, definitely not."

"Then why is he glaring at you like you killed his dog?" Quinn presses, his curiosity piqued.

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "He tried asking me out in my audition, and I didn't respond because I was trying to lock in."

Quinn's eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh my god, you should've totally said yes! He's a total hunk!"

You can't help but let out a wry chuckle, acknowledging the truth in Quinn's words. "Yeah, he's definitely hot," you admit. "But he's a dick though. He purposely messed up my backing accompaniment."

At that, Quinn sucks in a sharp breath before nodding solemnly. “So just a one night stand.”

At Quinn's suggestion, you cringe, feeling a surge of indignation rising within you. "What?" you squawk incredulously. "No! I'm not sleeping with him!"

“Sleeping with who?”

As the new voice breaks through the conversation, you and Quinn turn to see a girl– probably playing Audrey, your brain retorts. She's thin and gorgeous, her presence commanding attention. It’s probably best to keep her away from Adam.

However, when you glance over to see Adam's reaction, you're surprised to find that he hasn't even spared the girl a passing glance. Instead, his focus remains fixed on you, his glare as intense as ever. Annoyance prickles at the back of your mind, and you return his glare with equal intensity.

Adam seems to realize that you're looking at him, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something cross his features. But in a swift attempt to maintain his cool guy facade—or perhaps because he enjoys the attention—he smirks and throws up his hands in a playful gesture, as if suggesting a game of rock, paper, scissors.

You surprise him by joining in.

Rock… Paper… Scissors… Shoot!

But instead of throwing one of the three conventional options, you catch Adam off guard by flipping him off, a gesture that leaves no room for misinterpretation. With a satisfied smirk, you turn your attention back to Quinn and the girl, refusing to give Adam the satisfaction of any further reaction.

“Hi!” The girl’s voice is perky and energetic. “Sorry, I hope I wasn't intruding with my earlier question. I’m Sadai! You’re playing Audrey II, huh? That’s pretty cool! I’m excited about your puppets.”

At that, you perk up. “Yeah, me too!”

She glances away before leaning in, just as you had done before. “I don’t mean to overstep but… I can't help but notice a certain someone’s eyes on you. Did you break up or something?”

You frown, sinking into your seat. “No, why do y’all keep asking me that…”

“Well, that’s the more logical explanation.” Quinn pipes up.

“There’s an explanation?” Sadai grins. “Spill!”

As your director calls for everyone's attention, the lively chatter in the room gradually subsides, replaced by an air of anticipation. Rehearsal is about to begin, and you can feel the energy buzzing in the air.

When it comes time for Adam’s introduction, it's surprisingly more formal than what you would’ve thought. But that's probably because your director is right next to him.

“I’m Adam,” he says, his tone serious and professional, “and I’ll be the accompanist for rehearsals. I’m also a part of the actual band you’ll be performing with.”

You can't help but roll your eyes at him. It's a stark contrast to his earlier antics, and you can't shake off the feeling of disbelief at his behavior. You stick your tongue out at him.

As Adam clacks his teeth in response to your gesture, a strange sensation washes over you. It's a fleeting moment of amusement mixed with something else—something you can't quite put your finger on. You quickly dismiss the thought, shaking your head to clear it.

As the read-through gets underway, you find yourself slipping into the mindset of Audrey II, the iconic character you're tasked with bringing to life. It's a role unlike any you've played before, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement mingled with apprehension. With each line you deliver, you try to embody the essence of the character, exploring different nuances and inflections.

But despite your best efforts, you can't shake the feeling that your choices aren't quite hitting the mark. They're not big enough, not bold enough—at least not by your own standards. Still, you refuse to beat yourself up about it. It's only a read-through, after all, a chance to explore the character and experiment with different interpretations.

However, the distraction of Adam's antics doesn't help matters. Every time you say a line, you can feel his eyes on you, making faces and mocking you. It's infuriating, to say the least, but you try to push past the distraction and focus on the task at hand.

Adam can get fucked.

–

As the ballet class draws closer, the familiar excitement begins to bubble up inside of you. You eagerly anticipate the opportunity to immerse yourself in the world of dance once again. Dressed in your favorite leotard and tights, you feel a sense of comfort and familiarity wash over you. The snug fit of the leotard and the sleek lines of the tights serve as a second skin, allowing you to move freely and gracefully without any hindrance.

As you enter the studio, you take a moment to soak in the atmosphere—the polished wood floors, the mirrored walls, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the space. You’ve always made a habit to arrive early to class, giving yourself ample time to prepare both mentally and physically. Taking your place at the barre, you begin with a series of gentle pliés, allowing your muscles to awaken and loosen with each movement. From there, you move through a sequence of tendus, jetés, and dégagés, each step flowing seamlessly into the next.

As the warm-up progresses, you feel your body gradually opening up, the tightness in your muscles giving way to a sense of suppleness and strength. You revel in the sensation of your limbs stretching and extending, reaching for the ceiling with each grand battement and arabesque.

But it's during the stretch routine that you truly lose yourself in the moment. Finding a spot on the floor, you lower yourself into your middle splits, your muscles protesting slightly as you sink deeper into the stretch. With each breath, you feel yourself melting into the floor, your body becoming one with the music that fills the room.

But as you're bent over, laying your chest on the floor, you're suddenly aware of a presence behind you. Startled, you lift your gaze to meet the reflection in the dance mirrors, and your heart skips a beat as you see Adam standing there, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Adam.”

“That’s my name, baby. Go ahead and practice screaming it for tonight.”

You ignore that. “This isn’t an open class. You should leave.”

“Aw you’re looking out for me, how sweet. Good news though. I’ve been invited, bitch.”

You finally turn and look him in the eye. “Don’t call me that.”

Adam raises his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, but his smirk remains firmly in place. "Woof. Rough subject, huh?" he quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Alright, what would you prefer for me to call you? Sugartits? Sweet thing? Mine?”

Your patience wearing thin, you shoot Adam a withering glare. "I'd rather you leave.”

Adam's grin only widens at your request. "Again, I can't," he replies, his tone smug. "I need this extra credit."

Confusion furrows your brows as you try to make sense of his words. "What do you mean?"

His smile widens even further, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm playing piano for your class," he reveals.

"Oh god.”

Feeling the ache in your muscles, you mindlessly begin to pull yourself out of your middle splits, sensing that you're warmed up enough for the time being. But before you can fully relax, Adam's voice cuts through the air, drawing your attention back to him.

"You know what stretch might be good for you?" he asks.

Your eyebrows knit together in suspicion, wary of whatever suggestion he might have up his sleeve.

“Baby pose or whatever it’s called.” he licks his teeth.

“...Do you mean child’s pose?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you show me and we’ll find out. If you’re correct, you get a reward.”

The retort slips out before you can stop it, your frustration boiling over. "Go to hell.”

Adam's expression shifts into something more serious. "Hey, that's not funny,"

You're taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor, surprised by the hint of offense in his voice. "You're... religious?"

Adam's lips quirk into a wry smile, always ready to talk about himself. "Minoring in religious studies, babes.”

“And you act like this?”

Adam looks genuinely offended. “Hey! God loves all His creations.”

You decide to test the waters, aware that this isn't just a question about religion, but more about understanding Adam. “So, you’re okay with gay people?”

“What kind of porn do you think I watch?”

“You watch gay porn?” What the fuck.

“Only the girls– it’s hot as fuck. Besides, look at you– I’ve disrespected everything about you except your pronouns.”

Well you’ve got to give him that.

As your instructor walks into the room, effectively diverting your attention from the unsettling exchange with Adam, you're grateful for the interruption. She calls Adam over, and you watch as he trails obediently toward her, unable to shake off the lingering annoyance from the wink he sends in your direction. The gesture sends a wave of bile rising in your throat, leaving you feeling unsettled and off-kilter.

Thankfully, the start of class offers a welcome distraction as you begin with barre exercises. The familiar structure of the routine allows you to slip into autopilot, your muscles responding to the familiar movements with practiced precision. Despite the discomfort of the exercises, you push through, knowing that each repetition brings you one step closer to improvement.

When the instructor calls for places to run the combination, your heart skips a beat as you realize it's finally your turn. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself to showcase the combination you've been practicing diligently.

But before you can fully focus on the task at hand, you notice Adam's persistent attempts to catch your eye in the mirror. His gaze feels like a weight on your shoulders, but you steel yourself, determined not to let his presence distract you.

As the instructor calls for Adam to take his place at the piano, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. With him occupied at the keys, you're free to focus solely on your own performance without the added pressure of his scrutiny.

As you wait for your turn to perform the combination, you can't help but find yourself drawn to Adam's piano playing. Despite the tension between you, there's no denying the skill and finesse with which he handles the keys. Each note flows seamlessly from his fingertips, filling the room with a melodic richness that captivates your senses.

You watch in quiet admiration as he navigates the piano with ease, his fingers dancing across the keys with precision and grace. There's a gentle quality to his playing, a delicate touch that belies his earlier brashness. It's clear why he's been enlisted to help with productions like Little Shop of Horrors and ballet classes—he possesses a rare talent that really elevates the performances he accompanies.

As you square your shoulders and turn out from your hips, preparing to execute the combination you've practiced tirelessly, you can feel Adam's eyes boring into you from across the room. Despite the tension that lingers between you, you refuse to let his presence throw you off course.

With a deep breath, you begin to move, allowing the music to guide your every step. Despite the lingering doubt that Adam's presence instills in you, the music never falters, reaffirming your belief that his attempts to sabotage you during the audition were indeed intentional.

But you refuse to dwell on the past, pushing aside the nagging thoughts and focusing solely on the dance. As you move through the combination, something feels different. It's as if you've suddenly become one with the music, feeling its rhythm pulsating through your veins and guiding your movements with an effortless grace.

A quick glance in Adam's direction reveals that he too is caught up in the magic of the moment, his expression mirroring your own sense of connection to the music. Despite the tension that exists between you, there's a shared understanding in that fleeting glance—a recognition of the power and beauty of the music that transcends any animosity or resentment. In other words, you can forgive him in this moment.

In that moment, as you dance to the haunting melody of the piano, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you. All the worries and doubts that had plagued you before melt away.

As you're swept up in the exhilaration of the dance, an unexpected twist of fate brings you crashing to the floor as your ankle buckles beneath you. Embarrassment floods your senses as you find yourself sprawled on the ground, the sudden halt to your movement jarring and disorienting.

But before you can fully process what's happened, a kind-hearted classmate rushes to your aid, offering you a supportive hand and helping you to your feet. Despite your attempts to brush off the incident with a forced smile, the humiliation of the fall lingers, casting a shadow over your confidence.

With your ankle throbbing painfully, you're guided out of the room by your compassionate classmate, grateful for their support and understanding. As you limp away from the dance studio, you can feel Adam's eyes following your every move, his gaze burning into your back like a weighty presence.

–

Thankfully, you hadn’t torn or broken anything. All that came out of that incident was a rolled ankle. The recovery was straightforward—alternating between icing and heating it. Before you knew it, your ankle was back to normal. You were able to rotate it without any stinging or pain.

The relief was immense. You had been worried that the injury might keep you from participating fully in rehearsals. Right before you walked into ballet class, you tested your ankle carefully, rotating it and putting a little weight on it. No pain. Perfect.

When you push open the doors to the space, Adam is already seated at the piano, idly messing with the keys. You know Adam never made a habit of being early to this class—especially since he didn’t need to be. During warm-ups, your instructor usually played music from her speakers. So why would he be here early?

Curious, you linger near the door for a moment, observing him. His fingers dance over the keys with a casual grace, producing a soft, almost melancholic melody. It's unlike the boisterous, cocky persona he usually projects. For a moment, he seems lost in the music, unaware of his surroundings.

You clear your throat softly as you walk further into the room. Adam’s head snaps up, and for a split second, you see a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—before he masks it with his usual smirk.

“Good morning,” you say, keeping your tone neutral.

“Morning,” he replies, his fingers pausing on the keys. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be here this early”

“Same goes for you,” you counter, setting your bag down and beginning your stretches.

Adam shrugs, looking back at the piano. “Just felt like playing a bit before everyone else got here.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical but not wanting to pry. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

He resumes playing, the notes filling the room with a soft, intricate tune. You settle into your stretch routine, focusing on your warm-up but unable to ignore the beautiful music emanating from the piano.

However, it seems as though Adam can’t go more than a minute without being a certified dick. He leans over the piano, watching you stretch, before speaking up.

“Seems like you healed up well.”

Your cheeks ignite, embarrassed by the reminder of your tumble. That shame shortly turns into anger, and you’re quick to throw it in his face.

“Yeah, and it seems like you finally know how to play piano, huh? No messing up?”

“Oh baby, daddy never messes up by accident.”

Indignation rises in your chest at Adam's casual confession that he's been deliberately messing with your music. The realization blooms on your face, and Adam smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Just as you're about to take off one of your ballet slippers and give him a well-deserved bitch slap, Miss Nicole, your instructor, signals for class to begin. With a final glare at Adam, you take your place at the barre, forcing yourself to focus on the exercises ahead.

You spend the entire class wishing you were in tap, imagining the satisfying clatter of metal taps scuffing up the floor. Instead, you're stuck in ballet, with Adam just a few feet away, his presence a constant reminder of your frustration. You do your best to channel your rage into your dance, pushing yourself harder with each movement. The burn of exercise helps somewhat, providing a physical outlet for your anger. Your muscles ache as you stretch deeper into each plié and extend further in every arabesque.

By the time it’s your turn to work the combination, the anger has faded to a dull background hum. You step up, squaring your shoulders and prepping your feet before beginning.

Your chasse leads you into a middle leap. As you ascend, it feels good, almost as if nothing can touch you while you’re in the air.

Adam is a rude reminder that you are not.

But then, mid-leap, the music jarringly falters. You miss a beat, your landing is shaky, and the momentary lapse causes you to stumble. He had done it again, intentionally disrupting the music. It takes every ounce of your self-control not to let it throw you off further. You manage to avoid a full-on trip and finish your combination, but the disruption leaves you seething. As you head over to grab your water bottle, you glare daggers at Adam, who, despite appearing focused on the keys, is clearly smiling to himself.

One of these days, you think, you’re going to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

Class wraps up, and you see the clock signaling the end of the session. Why not today? The thought plants itself firmly in your mind. You decide it’s time to confront him directly.

As the other students start to filter out, you march over to the piano, your anger giving you a surge of confidence. Adam looks up, still smirking.

“What is up with you trying to sabotage me?” you demand, your voice edged with frustration.

He has the nerve to act confused. “Whaaaat? Lil’ ol’ me? I’d never! When have I even tried?”

“Just now. And my fucking audition.”

“Okay but is it really sabotage if you got the part? Think about it— maybe they were impressed with the way you continued on. Maybe I helped you,” he retorts, his tone flippant and infuriatingly smug.

Your jaw tightens, struggling to contain your anger. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “Impressed or not, you had no right to mess with my audition. It was unprofessional and disrespectful.”

Adam shrugs nonchalantly, not appearing at all remorseful. “Hey, it’s a tough world out there. Gotta learn to roll with the punches, sweetheart.”

“There’s a special place in hell for you.” It’s a low blow and you know it. But you get the reaction you’ve been waiting for, his nostrils flaring with offense.

“Bitch, you care way too much about college-level theatre.”

“At least I care about something other than myself,” you snap back.

“Aw, baby,” he drawls, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I can put some extra care towards you. Lay you out all nice for me, make you see heaven. Prove to you I can take care of you. Might make you beg a bit.”

“Eat a dick.”

“I know what you are, but what am I?” he retorts, a childish grin spreading across his face.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you exclaim, exasperated.

Before the argument can escalate further, your ballet instructor, Miss Nicole, approaches. “Is there a problem here?” she asks, concern etched on her face. You stumble over your words, caught off guard by her sudden appearance and the need to explain the confrontation.

“No ma’am! Just some classic friendly bickering. You know how it is! We were just about to head out and grab some lunch, weren’t we?” Adam interjects smoothly, throwing you a glance that suggests you go along with his narrative.

You grit your teeth, seething at his audacity, but reluctantly nod in agreement, knowing you can’t contradict him in front of your instructor. The last thing you need is to cause a scene and get thrown out from the class.

“Yep. Just….bickering,” you reply through gritted teeth, your frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Ah. It’s nice to see you getting along with our accompanist. I was a bit worried how everyone would treat him. Where are you going to get lunch?” your ballet instructor asks, oblivious to the tension between you and Adam.

“The campus cafe,” Adam responds smoothly, suddenly looking smug as if he’s won some sort of victory.

“Oh! I was walking that way. Mind if I join you on the walk? I’d like to talk to you about our future classes, Adam,” she says cheerfully, turning to you both.

You go to interject, to protest adamantly that this is NOT okay. But before you can speak up, Adam beats you to it. “Of course! We don’t mind, do we, babes?” he says, flashing a faux-charming smile in your direction.

You clench your fists at your sides, seething with anger at being maneuvered into this situation. With a forced smile, you nod curtly, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Great!" Your instructor claps her hands together in excitement, seemingly pleased with the arrangement.

The three of you walk. Adam seems effortlessly engaged, occasionally nodding and adding insightful comments. Meanwhile, you follow along half-heartedly, tuning out most of the conversation as your frustration with Adam continues to simmer.

You try to focus on the scenery passing by, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, anything to distract yourself from the situation at hand. However, snippets of their conversation still reach you, reminders that Adam's presence is more entrenched in your academic life now than ever.

“So Adam, are you also the accompanist for the voice recital?” Miss Nicole asks, navigating the three of you past a group of what you assume to be freshmen.

“Oh, no ma’am. One of my classmates beat me to the punch,” Adam responds.

"Really?" Miss Nicole raises an eyebrow. "I thought for sure you'd be the first in line for that."

Adam shrugs, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to Miss Nicole. "I guess they were just quicker this time."

“Well I’m sure they’ll be good. Just maybe not as good as you,” Miss Nicole says, her tone warm.

You internally roll your eyes. Barf.

Adam seems pleased to hear that, and not just because his ego is getting fed. “Absolutely,” he replies, his smirk widening.

“You’re not a fan of them?” she asks.

Adam cringes. “You could definitely say that.”

“Is it that skinny blond kid? I know we were warned not to pair you two together,” Miss Nicole inquires, her curiosity piqued.

“Worse,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s his girlfriend.”

Confusion clouds your expression as this new piece of drama unfolds unexpectedly. “His girlfriend?”

Your voice cuts through the conversation, drawing the attention of both Adam and Miss Nicole. They seem momentarily surprised, as if they had forgotten you were there amidst their discussion.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it, considering you two are friends!" Miss Nicole responded, her tone tinged with surprise and a hint of curiosity, her eyebrows arched expectantly.

"I don't think friends is the right word to describe us," you muttered under your breath, though Miss Nicole's sharp ears caught your words. Immediately, she began to backtrack, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I hadn't realized you two were... Well, you know what? That makes much more sense," she stammered, her words rushing out in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness.

"What makes sense?" Adam asked, his brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced between you and Miss Nicole. Finally, it seemed, both of you were on the same page, even if it was only because you were confused.

"Well, would you look at that!" Miss Nicole diverted suddenly, pointing upwards. Following her finger, you spotted the familiar sign of the campus coffee shop. Finally, your destination had arrived.

"Here's your stop! I'll see you in class! Bye!" Miss Nicole blurted out, her cheeks now a deep shade of red as she hastily retreated. It was almost comical, and a snort of amusement escaped your lips. Even Adam chuckled softly before his expression turned mischievous.

"She totally thinks we're boning," Adam remarked with a smirk, his tone teasing.

Your smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of disdain as you curled your lip in disgust. "As if. You can only wish," you retorted sharply, the implication of Miss Nicole's assumption leaving a weird taste in your mouth. Not unpleasant, but you wish it was.

"Oh?" He challenged, striding ahead to hold the door open for you. "I'm the dick master over here. One of these days, you're gonna be begging and drooling for my dick, and I'm gonna say no, bitch."

You walked past him, rolling your eyes as he followed you into the store. "You've already been drooling for me."

"I drool for everyone," he retorts nonchalantly.

"That—" you pause, scrunching your nose, "that's not something to be proud of."

"So what're you getting?" he asked casually, not-so-subtly cutting in front of you in line. You sighed inwardly, not having the energy to react, so you let him take the lead. It was hard to gauge whether that pleased him or annoyed him.

"Probably just a chai with oat milk," you replied, your voice neutral.

"No food?" he inquired further.

"Eh, I don't know," you shrugged, feeling indifferent. "I don't feel like getting anything."

"Do you think their blueberry scones would be any good?" he asked, his voice contemplative as he eyed the display case of pastries.

You followed his gaze, your mouth watering involuntarily at the sight of the tempting treats. If only your bank account had a bit more padding, you might indulge yourself. A faint rumble from your stomach emphasized the point. "Yeah, they look really good," you admitted wistfully.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Cool, cool," he replied, his tone casual as he continued to scan the assortment of baked goods.

It didn't take long before it was Adam's turn to order. He stepped up to the counter, clearing his throat nervously. Glancing briefly in your direction, he then turned back to the barista.

"Could I get one large frozen hot chocolate, one large iced chai with oat milk, and two blueberry scones? Actually, make it three," he requested.

The barista nodded, punching in the order as Adam glanced back at you briefly, a subtle smile playing on his lips before he focused on completing the transaction. "Man, you must be hungry, huh? Your piano teacher starving you?" you teased lightly, trying to inject some levity into the moment.

"Piano isn’t my only hobby. I only learned because I have to if I want a music major," he replied with a hint of a pout, sinking into a chair. You took the seat across from him, the uncertainty of how to navigate this conversation lingering between you. Bickering was your comfort zone, but this felt like uncharted territory.

"So," you ventured cautiously, hoping to keep the conversation flowing. "Why did you become a music major?"

"I want to be in a band. Well, I am in a band. But I want to write our own music," he answered earnestly, his eyes lighting up with passion.

"Why the minor in religious studies?" you asked, genuinely curious as you leaned forward slightly.

He smirked, pleased that you remembered something about him. "My dad wanted that. It's my backup, I guess. Makes him feel better about paying all this money."

Nodding in understanding, you replied, "Yeah, sometimes I wish I took a minor—Musical Theatre isn’t exactly the most stable major."

"So then why'd you take it?" he probed gently.

You shrugged, a smile playing on your lips. "There isn’t a world in which I don’t do musical theatre."

Adam looked at you for a long second, his gaze almost penetrating, as if he could see right through you. That same unsettling feeling from before crept in, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat. However, before the moment could linger, you were saved by the barista calling out Adam’s order. He stood up and headed over to collect the snacks and drinks.

Meanwhile, you tried to steady yourself, willing your thoughts to stop spinning. He was so... infuriating. Yes, that’s it. You were still annoyed from earlier.

But then Adam returned, deftly balancing the tray of food and drinks. The sight of him bringing back lunch for you softened your irritation. Of course, you were grateful. That’s all it was.

The two of you ate in silence. Adam seemed content, devouring his two scones and his drink without a care. On the other hand, you found it difficult to swallow, the food sitting heavy in your stomach. It felt like you were on the brink of a realization, a sensation that made your stomach churn with uncertainty. Still, you weren't about to waste free food.

Once you managed to finish your lunch, you found yourself unexpectedly thanking Adam. Gathering your things, you prepared to leave. However, to your surprise, Adam stood up too.

“So where’s your dorm?” Adam asks, following you out the cafe door.

"We're not having sex," you retort firmly, making your boundaries clear.

"For once, not my intention," Adam replies with a grin, his charm still evident despite your skepticism. "It's getting late, and I'm offering to walk you back."

"It's like 1:30 in the afternoon," you point out, slightly amused by his insistence.

"Exactly," he counters smoothly, his tone making it clear he’s not backing down. "It’s going to get dark soon. Let me walk you home."

You exhale a dramatic sigh, reaching for your dance bag and slinging it over your shoulder with a practiced motion. “Fine. But I expect payment.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Payment?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him a pointed look as you start heading towards the exit of the café.

“But–” he sputters, his voice trailing off as he rushes to catch up with you. “I’m walking you! What more do you want?”

“That was your own choice!” you call back.

“Okay, fine!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he falls into step behind you. “How much do you want?!”

You pause mid-stride, causing Adam to almost bump into you. “How much– Adam, I don’t mean actual money. I just meant filling me in on your drama.”

His eyes widen in surprise as he forms a soundless ‘o’ with his mouth. “What, you mean with my ex?”

The two of you begin walking side by side. “The blond guy?” you ask, trying to piece together the details.

Adam scratches his beard scruff, his expression thoughtful. “No, well—no, I mean his girlfriend.”

You cringe slightly, trying to wrap your head around his words. “His girlfriend is your ex?”

Adam nods, looking somewhat resigned. “Uh huh.”

You frown.

When you arrive at your residence hall, you invite Adam to walk you to your room. His smile widens into a sharp grin as he agrees, and you both head up to your floor.

As you reach your door, Adam pulls out his phone, and you hear the distinct sound of a camera shutter. You glance at him, puzzled, but he doesn’t explain. Before you can ask, he starts to say his goodbyes, but you quickly shut the door in his face. The click of the latch echoes in the hallway,

–

You were backstage, flipping through the program selection, counting down how many performers were left until it was your turn to go onstage and sing. Voice recitals always made you nervous, despite knowing this was what you hoped to do for a living. The pressure for your notes to be pitch-perfect, the intense focus on your singing—it all weighed heavily on you.

Months of preparation with your vocal coach had gone into this moment. Together, you had meticulously chosen and honed your repertoire, though you only got to perform your favorite piece tonight. The culmination of all those hours spent practicing, tweaking, and perfecting was now just minutes away.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. The murmur of the audience beyond the curtain was a constant reminder of the scrutiny you were about to face. You glanced around, taking in the familiar backstage chaos—the hurried whispers, the rustling of sheet music, the occasional burst of nervous laughter from other performers.

So far, only two people were left before it was your turn. If you really paid attention, you could strain your ears and hear the beginning notes of "Some Enchanted Evening" from South Pacific. Your shoulders bounced in a silent laugh—what a classic choice.

The girl after him sang "Memory" from Cats, another timeless and powerful piece. As she exited the stage and entered the wings, she patted your back and gave you a thumbs up for encouragement. You grinned and whispered back, "Great job," before puffing out your chest and walking on stage.

The lights were bright, the audience a dim blur beyond their glow. You took your position at the center, feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves.

Your vocal coach was busy introducing you and your piece—I Don’t Need a Roof from Big Fish—so you looked at the pianist.

Otherwise known as Adam’s ex.

Something about the thought pissed you off, but you refused to delve deeper into it. Her name was Lilith, and she was, without better words, hot. Which pissed you off even more. You dreamed about grabbing her by her waist-length hair and demanding to know how someone like her managed to date someone like Adam.

…Because she was totally out of his league, that’s all. You were just curious, yep. It’s not like the thought of her dating him filled you with this indescribable rage, something that felt so incredibly close to jealousy. She was hot, Adam was hot, and you... were not.

Lilith glanced up from where she was hunched over the piano, scanning your sheet music and cracking her knuckles. Seemingly unaware of your torturous thoughts, she offered you a small wave. The gesture made you feel incredibly guilty, and you forced yourself to smile back.

At that moment, your vocal coach seemed to have finished with the introductions, stepping off to the side of the stage to watch you. She gave you a wink of encouragement, and you took a deep breath, centering yourself.

Those past months of technique training come to mind, and you breathe out. You relax any tension in your shoulders before expanding your diaphragm, and start singing. Of course, you’re still a musical theatre major, so you act alongside the song. As you began to sing, you immersed yourself fully in the piece. The familiar lyrics and melody took over, carrying you along in a blur of emotion and intensity. You lost yourself in the character and story of the song, each word infused with meaning and purpose.

It goes by in a blur, too caught up in the song to really be conscious of what’s happening, but something feels wrong.

The piano.

It’s not as if Lilith is bad. Quite the opposite, actually. She’s practically perfect, understanding each breath mark and each shift in dynamics. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the two of y’all work extremely well together.

Except… something is missing.

You don’t feel the music in your soul, like you did that one time in class. When Adam was playing. And even if Lilith is objectively better at piano than he is, it’s missing his spark. The final notes hung in the air, leaving you with a sense of dissatisfaction. In your own critical assessment, it felt like the worst performance you had ever given at a voice recital.

Someone seems to disagree though.

Hidden a few rows back in the audience, Adam suddenly leapt to his feet in raucous applause. His gesture, though likely intended to embarrass you, had an unexpected effect. Instead of feeling self-conscious, a smile spreads across your face. You were delightedly surprised to see him here, especially since Lilith, his ex, was seated right behind you.

As you listened to Lilith mumble something under her breath, your attention was drawn back to Adam in the audience. He was enthusiastically encouraging others to stand and applaud, and though most remained seated, a few near him joined in. When he called out your name, you waved your hand down at your side, a mix of amusement and exasperation at his antics.

His gesture, though somewhat obnoxious, strangely warmed your heart. Despite his teasing and occasional insensitivity, there was something endearing about Adam's unabashed support. He had come all this way just to see you sing—or at least that's what you hoped. Sure, he might be here for other performers or academic reasons, but the idea that he might have shown up primarily for you filled you with unexpected warmth.

As you processed these conflicting emotions, a sigh escaped your lips. Adam was, in many ways, a complicated presence in your life. His unpredictability, his charm, and yes, his 24/7 dickish behavior kept you on your toes. But underneath it all, there was a connection that you couldn’t deny, something past just irritation.

…

Fuck.

–

It's finally a rehearsal where you're called to the stage. The moment you've been waiting for, to step into the character's shoes and bring the scene to life. But for now, you're off to the side, nestled in a comfortable chair, flipping through your script and silently rehearsing your lines. The stage is a hive of activity, filled with the sounds of crew members adjusting lights, actors practicing their entrances and exits, and the director calling out instructions.

Right now, you’re using a facial steamer to help your lungs recover after a night of smoking weed with friends—which, in your opinion, is a good summary of theatre kids. The steamer emits a gentle mist, soothing your throat and helping you clear your lungs for the rigorous rehearsal ahead.

As you look over the steamer, eyeing the lines in your script, you quietly mumble the lines to yourself. Each word feels foreign at first, rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar cadence. You're determined not to lock in one specific delivery, knowing that variability will keep your performance fresh and dynamic for the show.

You glance up from your script, noting how they’re almost up to your first line. The realization sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, a delightful excitement curling in your stomach. You’re totally gonna blow the socks off of everyone here.

Speaking of people being here, Adam is in the audience. You aren’t really sure why, considering it’s just a blocking rehearsal. All you know is you'd prefer for him to be literally anywhere else. Ever since you found out you don't hate him as much as you thought you did, you’ve been avoiding the hell out of him.

This strategy has definitely worked against you. Adam probably thinks you're playing mind games with him, ignoring him just to get under his skin. He’s been working hard to try and catch your attention—apparently going as far as to show up to rehearsals. During breaks, you hear him call out to you, likely saying something provocative to get a reaction, but you always turn the other way.

Yes, you feel bad. No, you won’t stop.

The director calls for you, snapping you out of your thoughts. As you flip to the right page in your script, you feel Adam’s eyes boring holes into you from his seat in the audience. You awkwardly clear your throat, doing your best to ignore the sensation of his gaze, and instead focus on preparing for your section of the scene.

The director walks Quinn through Seymour’s blocking for this scene, giving detailed instructions and adjusting positions to ensure everything flows smoothly. You try to stay present, listening closely, but the awareness of Adam’s presence is a persistent distraction.

Finally, the director finishes with Quinn and calls for the two of you to begin. So… you do.

“Oh boy,” Quinn starts, reading the lines off his slightly crumpled page. “Here we go again. Look, I haven't got much left. Just give me a few more days to heal, okay? Then we'll start again on the left hand and—”

“Feed me!” you whine, your voice taking on a pleading, almost desperate tone. It feels good, acting. Not just good, but right. Like stepping into a pair of pajama pants fresh out of the dryer. The warmth of the role envelops you, and the words flow naturally, embodying the character’s urgency and need.

As you continue the scene, there’s a spark of energy between you and Quinn. The two of you effortlessly bounce off each other, each line building on the last, creating a dynamic and engaging interaction. You internally fist pump in victory.

However, you make the mistake of glancing out into the audience and meeting the eye of none other than Adam. Lately, since you’ve been ignoring him, he’s been wearing this resting pouty face that sort of looks like he sucked on a lemon. But not now. Watching the two of you, his eyebrows are raised as if he’s impressed.

You watch as he realizes you're looking back at him, and his expression shifts into something upset. The sudden change throws you off balance, and you stumble over your line. Embarrassed, you quickly avert your eyes to your script, desperately trying to find your place.

Quinn, sensing your struggle, tries his best to help by repeating his line. Your finger traces the lines on the page until you find where you left off. Taking a deep breath, you catch up, delivering your line as if nothing had happened. The brief disruption had felt like an eternity, but you manage to slip back into character, focusing on the scene and Quinn’s supportive presence.

The director, who had been watching closely, gives a small nod of approval as you recover. The scene continues, the rhythm gradually restoring itself.

You’re beating yourself up, disappointed in yourself for getting flustered. You need to get your head in the game–you’re paying a pretty penny to learn how to be the best performer, not whatever that was back there. You need to get it together, unless you want your director to replace you. That thought fills you with fear.

But then your blame shifts to Adam, and that fear transforms into anger, even though it shouldn’t. It’s easier to be angry with Adam than it is to feel the embarrassment and self-doubt that were creeping in.

You clench your fists, letting the anger simmer. It’s a distraction, but one you can channel. You mentally replay the scene, pinpointing where you stumbled and how Adam’s presence threw you off. The frustration fuels a determination to not let it happen again.

So when your director calls for a water break, you gracefully exit from the side stage and make your way towards the audience area. The theater is a hive of activity during the break, with cast and crew members scattered around, discussing scenes in hushed tones. You find your water bottle among the clutter of chairs

Chugging down over half of it in one go, you feel the cool liquid refresh your parched throat. As you lower your bottle and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you suddenly come face to face with Adam. He’s standing there, leaning nonchalantly against a nearby chair, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air thick with unspoken tension. You resist the urge to say something biting, reminding yourself to stay composed in the professional setting of rehearsal. Instead, you give a curt nod, acknowledging his presence without inviting further conversation.

Adam’s smirk widens slightly, as if he’s enjoying the discomfort he’s causing.

“So, gonna blame me for sabotage with that one, too?” Adam quips, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans closer.

You roll your eyes and turn away, not in the mood for his teasing.

“Hey,” he whines, reaching out to grab your arm, but you pull away, annoyed. “Don’t be like that. I was only joking.”

“Piss off, Adam,” you retort, frustration bubbling up. “I’m trying to memorize my lines.”

“What, are your lines written in your water bottle?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you are definitely crazy enough to do that. How about we grab dinner after this and I can help you run lines.” He walks his fingers up your arm slowly. “And then maybe after dinner… we can have dessert…”

You flick his hand away, irritation simmering beneath your glare. His attempt at humor falls flat, and you feel a pang of hurt at how he’s toying with you, even if he doesn’t realize it. “Haha, very funny,” you retort dryly, crossing your arms defensively.

He frowns, but before you can respond, the director calls for places at the top of what you’ve blocked today. You peel yourself away from Adam and head to your seat on the side stage.

With Adam, it feels like one step forward and thirteen steps back.

–

You were still avoiding Adam, but he finally seemed to take the hint and left you alone. Occasionally, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, but whenever you turned to look, he’d quickly avert his gaze.

Rehearsals had been... okay. No matter how hard you tried and how much effort you put into it, it felt like none of it mattered. You weren't getting Audrey II down, and it was plain frustrating. The other cast members seemed to be finding their grooves, their characters coming to life in ways that left you feeling envious and disheartened. The role you had worked so hard for, the one you were so excited about, seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

You’d run through your lines over and over, trying different inflections, different approaches, but nothing seemed to click. It felt like you were hitting a wall, and every attempt to break through only left you more battered and bruised. The director's notes, meant to be constructive, started to feel like a litany of your failures.

The only thing you could fault was yourself. There were points where you would leave rehearsal in frustrated tears, feeling utterly defeated.

At one point, you had made the mistake of walking past Adam during one of those tearful nights. He stepped in front of you and blocked your path, his presence a sudden and unwelcome barrier. You could feel the heat of your frustration and sadness rising, threatening to boil over. The urge to scream at him, to lay into him and unload all your pent-up emotions, was almost overwhelming. Especially when he was looking at you with eyes full of pity, a look that made your skin crawl.

Instead, you swallowed it down, forcing the words to stay trapped in your throat. The effort it took to hold back was physically painful, like swallowing shards of glass. You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms, and shoved past him with a force that surprised even you. He let you go, not saying a word, just watching you with that same pitying look that made you want to scream.

Today, though, was going to be a good day. The cast was scheduled to meet the band that would be playing for the show, and you were determined to make the most of it. You had been looking forward to this day, hoping that the energy and enthusiasm of the musicians might reignite your own excitement for the production.

As you arrived at the rehearsal space, you could already hear the faint sounds of instruments being tuned and tested. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and it gave you a much-needed boost. You spotted Sam, one of your acquaintances, setting up their drum kit with a focused expression. When you found out they had volunteered to help out, you had immediately warned them of Adam.

"Where's Adam?" you ask Quinn urgently, scanning the room for any sign of him. The last thing you want is to have driven him away from the show with your own behavior– you’d never forgive yourself.

"Aw, I knew you cared about me."

Startled, you spin around to find Adam standing right behind you. His smirk is evident, and you realize with relief that he hasn't left after all. On his back is an instrument case, not the familiar piano you've grown accustomed to seeing him with.

You purse your lips, still mulling over Adam's earlier comment. This conversation is the most you've engaged with him since that rehearsal.

"I thought you were our pianist," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual despite the lingering tension between you.

Adam tilts his head, his expression shifting from playful to more serious. "For the extra credit. But piano isn't really my first choice. I learned it for music theory purposes."

Quinn chimes in, always eager to fill the silence. "So if you're not on piano duty for the band..."

Adam readjusts the strap of his instrument case, his grin widening mischievously. "I'm on guitar, obviously," he declares, a hint of pride in his voice.

That… actually makes a lot of sense. He doesn't fit the typical image of a pianist; his personality is more intense and unpredictable. You mentally correct yourself, aware of not stereotyping, but Adam's demeanor aligns more with someone wielding a guitar, ready to bring an edgier vibe to the performances. The image of him strumming away fills your mind, and you find yourself fighting the urge to bite your lip at the thought, because, well, yoohoo! Adam is right there.

Sadai bounds up to the three of you, playfully knocking Quinn on the upside of his head as she enters. Quinn, caught off guard, lets out an unattractive squawk that makes her giggle. Honestly, there’s something there that even you can see. And looking across at Adam, he sees it too.

He opens his mouth to say something, you assume to make a teasing remark on their romantic life, but you instead smack him on his head. Instead of a squawk, he lets out a huff of a laugh. He looks less pissed that you hit him, and more pleased to have your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Quinn and Sadai share a knowing look. Are you that obvious? Embarrassed, you grab Adam by the sleeve and tug him away. Adam, still preening under the attention no matter how harsh, obediently follows you. Once you’re a reasonable distance away, you remove your grasp and it makes Adam frown.

“Listen. I know you have a big, trashy mouth—”

“You love it,” he interrupts with a grin.

“—And maybe no one has smacked actual sense into you—”

“You have,” he quips again.

“—Stop interrupting,” you glare, cutting him off. “But if you intervene in whatever the two of them have going on, I’ll personally murder you myself. Let them figure it out themselves, without any side comments from you.”

He raises an eyebrow, but mimes zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key.

Your glare is still flat. “Do I make myself clear?”

He points to his still zipped mouth and makes muffled noises. Annoyed, you roll your eyes before digging into your pocket for the key. You pantomime unlocking and unzipping his mouth. “You’re hot when you take charge.”

Exasperated, you lock and zip his mouth again, this time tossing the imaginary key as far as you can. Adam pretends to look shocked, making exaggerated muffled noises between his closed lips. You raise an eyebrow, silently repeating your earlier question. He sighs dramatically, as if accepting defeat, before slowly nodding his head in agreement.

In appreciation, you gently pat his cheek and he leans into it. You quickly redraw your hand, feeling your face burning up, before you march off back to your friends. You see the question on their faces, but they never get the chance to ask because your director is calling for everyone’s attention.

As she talks, you see a clump of music students behind her– Adam and Sam included. Using the basic common sense you sometimes have, you’re able to deduce that this is y’alls band. Despite most likely volunteering for extra credit, they seem excitable. Well, minus Adam, but he doesn’t count.

After introductions, your director has the brilliant idea to let the musicians show off. They set up in the pit, adjusting and tuning their instruments. Although they don’t have their conductor with them, they feel confident enough to perform the title song.

Adam and Sam take their positions, with Adam adjusting his guitar strap with practiced ease while Sam eagerly checks the tuning of their drums. The other musicians, a mix of eager students, also seem ready, their faces showing a combination of nerves and excitement.

As they begin to play the title song of the musical, the auditorium fills with the lively melody. Despite the absence of their conductor, the musicians manage to synchronize well, each instrument blending harmoniously with the others. Adam’s fingers move deftly over the strings of his guitar, adding a distinct flair to the music, while Sam’s drumming provides a steady backbone to the ensemble.

The image of Adam with his guitar has absolutely nothing on the actual sight of it. He looks, for lack of better words, sick as fuck. Incredibly hot. You feel yourself getting hot under the collar the longer you watch him.

His concentration is palpable as he strums the strings, his fingers moving with a practiced grace that speaks of hours spent honing his skill. The way his hair falls across his forehead, the slight furrow of his brow in concentration, and the way he leans into each note—all of it adds to his allure.

You’re really fucked.

–

Fortunately for you, the band wasn’t called back until the sitzprobe in a week, so Adam was back to playing the role of accompanist. Although you couldn’t wipe the image of him shredding the guitar, at least you weren’t getting distracted at rehearsals.

Considering how close you all were to tech week, rehearsals had been extended an extra few hours. The long hours were grueling, but you pushed through, knowing it was all for the final performance. Today’s run-through was particularly intense, leaving everyone exhausted and hungry.

After rehearsal, someone suggested grabbing dinner together, and the idea was quickly embraced by the group. It seemed like a good way to unwind and bond after a tough day of work. As you gathered your things, you noticed Adam packing up his sheet music, glancing at you every now and then with that familiar smirk.

“Ready to grab some food?” Quinn asked, nudging you gently.

“Yeah, I could eat a horse,” you replied, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The cast and crew gradually made their way out of the rehearsal space, chatting and laughing about the day’s mishaps and triumphs. You tried to avoid Adam’s gaze, but you could feel him watching you. He was always watching. You wondered what the dinner would be like with him there, knowing his penchant for stirring the pot. But maybe, just maybe, you’d all have a nice, drama-free meal.

For whatever reason, Chili’s had been chosen as the restaurant for the evening, and the thought of their triple dipper had your mouth watering. Quinn had kindly offered to drive, and you gratefully accepted, settling into the passenger seat and buckling up. As Quinn gripped the steering wheel, he paused, not making a move to start the car. Concerned, you turn to him.

“Quinn? You okay there?”

“I have something to admit.” his voice was serious, the most serious you’ve ever heard him. He was avoiding your gaze, and alarms were sounding in your head.

“...Okaaaaay?” you encouraged him to continue.

“I… hm.. I..” he took a deep breath before blurting it out. “I have feelings for Sadai!”

You stared at him… Did he not think you could tell? You had to stop yourself from laughing, as he was obviously distressed. Instead, you placed your hand on his shoulder. “Quinn, dude, I know.”

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise, and his grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly. “You know?”

You nodded, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. The way you look at her, the way you act around her—it’s clear as day.”

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. “I thought I was hiding it well.”

You chuckled softly. “You’re not. And you know what? I think she might feel the same way about you. You should talk to her.”

Quinn finally started the car, a small smile forming on his lips. “Thank god.”

“I’m rootin’ for ya.”

As you drove to Chili’s, you felt a sense of hope for Quinn. Maybe things were finally falling into place for him.

When you arrived at the restaurant, the rest of the cast was already there, chatting and laughing. You spotted Adam at the end of the table, waving you over. At first, you ignored him, glancing around for other open seats. However, it seemed fate was against you, as those were the only two seats open. You sighed, making your way over to him. His smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes that you were starting to recognize all too well.

Sadai, who was seated next to him, perked up at the sight of you and Quinn. Or, you know what, maybe just Quinn. He froze up in response, so you pushed him down to sit across from her. You plopped yourself in the seat next to him… which was, of course, across from Adam.

Great.

You took a seat next to Quinn, who was looking more relaxed than you’d seen him in a while. “Feeling better?” you asked.

He nodded, glancing at Sadai who got dragged into a conversation with the group next to her. “Yeah. I think I will talk to her.”

Adam leaned over, grinning. “What’s the gossip?”

“None of your business,” you replied, shoving him away.

“Aw,” he whined. “I was nice enough to save you seats, and this is how you treat me?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “You saved a seat for me?”

“Yep.” he popped the p. “Had to make sure I had eye candy while I ate.”

Adam’s attempt at humor fell flat, and you found yourself frowning, feeling the familiar urge to shut down again. "Gross," you muttered under your breath, not appreciating his comment.

Despite his usual dense demeanor, Adam seemed to sense he had said the wrong thing, even if he didn’t fully grasp why. His expression shifted, suddenly looking bashful. “Besides, you three are the only people who talk to me here. Theatre kids are very...”

He trailed off, searching for the right word while you waited, arms crossed.

“Clique-y?” you finished for him, understanding all too well the feeling of being an outsider. His admission struck a pang of guilt within you. You realized you had been ignoring him, afraid to confront your own romantic feelings. It hadn’t occurred to you how this might have made Adam feel, especially since apparently you were his only "friends" in the theatre department.

He smiled lightheartedly, clearly not deterred by the topic. “Yeah, that’s the word.”

Quinn awkwardly cleared his throat, and you jumped, realizing you had forgotten he was there. You had gotten a little too wrapped up in your vulnerable conversation with Adam.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Quinn said with a hint of amusement, “but can we get back to the menu? I’m starving.”

You blinked, feeling slightly embarrassed by the abrupt shift in focus. “Right, sorry. Food. Yes.”

Adam chuckled softly. “Food sounds good. What’re y’all getting?”

Quinn is the first to respond. “I wanna try their quesadillas.”

You nod. “I want to get the triple dipper, but I’m stuck between getting the mozzarella sticks, or the eggrolls.”

Adam paused, gluing his eyes to his menu as he talked. “Get the eggrolls.”

You sigh, nodding your head in agreement. It did feel strange to be getting along with Adam like friends after all the tension between you. You weren’t sure how to navigate a conversation with him without being rude or defensive. Well, guess you’ll have to learn.

Eventually the waiter makes his way to the end of the table where y’all are sat. Adam is the last to order. As the waiter writes down his food, Adam clears his throat.

“Um,” he glances at you before looking back at the waiter. “Can you also add an order of mozzarella sticks? We’re gonna share,” he gestures to you. “Put it on my tab though.”

Your jaw slightly drops as the waiter scampers off. Apparently Quinn is just as shocked, as he nudges you under the table, out of Adam’s view. At your reaction, Adam becomes defensive. “What?”

His remark catches you off guard, but you resist the urge to retort with something sharp, something that would escalate into banter. Instead, you find yourself smiling genuinely at him, a gesture of gratitude you hadn't anticipated making. It feels different, acknowledging his gesture without a layer of sarcasm or defensiveness.

"Thank you," you say, the words soft but sincere. There's a flicker of surprise in Adam's eyes, quickly replaced by a faint smirk that hints at his usual playful demeanor.

"You're welcome," he replies casually, though his tone holds a hint of something softer beneath the surface.

Quinn, sensing the shift in dynamics, nudges you lightly again under the table, his silent approval evident. You keep your gaze on Adam, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before looking away, the weight of unspoken words lingering between you.

Sadai, unaware of the weird tension, turns to the three of you. “Okay guys, help me out. Is Hamilton technically an opera.”

Quinn guffaws, caught off guard by the question. Or maybe he’s just flustered, you can’t ever be too sure. Adam just narrows his brows.

You, on the other hand, nod your head. “It’s a rap opera– it’s completely sung through. Just like how Rent is a rock opera. Duh.”

“Thank you!” Sadai exclaims, clearly relieved to have you on her side. “They’re trying to tell me I’m wrong!”

She turns back to her group, her expression a mix of concentration and amusement as she engages in the lively debate. You and Quinn exchange a glance, silently observing the group.

Suddenly, a light tap on your head breaks your focus. You instinctively turn, catching sight of Adam across the table. He sits with a mischievous grin, busily rolling up straw wrappers into small projectiles. With practiced precision, he flicks them in your direction, each one landing with a gentle thud against your shoulder or bouncing off your arm.

You deftly dodge one of the trash balls, your reflexes kicking in as you narrowly avoid being hit again. "How did you even get those?" you ask incredulously, amusement dancing in your eyes despite the slight annoyance.

"I asked for a bunch before you got here," he replies nonchalantly, launching another wrapper ball in your direction. This time, it catches you off guard and smacks you square in the nose, prompting an involuntary grumble and a playful pout.

Before you can retaliate, another wrapper ball grazes your arm. Determined not to be outdone, you swiftly grab one from the table and send it sailing back towards Adam with a flick of your wrist. The small projectile arcs through the air, landing neatly in his lap with a satisfying thud.

Adam chuckles "Nice shot,"

You smile, finding yourself surprisingly enjoying the playful banter with Adam. Despite his occasional crudeness, his sense of fun is infectious. As you glance over at Sadai and Quinn engrossed in their conversation, a smirk tugs at your lips. It seems Adam has noticed too, his sly expression indicating he's been watching your reactions closely.

With a casual flick of his fingers, Adam pulls out his phone and swiftly types a message before sliding it across the table to you. You pick it up and read the screen.

‘Are they together now or what?’

You slide his phone back, shaking your head. "You're such a gossip, Adam."

He pretends to look offended. "Hey, curiosity killed the cat– but satisfaction brought it back."

As the waiter sets down the plate of mozzarella sticks between you, you and Adam both reach for one almost simultaneously. He's quick to grab one, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied crunch. Following suit, you dip yours into the marinara sauce before taking a bite, savoring the gooey cheese and crispy coating.

Mid-chew, you notice Adam staring at you with a peculiar expression. You tilt your head in silent question, wondering what has caught his attention. Without warning, he leans forward, and you freeze, unsure of his intentions. His hand gently cups your chin, and with a surprising tenderness, he uses his finger to swipe at the corner of your mouth, where a smear of marinara sauce has escaped your notice.

The brief touch feels oddly intimate.

All too soon, he leans back to his seat, bringing his hand with him.

"You had sauce there," Adam says with a smirk.

Is…

Is he flirting…?

The realization sends a thrill through you.

The rest of dinner goes on without a hitch. You and Adam keep flirting– at least you think so. But based on how Quinn keeps sending you looks, you’d say you weren’t wrong. However, with all the water you’ve chugged, you get up to use the restroom. Quinn, probably determined to talk to you about Adam, practically leaps up from his chair, offering to join you.

You accept.

As you make your way to the restroom with Quinn trailing behind, you notice him shooting furtive glances back at the table where Adam sits. The restaurant's ambiance wraps around you, filled with muted conversations and the clinking of cutlery. Quinn waits until you're both out of earshot from the table before he speaks up.

"So, what's going on with you and Adam?" Quinn asks, his voice low but filled with curiosity.

You pause, considering how much you want to share. Quinn has been your friend for a while now, always there with a supportive shoulder or a witty remark when needed. "I don't know," you finally admit, trying to sort through your own thoughts. "It's... complicated."

Quinn raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. "Complicated how?"

"I used to really dislike him," you begin, your words slow and thoughtful. "But lately, things have been different. He's been... different. I guess I've been different too."

Quinn nods, understanding dawning on his face. "So, are you saying there's something between you two now?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. "I honestly don't know, Quinn. Sometimes it feels like we're on the same wavelength, and other times..." You trail off, not wanting to voice your uncertainty aloud.

He nods again, his gaze thoughtful. "Well, just be careful," Quinn advises gently. "You know Adam can be unpredictable."

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words. "I know. That's what makes this all so confusing."

Quinn gives you a reassuring smile. "Just take it slow, okay? Figure out what you really want and go from there."

"Thanks, Quinn," you say sincerely, grateful for his support.

You step into the restroom, taking a moment to freshen up before heading back out to join Quinn. There's a smile on your face, anticipation building as you look forward to rejoining Adam and continuing the lively atmosphere at the table. As you walk back towards your group, you feel a rush of excitement.

However, as you approach the table where everyone is seated, you suddenly come to a halt.

You freeze in your tracks, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you watch Adam leaning in close to Sadai, his fingers toying with her braids. The sight hits you like a punch to the gut, shattering the good mood you had moments ago. For a split second, you feel a surge of anger and betrayal, mixed with a pang of hurt that catches you off guard.

Quinn notices your sudden change in demeanor and follows your gaze to Adam and Sadai. He frowns, sensing the tension in the air. "Hey," he murmurs softly, touching your arm gently. "Are you okay?"

You swallow hard, trying to push down the swirling emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I... I don't know," you manage to reply, your voice wavering slightly. “Are you?”

Adam and Sadai seem engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to your presence. The image of Adam flirting with Sadai stings, igniting a mixture of jealousy and frustration within you. You had started to feel a connection with Adam, and now it feels like a slap in the face to see him cozying up to someone else so effortlessly.

“Not really.”

You stand there, frozen in place, as Adam and Sadai continue their animated conversation, completely absorbed in each other's company. Quinn's quiet admission hangs in the air, echoing in your mind as you watch Sadai laugh at something Adam says, playfully smacking his arm. The joy on Adam's face is unmistakable, and in that moment, it feels like a dagger to your heart.

A rush of emotions floods through you—embarrassment, disappointment, and a profound sense of being utterly foolish. You had allowed yourself to get swept up in the playful flirtation with Adam, only to realize now that his attention has shifted elsewhere, toward Sadai. The bile rises in your throat, a bitter taste of rejection and self-doubt washing over you.

You glance at Quinn, who meets your gaze with a sympathetic look, understanding the turmoil churning within you. The urge to turn and walk away tugs at you, to escape this painfully awkward moment. But you stand rooted to the spot, grappling with your emotions and trying to compose yourself.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reach into your wallet, determined to handle the situation with dignity. Beside you, Quinn does the same, silently acknowledging the need to gracefully exit from what has become an uncomfortable scenario. Together, you count out enough money to cover your meals and leave a generous tip—a gesture of gratitude for feeding the group of loud theatre kids.

With a sense of numb resolve, you make your way back to the table, each step feeling heavier than the last. You avoid making eye contact with Adam and Sadai, focusing instead on the task at hand—settling the bill and preparing to leave. The once vibrant atmosphere around the table now feels tinged with an awkward tension, and you silently curse yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

As you approach, you set the money down on the table without a word, your movements deliberate yet distant. Quinn follows suit, his expression mirroring your own subdued demeanor.

As Sadai and Adam remain engrossed in their… position, seemingly oblivious to your departure looming nearby, Adam's intermittent glances in your direction don't go unnoticed.

You instinctively turn away, shielding your face from view, determined to conceal the raw emotion threatening to spill over. You muster a smile as you bid goodbye to the rest of the group.

As you and Quinn make your way out of the restaurant, you're caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to maintain your composure despite the disappointment weighing heavily on your heart. As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Adam's face, and for a fleeting moment, you swear you see a frown etched across his features. It's a look of disappointment, unmistakable in its fleeting intensity. Despite your efforts to avoid his gaze, his reaction doesn't escape your notice.

–

The next day brings rehearsal, a welcome distraction from the previous evening's emotional upheaval. You find it easy to avoid Adam; he's at the piano, absorbed in his music, while you remain backstage, clutching your microphone. The distance between you feels like a necessary buffer, allowing you to focus on your part without the complication of seeing him.

You can't help but feel for Quinn, though. He has the unfortunate task of performing a scene that requires him to make out violently with Sadai. This scene had always been your go-to for teasing him, but now the dynamics have shifted. Quinn is doing his best to avoid her backstage, and you choose to keep your observations to yourself, respecting his discomfort.

As you sit there, the quiet moments between cues offer too much space for your thoughts to wander. Each time you think of Sadai, your mind inevitably drifts to her interaction with Adam from the previous night. The memory stirs a sickening emotion within you, a queasy sensation that threatens to unsettle your stomach. The vivid recollection of their interaction gnaws at you, bringing back the bile that rose in your throat.

Your director calls for a water break, and you can't help but watch as Adam immediately stands up. He scans the room, his eyes moving through the various clumps of people, clearly searching for someone—likely you. When he doesn't find what he's looking for, he bangs a fist on the piano in frustration, a gesture that sends a jolt of mixed emotions through you.

As you're absorbed in observing Adam, a sudden presence at your side startles you. You spin around quickly, a small squeal escaping your lips as you come face-to-face with your director. The surprise causes your heart to race, and you notice out of the corner of your eye that Adam's attention has snapped in your direction. Thankfully your director is straight to business… well, once she’s done laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, wiping away a stray tear from laughing too hard. “I just came to tell you that your puppet is finished. Want to come look at it?”

You nod eagerly, feeling a spark of excitement light up within you. The emotional turmoil from moments before takes a backseat as anticipation takes over. You follow her backstage and into the workshop, your steps quickening with each stride.

As you enter the workshop, your eyes widen in amazement. The puppet, which had only been a concept in your mind and a sketch on paper, now stands before you in all its detailed glory. It's even more impressive than you imagined. Every joint, every feature, every piece of fabric and paint has been meticulously crafted.

"Woah," you breathe, stepping closer to inspect it.

The puppet was a mesmerizing blend of alien grotesquery and organic menace. Standing as the largest iteration of Audrey II, its slender frame defied your expectations, draped in sickly pink with accents of puke yellow that sent a shiver down your spine. The puppet's design looked like it was inspired by a Venus flytrap, with a face that opens like the petal-like maw of a demogorgon.

In other words, it’s sick as fuck.

“Go on ahead, you can touch it.” Your director gives you permission.

Giggling eagerly, you carefully lift one of the plant's roots. To your surprise, it's heavier than expected, its weight adding to the puppet's realistic feel.

You playfully make the root squirm in your hands, marveling at how lifelike the puppet is even in its stationary state. The texture is smooth yet strangely slippery, reminiscent of a reptile's scales. As you manipulate the root, you can’t help but continue to laugh in awe.

“Be careful though,” your director warns. “It’s not completely finished, so it’s easy to tear.”

You nod obediently at your director's warning, fully aware of the delicate craftsmanship that went into creating Audrey II. With careful hands, you gently place the root back onto the workshop's table, ensuring it rests securely.

As you do so, a sense of fondness washes over you. You pat the root gently once, twice. "Goodbye, Audrey II," you murmur softly, your voice filled with a weird mix of affection.

Your director smiles warmly at your gesture, appreciating your connection with the puppet. "You're going to bring it to life on stage," she says encouragingly, her confidence in you evident.

As the rest of rehearsal proceeds smoothly, you notice Quinn standing by the piano, deep in discussion with Adam, probably about the timing in the music. From the subtle shifts in Quinn's demeanor and the tension in Adam's posture, it's clear that the atmosphere between them is strained.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to suck it up like a big boy and offer Quinn some support. Swallowing any residual discomfort, you make your way over to where they're standing, determined to ease the awkwardness if only for a moment.

"Hey, Quinn," you greet him warmly as you approach, flashing a genuine smile that belies the effort it takes to maintain composure. You deliberately avoid making eye contact with Adam, focusing your attention solely on Quinn.

Quinn's relief is palpable as he meets your gaze, a faint smile of gratitude tugging at his lips. "Hey," he responds, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

"Have you seen my Audrey II puppet yet?"

Quinn glances at you, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "Oh, did they finally finish it?"

"Yeah, sorta! I was just heading to go look at it again now. Wanna come with?" you offer, hoping to include him in something that might lift his spirits.

He grimaces slightly, apologetically meeting your gaze. "I would, but I HAVE to run through my lines. Sorry, dude.”

"No big!" you reply with a casual shrug, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“I want to.” Both you and Quinn swivel your heads to Adam. His tone carries a hint of annoyance, likely catching on to the fact that you've been pointedly avoiding him.

“You want to…?” you ask cautiously, unsure of his sudden interest.

“Look. I want to look at the puppet.” Adam interrupts, standing from the piano stool and closing his binder of sheet music. His abruptness catches you off guard, and you awkwardly laugh, glancing over at Quinn for his reaction.

"Are you sure you don’t want to join us?" you hastily interject, silently pleading with Quinn not to leave you alone with Adam.

“Oh uhhhhh yeah sure! Why not! In fact, let’s get the whole cast to come and look!” Quinn exclaims enthusiastically, seizing the opportunity to divert attention away from any potential awkwardness. His declaration gathers the attention of the entire cast, who readily agree to join in.

Grateful for the distraction, you lead the way to the workshop, guiding everyone towards Audrey II. As the group gathers around the puppet, curiosity and excitement fill the air. Conversations bubble up among the cast members, sharing their thoughts and impressions of the intricate design.

When one of your castmates reaches out to touch the puppet, you instinctively slap their hand away. “Don’t touch it— it’s still fragile,” you caution, a hint of protectiveness in your voice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Adam raising a brow as your castmate apologizes and joins the rest of the crowd to ogle at Audrey II.

After a few minutes of everyone marveling at Audrey II, they begin to file out of the workshop one by one. You watch the group gradually disperse, feeling a mix of relief and lingering excitement from the shared experience.

Turning back for one last look at Audrey II, you take a moment to soak in the puppet's eerie beauty and the significance it holds for the upcoming production. As you start to turn away, ready to join the others, your heart skips a beat and you clutch your shirt, a startled shriek escaping your lips.

Adam is still there.

His presence catches you completely off guard, the sudden realization causing a jolt of embarrassment to course through you. You hadn't noticed him lingering behind, and now he stands alone in the workshop, observing Audrey II with a thoughtful expression.

You could've sworn Adam had exited with the rest of the group, but there he stands, still in the workshop. Your attempt at a polite smile falters as you realize he’s holding one of the puppet’s roots.

"Adam, put that down," you warn firmly.

"Why should I?" Adam retorts, a playful glint in his eyes as he continues to hold onto Audrey II's root.

"It's not yours," you state matter-of-factly, trying to maintain your composure despite the frustration creeping in.

"Technically not yours either," Adam teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You bristle at his response, the playful banter hitting a nerve. "It's my character.”

"And yet you don't move the puppets even once.”

"Adam," you warn, your patience wearing thin.

"Baby,"

You huff in frustration. "I'm not going to be nice about it."

"You never are.”

"Put. It. Down," you grit through your teeth. "Adam!"

He moves it again, and this time, you hear a faint tearing sound. Your heart sinks as you see the seam start to pull taut.

"Adam!!" you practically shout, urgency in your voice now.

Finally, Adam looks up, his expression shifting from casual amusement to concern as he realizes what he's done. The tear in the puppet's root is evident, a small but significant damage that threatens its fragile structure.

"Oh, shit," Adam mutters under his breath, his eyes widening in realization.

You stand there, a mix of anger and disappointment washing over you. "Adam, please put it down—" you start to say again, but it's too late.

Rrrrrrrip! The tear worsens, the fabric giving way under the strain. You wince at the sound, knowing the damage is done. You both stare in shock as the root rips from the body of Audrey II. Adam jumps, his hands instinctively letting go of the root, which drops to the floor with a soft thud. Your heart sinks as you quickly bend down to retrieve it, hugging the damaged puppet piece protectively against your chest.

The workshop falls silent, the weight of the moment hanging heavily in the air. You shoot Adam an angry glare, your eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and disappointment. His usual nonchalant attitude falters under your gaze, and for once, he seems genuinely remorseful.

"I didn’t know it was gonna do that!" Adam exclaims, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation as he tries to justify his actions.

Still, you say nothing, your focus solely on assessing the damage to the puppet. The torn fabric and strained seam speak louder than Adam's words.

"Seriously, I didn’t know!" Adam insists, his tone pleading now, seeking validation or perhaps forgiveness.

Silence greets him once more, your expression unreadable as you continue to inspect Audrey II's damaged root.

Adam's nervousness grows palpable. "Really, if it was going to be that fragile, then it totally would’ve ripped on stage!!" he continues, his voice rising slightly in frustration.

But still, you offer no response.

"Why won’t you respond? Say something!" Adam finally demands, his patience wearing thin.

“Why do you have to be such a dick?!”

Adam flinches visibly at your outburst. His expression shifts from defensiveness to a mix of surprise and guilt

“Seriously, you complain and whine about how no one wants to be your friend here, but then you go around and act like this!” Your throat hurts. “Do you have no common sense? No respect for other people? This isn’t some show, Adam, this is my future!”

Adam's tense and nervous laughter only serves to fuel your frustration, his dismissive response hitting a nerve as you confront him with the seriousness of the situation.

"I'm not joking," you assert firmly, your voice edged with determination. "This is my first chance at a lead. If I don't do well now, my director won't consider me for other roles. And without that experience, I'll have nothing to show for when I enter the real world. It's my dream, Adam, and it means everything to me."

"Baby," Adam begins, attempting to placate you, but you cut him off sharply. “I think you’re being a bit overdramatic–”

"Don't tell me how to react!" you snap, your anger bubbling to the surface. "You're such an asshole!!"

"Why? All I did was fuck with a puppet!" Adam retorts defensively, his frustration mirroring yours.

"And then you went behind Quinn's back and flirted with Sadai," you say, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. The reminder of his betrayal overwhelms any lingering anger.

Adam cringes visibly. "I wasn't flirting—" he starts to defend himself, but you’re quick to cut him off.

"Adam," you interject.

"Okay, fine!" Adam admits, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was, but not for the reason you think!"

You meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for an explanation. "Then why?" you ask quietly,

"Jealousy is a very powerful emotion—" Adam starts, but you cut him off, unable to contain your incredulity.

"—you flirted with Sadai to make Quinn jealous?"

Adam hesitates for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Well, I mean, something like that."

"What the fuck," you exclaim, your frustration boiling over. "You manipulative asshole."

Adam winces at your words, his usual bravado crumbling under your righteous anger. "Sadai was in on it!!!" he blurts out defensively. "We were just hoping that... he'd… make a move on her."

"Because he was jealous," you conclude bitterly, the pieces falling into place.

"Yes," Adam confirms, his voice quieter now, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, good luck with that now! Now he thinks he has no chance, so he’s not interested anymore. And I can’t say I blame him," you say, your voice tinged with resignation.

Adam's gaze remains steady on you, his expression unreadable as he waits for your response.

"Are you?" he asks gently, much softer than before.

What?

"Am I..." you repeat softly, the question lingering in the air.

"Not interested anymore?"

You feel a lump form in your throat as Adam's gaze lingers on you, his silence echoing loudly in the workshop. The vulnerability of the moment washes over you, leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain.

"In Quinn?" you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper, hoping for clarity amidst the swirling emotions.

Adam's expression remains unreadable, his eyes searching your face as if weighing his words carefully. He doesn't respond immediately, the tension between you palpable.

"No," he finally answers softly, his voice steady but devoid of further explanation.

Your heart sinks slightly at his cryptic response, the lack of elaboration leaving you with more questions than answers. You struggle to maintain composure, your mouth dry as you attempt to process his words and the unspoken implications behind them.

You're very careful with your words. "If I were in Quinn’s shoes, I wouldn’t be.”

Adam sniffs softly, his eyes momentarily flickering away before locking onto yours again. He seems to choose his next words carefully, his demeanor serious yet contemplative.

"Okay. So you’re in Quinn’s shoes and you’re mad at Sadai. What now?" Adam asks.

"I wait for an apology," you reply firmly, your voice gaining strength as you articulate your stance.

"An apology? That’s it?" Adam questions, his brow furrowing slightly in apparent skepticism.

"No, that’s not it," you clarify, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. "But it’s the first step."

Adam purses his lips. "Okay, she apologizes to you. Now what?"

You shrug. "I don’t know.”

"The fuck you mean you don’t know?" Adam exclaims, his frustration escalating.

"Adam.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Whatever. So what, should Sadai just go up to Quinn and apologize? What if she’s not sorry?”

"Then she better not talk to him until she is," you assert firmly.

Adam frowns, his expression troubled as he considers your response. "What if Quinn doesn’t forgive her?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

"Then Sadai better respect that.”

"And what if it kills Sadai that she won’t have Quinn in her life anymore, if he doesn’t forgive her. What if that’s too big a risk to take— to apologize and find out."

You can't decipher if Adam is speaking from a hypothetical standpoint or if there's a deeper personal resonance behind his questions. Nonetheless, you stand firm in your belief, doubling down on your stance with resolve.

“At least then she’d know.”

Adam nods slowly in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he processes your words. "Right," he acknowledges, his voice subdued.

You stare at him, waiting for an apology that never comes. The silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken expectations and unaddressed emotions. When it becomes apparent that Adam isn’t going to apologize, you sigh deeply, the disappointment evident in your voice.

"Alright Adam, time for you to get out of here," you say with resignation, firmness creeping into your tone.

"But—" Adam starts to protest, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Just go, Adam," you interrupt, cutting him off before he can say more. "I’ll see you in class."

"C'mon baby—" Adam tries again, a hint of pleading in his voice.

"Goodbye.”

As Adam begins to muster a response, he catches sight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. The defiance in him wavers, replaced by a sudden deflation. Adam nods silently, his resolve faltering. Without further words, he turns and exits the room, leaving you to grapple with the aftermath of your exchange.

You’re left still hugging that damn puppet’s root to your chest. Holding it tight makes your heart hurt a little bit less.

–

After ballet class, you find yourself lingering with a mix of emotions. Adam's absence didn't go unnoticed, and while a part of you is concerned, you're also determined to convince yourself not to care. Getting over a crush is never easy, and you're trying your best to stay focused.

Class was fine. The familiar routines and movements provided a welcome distraction, allowing you to immerse yourself in the physicality of dance. Your muscles ache in that satisfying way that signals a good workout, and your mind feels clearer, if only for a little while.

The sight of Adam waiting outside the dance class catches you off guard. He's sitting on one of the benches, his head buried in one of his hands. At the sound of the door opening, he jumps up, his posture stiff with tension. You watch, puzzled, as he nervously gulps and reveals a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. The confusion must be evident on your face because Adam's expression shifts from nervousness to something resembling desperation.

"Um, you're late to class," you say dumbly. Of course he knows that.

He glances at the clock. "Yeah, I was waiting for it to be over."

"Why weren’t you here?" you ask, still trying to wrap your head around the situation.

"I wanted to talk to you.”

You glance behind you to see more of your classmates piling out. Contemplating, you bite your lip. “Can it wait?”

“Oh, oh yeah, no, totally, that’s fine,” he stammers, his nervousness evident in the way he shifts on his feet. He passes you the flowers and you take them, cradling them to your chest.

“Okay,” you say, feeling the weight of the bouquet in your hands.

You awkwardly snap your mouth closed and wait for everyone to leave. Ms. Nicole is the last one out. She notices you, Adam, and the bouquet in your hands. She coos, her eyes twinkling with a knowing smile.

“Aww, you two look adorable. Have a good evening, okay?” she says, waving as she exits.

You offer a tight-lipped smile, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “Thanks, Ms. Nicole. See you tomorrow.”

As the door closes behind her, you and Adam are left alone in the now-quiet hallway. The silence is thick with unspoken words, and you shift uncomfortably.

“So…”

You click your tongue. "So..."

"Uh, listen." He finally looks at you. "I'm not good at apologizing—"

"Yeah, I can tell."

His eyes narrow at your interruption, but you remain firm. He hurt you, whether he meant to or not, and you're willing to hear him out, but you won't make it easy for him. "I'm trying here."

“Yeah?” you ask. “Well, try harder.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated but determined. “I’m sorry for messing with your puppet.”

“And?” you prompt, raising an eyebrow.

He grumbles, his voice dropping. “I’m sorry for flirting with Sadai.”

You nod your head slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay. So we’re good?” he asks, hope in his eyes.

You laugh, but it’s a bitter sound. “Fuck no. You were a dick.”

He winces. “I know, I know. But I apologized—”

“You tore my puppet after I told you to put it down. Who do you think got in trouble for that? Not you. And then you go behind our friend’s back and try to make him jealous. You didn’t even get anything out of it!”

“He wasn’t the only one we were trying to make jealous!” Adam blurts out, eyes widening as if he didn’t mean to announce that.

You don’t stop to think of the implications, your anger flaring again. “Right, because that makes it much, much better.”

“Well, I already apologized!”

“I know.”

“So, I’m forgiven?” he asks, hopeful.

“No,” you reply firmly.

“Cut me some slack here!” he begs.

“I have been. For a long time,” you respond, your patience wearing thin.

“I even got you flowers! I never get any bitch flowers!”

Your eye twitches. “Try again.”

He takes a deep breath, realizing his mistake. “I never get anyone flowers. I promise, I’m really trying here.”

“Trying what? Because you’re certainly not trying to apologize. You’re just saying the words.”

He groans, exasperated. “I’m trying to confess to you, alright! I’d like to take you out, but I can’t do that if you’re mad at me!”

You stare at him, the anger quickly being replaced by a deep sense of disappointment. “…so you’re only apologizing so I’ll go out with you.” It’s not a question.

Adam is silent, the guilt evident in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He realizes how hollow his apology now sounds.

You sigh, continuing. “Listen, Adam, you’re a dick. But you can be real sweet when you try. Being around you can be a whole lot of fun, when you’re not being a little shit. I like you a lot too, Adam.”

He perks up, hope lighting up his eyes.

“—but I can’t go out with you.”

His face falls, the hope extinguished as quickly as it appeared. “Why not?”

“You’re not boyfriend material. You’re real rough around the edges.”

He looks desperate, pleading almost. “You can help with that!”

"Adam, I'm not going to fix you. You need to fix yourself before we even consider going out. And that starts with a proper apology. A meaningful one, not just because you want me to forgive you."

For once, he shuts up and nods. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Nice try. I'll give you some time," you reply firmly, holding your ground.

Adam looks at you, seeming to understand the gravity of what you're asking for. He nods again, more earnestly this time. "I'll do better. I promise."

You give him a small, cautious smile. "I hope so, Adam."

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving him to contemplate his actions and words. It's a step forward, albeit a small one, and you're hopeful that he'll take the time to reflect and make the changes necessary. For now, you're content to wait and see what happens next.

–

The next day at rehearsal, when you walk in, Adam waves at you from a distance. You appreciate the space he's giving you; being around him still leaves your head spinning. The rehearsal proceeds smoothly, with everyone focused on their roles and scenes.

As you go through the routines and lines, you find yourself immersed in the production, trying to put the recent events with Adam aside. Your performance is your focus now, and you're determined to give it your best despite the distractions.

During breaks, you catch glimpses of Adam occasionally glancing your way, but he doesn't approach you. Part of you wonders if he's taking your words to heart and giving you the space you need. It's a relief in some ways, but also leaves you with a lingering sense of uncertainty about where things stand between you.

–

It’s finally sitzprobe time, which means it’s the first time the cast gets to sing along with the band, and not just Adam’s accompaniment. Usually, you’d be a bit nervous about rehearsing with Adam, but he’s been surprisingly respectful with your distance.

That, you’re incredibly grateful for, as opening night looming closer and closer, you haven’t had time to think about romance or drama or whatever. Your free time has been spent going over lines, rehearsing your music, and stressing over this show. Basically, your life is now revolving around your production of Little Shop.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You were all herded into the music room, music stands holding binders– or for the less prepared, loose papers. The actors were pushed to the back of the area to make room for the band’s equipment.

You flip through your binder, mentally going over your music in your head. The sitzprobe was to start in a few minutes, so you were making sure to have everything down. Since you were just singing along with the band, you didn’t need to worry about lines or blocking– just your music.

As the band fine-tunes their equipment, the room is filled with a low hum of anticipation. Adam, with his guitar perched on his thigh, looks focused as he adjusts his amp chord. The heat and the crowded space have left a sheen of sweat on his forehead, causing his messy hair to stick to his skin. You catch yourself biting your lip at the sight, your mind momentarily drifting despite your best efforts to stay focused on the rehearsal.

When he meets your eye– because of course he would– you almost look away. But you don’t. Instead, you hold his gaze, feeling bold. He stares back. From your side, you hear Quinn call your name.

“Do you have a spare pencil?”

You look over to see Quinn’s backpack completely turned inside out in search of a pencil. You laugh before handing him one of your extras. You nod at his quick and embarrassed “thanks” before looking back to adam–

–Who is still watching you.

You feel yourself blushing under his warm gaze, your cheeks tinged with a faint pink hue. Despite your shyness, you manage to muster a timid smile. His response is a surprisingly sweet smile that melts your nerves and sends a flutter through your heart.

This time, it's he who breaks the gaze, turning away to start tuning his guitar. Each testing strum reverberates loudly through his amp, filling the room with its vibrant sound. With every chord he adjusts, you feel yourself grow more and more hot under the collar.

So he looks sexy playing guitar– go fuck yourself!

When it’s time for the sitzprobe to actually start, you almost miss your cue, too distracted watching Adam. He’s completely focused on his guitar, and you’re completely focused on him. Can you blame yourself, though?

Eventually, it's your turn to sing, and you hear the familiar notes creeping in. Taking a deep breath, you belt out the song with all your heart. A smile spreads across your face as you feel the electric guitar blending beautifully with your voice.

–

Before you knew it, tech week had sneaked up on you. With opening night just around the corner, the days leading up to it were a whirlwind of adding the finishing touches—adjusting lights, fine-tuning sound levels, and perfecting costumes down to every last detail.

Today's agenda had been slated for running through lighting cues and honing the synchronization between your voice and the Audrey II puppet; You were eager to finally meet the puppeteer who would bring your character to life. However, upon meeting her, despite her incredible talents, it didn’t seem like she wanted to be there very much. Or maybe that was just her serious RBF. So instead, you spent your breaks avoiding her.

Since today was focused solely on lights, the band wasn't called in. Despite your best efforts to downplay it, you couldn't shake the disappointment that settled in. After the last sitzprobe, you had been eagerly anticipating another chance to watch Adam shred his guitar. The thought of his skilled fingers dancing over the strings made your mouth water.

Not that you’d admit it, though.

After checking in with the stage manager to confirm your attendance, you heaved your monster-sized duffel bag towards the dressing room. The door protested with a loud squeal as you pushed it open, prompting a wince from you. However, your expression quickly turned into a wide grin when you realized you had the dressing room all to yourself for now. It was a rare moment of tranquility before the whirlwind of preparations began—a brief calm before the storm of tech week.

As you approach your designated spot at the mirrors, you're taken aback by what you find. Sitting neatly on your seat is a fresh bottle of water and a thermos. Intrigued and slightly skeptical, you twist open the thermos lid and bring it close to your nose, taking a cautious sniff. A smile spreads across your face when you recognize the familiar scent of throat coat tea. Score!

You hesitate, momentarily questioning if you should be tampering with these items, worried they might have been placed at your station by mistake. Yet, your curiosity gets the better of you when you notice a card tucked behind the water bottle. With cautious fingers, you pick it up, finding your name neatly written on the back. Perplexed, you carefully tear open the envelope and pull out the card.

"Break a leg. Or whatever the fuck you say. This isn't an apology. Not yet. You deserve something better than a card."

You notice a few lines that have been crossed out, suggesting some hesitation or revision. But at the end, it's signed with a heart—

"Adam"

Giddy butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and this time, instead of brushing them aside, you allowed yourself to revel in the sensation of hope and happiness. It felt absolutely wonderful.

You opened the thermos once more, letting the comforting scent of throat coat tea waft out, and took your first sip. The warm, soothing liquid eased your nerves as you continued to prepare for rehearsal. You carried the thermos with you out onto the stage, still taking generous sips. .

Mid-sip, you choke slightly as your eyes meet Adam's in the audience. There's a moment of surprise, followed by a rush of warmth when you see the pleased—no, relieved—expression on his face as he notices you enjoying his gift. With the hopeful butterflies still fluttering in your stomach, you can't help but smile and wave in his direction, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude.

He blinks in surprise before a warm smile spreads across his face, and he waves back. It becomes clear that seeing you enjoy his gesture was his sole purpose for being here today. With a practiced casualness, he slips his hands into his pockets and begins to make his way towards the exit. For once, you’re the one watching him go.

You totally look at his butt while he walks.

–

The past two days of tech week had been long and grueling, each hour stretching into what felt like an eternity. Yet, somehow, you managed to push through, thanks in large part to an alarming abundance of energy drinks. Who could blame you, though? The relentless schedule demanded it.

You'd developed a strategic habit of stashing energy drinks in every conceivable spot—your bag, your dorm room, and especially your dressing room. This way, no matter where you were, a quick jolt of caffeine was always within arm's reach.

Today, as you arrived at rehearsal, you polished off yet another can and felt the familiar pang of needing a refill. Without a second thought, you made a beeline for the dressing room, determined to grab another energy drink before diving back into the demanding pace of tech week.

Now that the lights and sounds had been meticulously carved out, the band was invited back today to perform with everyone. You had already run through the show once, which meant it was now time for a break before notes and then another run-through.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you at the thought of a second run-through. The first one hadn't been your best, and you couldn’t help but replay every minor mistake in your mind. Although you knew you were your own harshest critic, you couldn't shake the desire for perfection. This show was important to you, and you desperately needed it to go well.

You finally reached the dressing room door, grateful for a moment of solitude. Everyone else was taking their water break and snacking in the lobby, leaving you the dressing room all to yourself, which you always appreciated. The quiet space provided a welcome respite from the chaos outside.

Plopping yourself down in your seat, you rummaged through your belongings in search of another energy drink. When your fingers finally closed around the familiar can (thank god), you quickly pushed on the tab to open it, savoring the crisp sound of the release. Without hesitation, you took a big gulp, feeling the rush of caffeine invigorate your senses.

Suddenly, as you were wiping your mouth on your shirt sleeve, a knock echoed through the dressing room door. Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was someone from the neighboring dressing room, probably looking for more hairspray or some other last-minute item.

However, what greeted you when you swung open the door was entirely unexpected. Instead of a fellow cast member, you found yourself face-to-face with a gigantic piece of poster paper. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust and process the sight in front of you.

"Pretend it's your director," the poster read in bold, messy letters.

"Um," you muttered, looking around in confusion. "I'm the only one in here..."

Before you could make sense of it, Adam's head popped up from behind the poster board. Of course—it had to be him. He looked absolutely giddy, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he took in your bewildered expression.

“At least pretend,” he playfully pouts, his eyes twinkling. It's surprising to see him in such a good mood.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, laughing. You can’t help but join in on his contagious amusement.

He flips the poster.

“With any luck, by next year,” it reads.

He flips it again.

“I’ll be going out with one of these people.”

The next flip reveals a collage of different models and celebrities. Despite yourself, you can't help but burst into laughter.

“Are you stealing this from Love, Actually?” you ask, grinning.

“Shhh, don’t spoil the surprise,” he replies, putting a finger to his lips dramatically.

“But for now, let me say,”

“Without hope or agenda”

“Just because its tech week—”

“(And at tech week you tell the truth)”

“…I’m sorry”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, setting aside the signs to focus fully on him. His playful demeanor has shifted subtly, revealing a softer, more vulnerable side. His gaze meets yours, and you notice a hint of bashfulness in his expression. His Adam’s apple bobs noticeably as he swallows, the tension palpable in the quiet moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, taking a deep breath before the words tumble out in a rush. “I’m sorry I messed with your puppet, and I’m also sorry I flirted with Sadai. You made this whole point about how it upset Quinn. You didn’t say it, but I knew it upset you, too.”

He pauses, searching your face for your reaction. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, his voice earnest.

“It’s… why I did it. I hoped you would have confessed to me. But instead it hurt you. And so then I messed with your puppet because I’d rather you be mad than sad, but you still were and I was a dick. I’m really, really sorry. I’ll even get on my knees. I—”

"Adam," you interrupt softly.

He flinches, expecting a different reaction—perhaps yelling, tears, or a freak-out. What he doesn’t expect is for you to lean in and give him a gentle peck on the cheek.

Adam blinks in surprise, his eyes widening as he processes the unexpected gesture. His cheeks flush slightly, and for a moment, he's at a loss for words.

“I forgive you,” you say softly, leaning back into your own space.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, before a dopey smile spreads across his face, lighting up his features.

“I still feel like I need to make it up to you,” he admits, his voice tinged with relief and happiness, as if he's floating on cloud nine.

“You will,” you reply with a knowing smile.

“I will,” he agrees, a look of determination settling in his eyes as he finally comes back down to earth. He smiles at you, then places his hands on your shoulders with a resolute expression.“This doesn’t mean we’re going out yet, though. I need to sweep you off your feet.”

You can’t help but laugh at his declaration. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “You deserve the best, and I’m going to prove that I can give it to you.”

Touched by his sincerity, you nod. “Alright, Adam. I’m looking forward to it.”

He nods, then raps his fist on the door frame. “Welp, looks like we better get back to rehearsal…”

You hum in agreement. “Yep…”

A moment of stillness hangs between you before you grab him by his shirt collar and tug him forward. He grins the whole way, eyes sparkling with anticipation. You plant a kiss on his mouth, and he smiles through it, pressing his lips firmly against yours. The kiss is brief but charged, lasting only a second before you both pull away.

“Well!” you bring your hands together in a loud clap, bashfully embarrassing his eyes. “Gotta go!”

–

The next day, after a long rehearsal, you start packing up to head to dinner. As you're in the middle of a conversation with one of your castmates, your phone buzzes with a notification. You pick it up from the dressing room table, pausing mid-sentence to glance at the screen.

You tilt your head in confusion as you see that the notification is from a random number.

UNKNOWN

You hesitantly click on the attachment, and a video begins to play on your phone screen.

The video is of your song "Feed Me." You watch in awe as the puppet comes to life, synchronized perfectly with your voice. This is the first time you've seen yourself perform as Audrey II, and you find yourself captivated by the seamless blend of your vocals and the puppeteer's movements.

Surprisingly, you’re impressed with your own performance. Your voice sounds powerful and emotive, carrying the song with confidence and flair. Watching the puppet and hearing your own vocals, you realize just how much you've accomplished. A sense of pride washes over you, mixed with a touch of disbelief.

The video is taken from the pit of the stage, where the band is located. You notice the phone recording is propped up on what you assume is a music stand, angled perfectly to capture the stage. A hint of suspicion about who took the video begins to form in your mind.

Your suspicions are confirmed when, after the song ends, you hear an enthusiastic whoop and holler from behind the phone. A drumstick suddenly appears, swinging into view, and you hear Adam curse loudly, likely having been smacked with the stick. The unexpected moment makes you giggle; the scene is endearing and somewhat cute.

When you click out of the video, your phone buzzes again.

UNKNOWN You were super good. -your secret admirer

You can't help but smile as you type back.

YOU Adam

A moment later, your phone buzzes again with a quick response.

UNKNOWN Dammit.

You quickly add his number to your contacts, labeling it with a fond smile. As you finish, you glance up and catch sight of yourself in the dressing room mirror. The realization that you're grinning from ear to ear makes you blush. Your cheeks warm, and you can’t help but laugh softly at yourself.

ADAM Wanna sit next to each other at dinner I won’t bite And I know you won’t either ;]

YOU Are you gonna flirt with Sadai again

ADAM Okay so apparently you /will/ bite. And no I will not.

YOU Then yes

ADAM Ok I’m boutta leave I’ll save you a seat

Just as you're about to put your phone away, another notification pops up. You open it to find a selfie of Adam, flashing a peace sign with a goofy grin. The only caption reads, “Am I kawaii?”

You laugh but decide not to respond, clicking your phone off with a shake of your head.

Determined to get to the restaurant, you gather all your belongings and throw them into your duffel bag. Slinging it over your shoulder, you take one last glance around the dressing room, feeling a mix of excitement and satisfaction.

As you step out into the bustling hallway, you feel lighter, a spring in your step as you head towards the exit.

With your head down, still thinking about Adam’s ridiculous text, you almost run face-first into Quinn. He steps back just in time, and based on his expectant expression, you already know what he's going to ask.

“Yes, I can give you a ride.”

He cheekily smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Sick.”

You both walk to your car in silence. Once inside, you unlock it and slide into the driver’s seat. As you click your seatbelt in place and adjust the rearview mirror, Quinn awkwardly coughs, breaking the quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice a bit uneven, as if he’s unsure. “You and Adam.”

“Me and Adam?” you prompt, glancing over at him.

“Are y’all… a thing now?” he asks, his curiosity evident.

You awkwardly shrug as you turn on the car ignition and begin to back out of your parking spot. Technically, you aren't lying. Adam hasn’t asked you out yet, but you did kiss—it's like some sort of limbo.

“Are you just going to look past his dick actions?” Quinn asks, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

“He apologized. Like, actually. It was this whole thing,” you explain, trying to convey the sincerity of Adam’s apology.

“Oh,” Quinn replies, looking down, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

You get on the road and steal a quick glance at Quinn. He’s anxiously bouncing his knees, his shoulders as taut as a rubber band.

“So, you and Sadai.”

“Me and Sadai,” he echoes, his voice carrying a hint of tension.

You roll to a stop at a red light, keeping your eyes forward as you attempt to carefully breach the topic. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his legs.

“Have y’all talked after that night?” you ask gently.

“No,” he replies, his tone clipped and filled with frustration.

You click your tongue thoughtfully. “Maybe you should.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

You can’t take it anymore. The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “Sadai and Adam only flirted to make us jealous!”

Quinn’s legs stop bouncing, and he perks up, suddenly full of energy. “I knew it!” he exclaims, a triumphant look on his face.

You laugh, relieved to have finally admitted that information. But then you pause, realizing something. “What do you mean you knew it? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me!” Quinn laughs.

“Touché…”

“But yeah, no!” He sits back in his chair, a smug look on his face. “I totally knew it! They kept looking at us!”

You frown, trying to remember. “They did?”

“Yes! And when we left, Jared said they just... stopped talking to each other entirely!”

You groan, facepalming. “Oh my god.”

Eventually, you both pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. You park your car and step out, Quinn following suit.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You turn to see Sadai perched on the sidewalk, standing up and brushing off any dirt as she sees you. Her expression is tentative, eyes flicking nervously between you and Quinn.

You glance between Sadai and Quinn, noticing the tension in the air. Quinn’s eyes are locked on Sadai, a mix of emotions playing across his face. Just as he moves to open your car door, clearly trying to escape the situation, you quickly press the lock button.

He tugs at the car door handle, but the door remains firmly shut. His frustration becomes apparent as he glares at you, a mixture of betrayal and disbelief on his face. His eyes dart between you and Sadai, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

You stand firm, meeting his gaze with a resolute expression. “Adam’s waiting for me. Don’t take too long,” you say, your tone carrying a hint of finality.

With that, you turn on your heel and walk towards the restaurant entrance, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You can feel Quinn’s eyes boring into your back as you move away, his disapproval palpable even from behind. You almost falter, a pang of guilt hitting you for leaving him to face this conversation alone. But you remind yourself that sometimes, facing uncomfortable truths is necessary for growth and resolution.

You push open the restaurant door and step inside, the lively hum of conversation and clinking cutlery greeting you warmly. Your eyes scan the room, quickly locating your table. A wave of relief washes over you as you spot Adam among your friends, seated comfortably towards the middle of the group.

You wave hi to everyone, your smile widening when you see the empty seat next to Adam. You make your way over, feeling a mix of excitement and relief.

“Hey, dickwad!” you call out playfully.

Adam’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. His face lights up instantly, his smile spreading from ear to ear. The sight makes your heart flutter, just a little, as you approach him.

“Hey, bitch!” he responds with equal enthusiasm, waving you over. “I saved you a seat!”

He pats the seat next to him, and you slide in with a smile. As soon as you’re settled, Adam wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a playful half-hug. The gesture feels warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the awkwardness you left behind outside.

“How’d you like the video?” he asks, his voice light and full of enthusiasm. “Aren’t you just the best?”

You feel your cheeks warm under his praise, and you duck your head slightly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “My favorite part was when you got hit with the drumstick,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Adam dramatically groans, pulling his arm away and releasing you. “I really thought I cut that part out…” he says, pretending to be exasperated.

You laugh, the sound genuine and joyful, and it feels good to let go of the day’s stress. Reaching for the menu, you start browsing through the options, feeling the familiar sense of comfort and relaxation settle over you as the conversation flows around the table.

As time passes, you find yourself genuinely enjoying dinner. The food is delicious, and the atmosphere is lively and warm. Adam is surprisingly attentive throughout the meal, making a point to include you in all his conversations. He listens intently to your stories and takes an active interest in the topics you bring up. His easygoing nature and the way he makes you feel heard only add to the evening’s enjoyment.

Despite the pleasant distraction, your mind occasionally drifts to the Quinn-and-Sadai-shaped hole in the group dynamic. They’ve been outside talking for what feels like forever, even after your food arrived. The minutes tick by, and you start to wonder what’s going on.

Just as you’re nearing the end of your meal, you catch sight of them finally making their way inside. Your gaze naturally shifts towards the entrance, and your eyes widen in surprise when you see them walking hand in hand.

Your jaw drops in surprise as you watch Quinn and Sadai approach the table, their hands intertwined. You glance over at Adam, who is mid-bite into a juicy rib, his mouth full and his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

You nudge his attention towards Quinn and Sadai. Adam’s eyes follow your gesture, and as he takes in the sight of them holding hands, his face lights up with genuine excitement and happiness.

“They’re holding hands!” you exclaim, unable to keep the delight out of your voice.

Quinn and Sadai settle into the only available spots— a table a few feet away from you. Without a second thought, you peel yourself off your seat, nearly bumping into other diners as you practically race to Quinn.

As you approach, you come up behind him and place your hands firmly on his shoulders. The sudden contact startles him, and he turns his head slightly, looking up at you with a mix of surprise and confusion.

You lean in slightly, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. “Hey,” you say softly. “I need to use the restroom. Care to accompany me?” You tighten your grip on Quinn’s shoulders just enough to make it clear that this is not up for debate.

Quinn chokes, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y-yeah. That’s all good. Let me just…”

He stumbles slightly as he stands up, clearly flustered. Your hands fall away from his shoulders, and he avoids making eye contact as you start walking toward the bathroom. You let him be, content to lead the way

You’re seriously getting deja vu from the last cast dinner.

Quinn, trying to maintain a nonchalant demeanor, shrugs casually. However, a telltale smile tugs at the corners of his lips, betraying his genuine happiness. “We talked,” he says simply, though the glimmer in his eyes suggests there’s more to the story.

You place your hands on your hips, trying to hide your impatience. “You have to give me the details! Now!”

Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. “There’s too many details to go over right now. I’ll just call you tonight and fill you in.”

You sigh dramatically but can’t help but smile at the thought of hearing all the juicy details later. “Okay, okay fine,” you concede. “I wasn’t kidding about needing to pee, though. Wait here for me, okay?”

After you finish up in the restroom, you and Quinn walk back towards your respective tables. As you reach his table, you pause for a moment and give him a quick, affectionate ruffle of his hair. The gesture is filled with genuine excitement and happiness for him.

“You really deserve good things,” you say warmly, your voice brimming with sincerity. “I’m so glad you and Sadai worked things out.”

Quinn's face lights up with a grateful smile, and he nods appreciatively. “Thanks for everything. I’ll fill you in on all the details tonight.”

You give him a final encouraging nod before turning back towards your table.

You slide back into your seat next to Adam, and immediately notice his subtle attempts to inch closer to you. His movements are slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to discreetly close the gap between you without drawing too much attention.

For the fun of it—and maybe because you actually enjoy the closeness—you let him continue his subtle advances. You shift just a bit, allowing him to inch closer. His arm brushes against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

Adam seems to sense your willingness and takes the opportunity to move a bit closer. His shoulder lightly brushes against yours, and he offers a soft, satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the closeness.

As you settle back into your seat, you feel Adam’s mouth come close to your ear. His breath tickles your skin as he murmurs, “Wanna get out of here?”

You turn your head slightly, catching the playful glint in his eyes, and nudge him away with a light shove. “I need to pay, dipshit,” you reply with a teasing edge to your voice.

Adam’s face lights up with a smirk, clearly pleased with his little revelation. “Oh, I already took care of it,” he says, his tone almost smug. He reaches over and gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender and reassuring.

You blink in surprise, your eyes widening. “What??”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening at your reaction. “Yep. I’ve got it covered, baby. It was getting late, and you need to rest up for tech week.”

You let Adam guide you out of the restaurant, feeling a mix of excitement and contentment. As you walk towards the exit, you turn back to give a cheerful wave to the rest of your castmates, your smile wide and genuine. “Goodbye, everyone!” you call out, your voice full of warmth.

Your thoughts briefly drift to Quinn, who are likely only now getting their food. You’re confident that he’ll be just fine to ride home with Sadai.

As you approach your car, Adam walks beside you, his hand still gently holding yours. When you reach the driver’s side, he steps back to let you unlock the door. You’re pleasantly surprised by his gentlemanly gesture as he opens it for you with a wide grin.

You look up at him, your eyebrows raised in playful suspicion. “Did you make me leave early just so you could have a kiss?” you ask, your tone light but teasing.

Adam’s grin widens, and he gives a mock sheepish shrug. “Ya caught me,”

You roll your eyes with a playful sigh, feeling the warmth of the moment. Gently, you cup Adam’s face in your hands, and he melts into your touch, his expression softening into a dopey smile. His eyes flutter closed, and he purses his lips expectantly. You meet him halfway, leaning in for a kiss.

The kiss is sweet and brief, lasting only a second, but it’s filled with an undeniable connection. You’re pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t try to sneak in any tongue action; instead, he keeps it tender and simple. When you pull away, he surprises you again by planting a quick kiss on your forehead, his touch light and affectionate.

Before you can react, Adam’s hand gives your backside a playful smack, and he bursts into laughter. “Adam!” you gasp, your face flushing with a mix of shock and amusement.

He chuckles heartily, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and begins to sprint away towards his car. You watch him run, laughing at the impish grin on his face as he disappears into the distance

What a guy.

–

You’re sprawled out on your stomach, idly kicking your legs in the air, when you hear a knock on your dorm room door. Assuming it’s your roommate who’s forgotten their card key yet again, you roll off your bed with a sigh and pad over to the door, swinging it open without a second thought.

“Heeeeyyyyyy bitch,” a familiar voice greets you.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in the sight of Adam leaning casually against the door frame. In one hand, he’s holding a loaf of bread, and in the other, a steaming cup of what you assume is coffee.

“Why are you here?” you ask, the surprise evident in your voice. “How are you here?”

“Remember that one time I walked you home? Yep. Took a picture of your room number so I’d never forget.”

You feel a mix of emotions—both a little creeped out by the fact that he remembered your room number like that, and oddly flattered by his dedication.

“So,” you say, tapping on the doorframe. “what’re you doing here?”

Adam’s grin broadens. “I was thinking about taking a walk around campus. Care to join me?”

You glance down at the loaf of bread in his hand, then back up at him. “Do you need to put that down or...?”

“Nah.” Adam slaps the loaf lightly, careful not to crush it. “This big guy will be joining us.”

“Um, okay.” You smile, amused and curious. “Why?”

Adam tugs at his collar, a bit sheepishly. “I was hoping to take you to the lake down by the library. Maybe feed the baby ducks.”

You can’t help but melt a little. “Aww, cute!” you say, and Adam ducks his head, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Let me go change out of my nasty pajamas,” you add, stepping back into your room.

“Aw, but I like the bed head,” he teases, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You push him off, swatting him playfully until he steps out into the hall.

“Give me a minute,” you call out as you close the door. You quickly change into something more suitable for a walk around campus, then open the door to find Adam engrossed in his phone. When he notices you, he clicks it off and smiles, eyes lighting up.

“Here.” He shoves the hot drink towards you. Confused, you glance up at him through your lashes. He quickly explains, “I bought you an herbal tea. Figured it’d help for tech week.”

Your eyebrows quirk up in surprise, and a slight blush fills your cheeks at the thoughtfulness of it all. “Aw, Adam, you didn’t have to.”

“I know. Just wanted to.” He shrugs, but there’s a genuine warmth in his eyes.

You two had walked the expanse of the campus, mindlessly chatting. It was surprisingly pleasant, and you found yourself enjoying the conversation as you sipped on your tea. It was a bit bitter, but you appreciated the gesture, knowing it would help during tech week. When you finished, you quickly tossed the empty cup in the nearest trash.

Adam was just as bold and brash as ever, but as you looked past his jokes and playful banter, you noticed the subtle signs of his nervousness. The way he kept squeezing the loaf of bread, squishing the slices between his fingers, was almost too endearing. For someone who usually plays it so cool, seeing him so anxious about something as simple as feeding ducks made him seem more genuine.

You couldn't help but smile, appreciating this different side of him. It was clear he was trying hard to make the day special for you, and his nervousness only made the gesture more touching.

You eventually find yourself at the library’s lake, the peaceful setting a perfect backdrop for your outing. The ducks are a welcome distraction, and you both sit shoulder-to-shoulder, enjoying the serene atmosphere. The sun casts a warm glow over the water, and you can’t help but feel content.

You’re deep in conversation about the oddest things when you spot the baby ducks. Your excitement bubbles up, and you grab Adam’s arm, pointing towards the tiny, fluffy creatures. He turns to look and immediately lights up, a soft smile spreading across his face. He places his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze before reaching into the loaf of bread he brought.

You both begin tearing off small pieces of bread and tossing them into the water. The ducks quickly flock to the crumbs, their tiny beaks pecking eagerly. You take turns feeding them, each small piece met with a flurry of happy quacks and paddling.

As one particularly brave baby duck waddles up almost to your feet, you struggle to contain a squeal of delight. The sheer cuteness of the moment makes your heart flutter. Adam chuckles beside you, clearly amused by your reaction.

That doesnt last long, however.

You hear a dramatic gasp of offense before some short, blond twink comes angrily waddling towards you both. Adam, upon spotting him, immediately glowers.

“Um, hey..?” You greet, unsure of the appropriate response.

The blond ignores you in favor of pointing a sharp finger towards the loaf in your hands.

“Is that bread?” He asks, incredulous.

“Yes?”

He furrows his brows and puffs out his chest. “And you’re feeding it to the ducks?”

You look to Adam for reassurance, however he’s too busy glaring daggers at the short man. “…yes?”

The man lets out an ignified squawk. “You can’t do that! You’ll fill them up with nutrition-less food, and then they won’t have an appetite for their actual diet! Are you insane?”

You sheepishly tug the loaf of bread behind your back, hiding it from the man. “Sorry.”

He goes to say something else, before finally noticing Adam next to you. His eyes dart between you both before coming to some sort of conclusion. His once offended face splits into a smug grin. You don’t like how he’s looking at you.

And apparently neither does Adam, because he’s maneuvering you to stand up. Before he gets a chance to turn you around, the man grabs your hand and starts shaking it.

“How rude of Adam to not introduce us! The name’s Lucius, but you can call me Lulu.” The man, Lucius, purrs.

You wrinkle your nose. “You want me to call you lulu?”

Adam forces his way between you both, managing to make Lucius let go of you. You’re thankful for him not to be touching you anymore. “Alright, cunt, leave them alone. You’ve already taken two, that should be enough.”

You’re somewhat offended to be reduced to some number, but your confusion stops you. Whatever dick measuring contest the two of them are holding right now, you want no part of it. “Adam, relax. He’s just upset about the bread.”

“Like hell he is! That’s how he gets you!

“Gets me to do what?”

You look between Lucius, who’s smirking and whistling like he’s in a cartoon, and Adam, who’s staring at the ground with a deep scowl. You feel like you’re missing something big, like there’s an inside joke you’re not a part of. The situation is honestly frustrating.

“Gets me to do what?!” You repeat.

Lucius ignores your question. “You know, you’re rather pretty, aren’t you?”

. “Don’t.” Adam says.

Lucius goes for a more personal approach, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You instinctively dodge his hand, but he doesn’t seem deterred. Instead, he rakes his fingers down past your head, his touch lingering as he toys with your shirt collar. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans in closer. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing slumping around a tool like Adam?”

“Lucius…”. Adam warns.

“Better to run while you still can.” Lucius laughs. You don’t think it’s very funny. “No one ever stays with him for too long, and it’s better to not find out why. “

Adam’s shoulders slump as his anger melts into hurt. He grumbles something under his breath before turning on his heel and marching off, leaving you standing there with Lucius. You watch him walk away, feeling a pang of disappointment at his sudden departure.

Lucius catches your gaze, his eyes filled with what seems like pity, and it makes you bristle. How dare he assume he knows more about your relationship with Adam than you do? The audacity of this man, who’s clearly intruding on your time together, is infuriating.

Before you have a chance to voice your frustration, Lucius’s lips curl into a reassuring smile. But something about it is far from comforting. The smile exposes unnaturally sharp teeth, making you feel even more uneasy.

You nervously flash him an almost-smile before scurrying off to join Adam. He seems honest-to-god surprised you chose him over that other guy, which is sort of rude, but you try to look past it. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He grunts.

“Okayyy…? Then where are we going? I thought we were getting lunch.”

It looks like it hurts him to say whatever’s next. “No. I’m taking you home.”

“Why? I thought we were going on a date?”

“Because.” He swallowed hard. “The date was ruined.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking a second. You know not to take it to heart— poor dude’s ego was just watered down right in front of him. So you choose a different approach. “Ruined?”

Adam, still sulking, nods his head. “Ruined.”

“Do you think it was ruined?”

“No, but you do.”

You scrunch your face up. “I do? Since when?”

Adam finally looks up from the floor and into your eyes. He’s a bit more energetic than before. “Since Lulu came in and ruined it?”

“First off, don’t call him that. Second off, he was just some crazy twink! What, did you think I was gonna run off with him into the night just because he gave me a compliment?”

“The others did.”

Okay, now you really are confused. “The others?”

Adam rolls his eyes, but not at you. He huffs and sits down on the nearest bench, encouraging you to follow. When you do, he grabs the bread from you, opens it, and starts absentmindedly chewing on a slice.

“I used to have two girlfriends. Not at the same time, though. That’d be way too much drama to deal with.”

Nice to know that that’s where he draws the line…

“But Lucifer—“

“Lucifer?” You balk.

He rolls his eyes and corrects himself. “Lucius set sights on both of them. When I wasn’t looking, he went behind my back and swept them off their feet. Both of them!!! Both of them chose him over me! So excuse me for getting upset when I thought you would too!”

A pang of sympathy plays at your heart, and it takes everything in you to not pull him into a tight hug and never let go. Sure, Adam’s a jerk. A cocky, jerky, dickhole. But he’s been sweet to you. And funny. And thoughtful.

“Well I’m not like your other two girlfriends, am I?” You carefully say.

Adam looks at you with a confused expression, not exactly sure on where you’re going with this. “…no.”

“Then Adam,” you reach for him and feel awful when he flinches away. However, you keep going and manage to pet his hair. “Why would I run away? I want you, plain and simple. I’m still waiting for you to ask me out, ya know.”

Despite everything, he bashfully smiles and looks away. “Yeah, alright. I get it.”

“Do you?”

He looks to you, really looks. And finally— “I do.”

You both stare at each other for a second. You’ve never seen this side of Adam before— vulnerable and open. It’s addicting, and you want more of it. You want to know him inside and out. Before you can think of the overwhelming ache in your bones, you’re standing again and brushing off your clothes.

“Alright, Adam, baby.” Your voice is still soft with emotion. You reach towards him and smile when he grabs ahold of your hand with no hesitation. “Let’s keep walking.”

You pull Adam up, and he follows your lead with ease. As he stands, he doesn’t let go of your hand, holding on tightly. His face is a mixture of emotions—pinched tight with tension and his eyes a bit glossy, but he’s still smiling. It’s a vulnerable sight, and your heart aches for him.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, concerned.

Adam brings his free hand up, roughly wiping at his face as if trying to clear away the emotions that are threatening to spill over. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… I don’t know. I kind of expected you to run away after all that. I’m just relieved.”

Seeing his struggle, you squeeze his hand reassuringly. The touch is gentle but firm, a silent promise that you’re here for him. He squeezes back, and you both stand there for a moment, connected by this simple but meaningful gesture.

The air between you feels lighter, filled with an unspoken understanding. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day’s emotions start to lift. With a comforting smile, you nod toward the path. “…wanna go get food?”

He laughs. “Fuuuuck yes.”

–

Rehearsal later that day was so incredibly hectic, you didn’t get a chance to utter even a word to adam. Your time was spent polishing the show, as you opened tomorrow. The thought alone filled your stomach with dread and excitement.

However, after your songs and scenes, Adam did let out a few cheers. Of course, that led to him getting reprimanded while the director sat you down and gave you notes. You tried to get a peek at him, but he was too far and you were too busy jotting down your notes. Once he was done getting scolded from the conductor, he walked back down to the pit near where you were sat. He caught your eye and, despite having been dug into moments prior, brightly smiled at you. Your heart ached.

Eventually, rehearsal was called to an end. You were grateful that class had gotten canceled tomorrow, as you are quite literally dead on your feet. When you feel a pair of hands land on your shoulders, you jump a few feet in the air. You spin to see Adam, who had grabbed your bag before you could. He slung it over his shoulder, juggling his own guitar case, and held out his hand.

You took it, pressing yourself into his side. Normally you most likely wouldn't have done this, but you’re so exhausted so you lean your weight into him. He laughs and removes his hand from yours, instead wrapping it around your shoulders to pull you in. Together, he silently walks you to your dorm.

–

The velvet curtains closed with a final, satisfying thud, and the applause roared through the theater like a crashing wave. After rushing onstage for your bow, you stood center stage, chest heaving with exhilaration and relief. You had done it. The months of rehearsals, the late nights, and the countless hours of self-doubt had all led to this moment.

You could see the faces of the audience, all beaming with appreciation and admiration. But there was only one face you sought out among the crowd. You felt a rush of warmth, knowing Adam had seen you at your best.

As the house lights came up, you made her way backstage, your fellow cast members congratulating each other with hugs and high-fives. You accepted their praise graciously, but your mind was elsewhere.

You knew you had one more performance to deliver tonight.

Finally, the stage manager gave you a nod. It was time to greet the audience in the lobby. You took a deep breath and stepped out, your heart racing in anticipation. The crowd gathered, forming a semi-circle around the cast. Autographs were signed, selfies were taken, and congratulations were exchanged.

And then, there he was. Adam stood at the edge of the crowd, waiting patiently. As their eyes met, your heart skipped a beat. You excused herself from a conversation with an enthusiastic parent and made your way over to him.

"Hey, superstar," Adam greeted with that charming grin that always made your knees feel a little wobbly.

"Hey yourself," you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "What did you think?"

He grabbed both your hands, bringing them up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss. “You were awesome, really. I loved having you sing along with my guitar.”

You giggled, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile was genuine, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You batted your hands away from him, relishing in his sickly sweet corniness.

“Oh?”

“I know people typically get flowers, but they die really quickly, so I thought, ‘Hey! Why not make something!’ So I did, but it honestly didn’t turn out very well, so—”

“Adam. Just show me, baby,” you interrupted gently.

He bashfully smiled and dug into his pockets, pulling out a pair of car keys. You balked, eyes wide.

“You got me a fucking car?”

“No!” he laughed, shaking his head. “It’s in my car.”

With that, you both head outside, Adam's hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you gently through the cool evening air. The sky is painted with the soft hues of twilight, casting a romantic glow over everything. When you reach his car, he glances at you with a mix of excitement and nervousness before popping the trunk. He steps in front of you, effectively blocking your view, heightening the anticipation.

You hear the rustling of items being moved around, and your curiosity piques. Finally, Adam turns around, cradling a large, beautifully arranged gift basket. The basket is wrapped in shimmering cellophane and tied with a big, bright bow. Inside, it’s filled to the brim with your favorite candies and your go-to drinks, each item thoughtfully chosen. Nestled among the treats are several gift cards to your favorite stores and cafes.

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you quickly cover it with your hand, eyes widening in delight and disbelief. Adam, nervously waiting for your response, shifts from foot to foot

You lurch forward, grabbing the basket from him and carefully placing it back into his trunk. With a burst of impulsive energy, you grab him by his collar and pull him down into a passionate kiss. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment.

When you finally pull away, breathless and with your heart racing, you can’t help but blurt out–

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Adam’s eyes widen in surprise before his mouth curls into a dopey, joyous smile. “For real??” he asks, his voice full of hopeful excitement.

“For real,” you affirm, your own smile spreading wider.

He pumps his fist in a triumphant gesture.

[boybeholding]

I was wondering if you could do a mm Mikey x reader who is like really involved in the fine arts? (Stuff like singing, dancing, and acting) Maybe reader does musical theatre or songwriting? Is on the dance team? Or maybe on the improve team with him? It’s up to you but I just think it’d be really cute! I’d prefer a fem reader but you can do a gn reader if you’re more comfortable with that!

Thank You!🫶

hi hi anon!! this is such a cute request, & I figured it'd be more fun to explore in a headcanon format, so I hope you don't mind :)

╭──────.★..─╮ Limelight. ╰─..★.──────╯

Mutant Mayhem; Michelangelo / Fem!Reader Content Warnings: N/A

Summary: A girl in Mikey's Public Speaking class catches his attention, and he decides he needs hers in return.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Though he was more than excited to dive into his improv elective, Mikey was just a little apprehensive about the iceberg that was Eastman's performance and fine arts courses.

They weren't massively funded, it wasn't a great school mind you, but it WAS a big one. There were so many people and so many groups, he found it a bit arduous to know where to start.

So he started small.

He took a public speaking course for his first semester, figuring it was a good start without taking a headlong dive.

That was where he met you.

You were so cool!!

Mikey admired you so much when you met, seeing your confidence in every silly exercise or warmup your class did.

While his brothers made their goals around grades and extra-curriculars, Mikey's number one top-of-the-list plan was to get your attention.

and like.. let's be real, it's true of all of the Mutant Mayhem boys that he made a complete fool of himself trying.

so many jokes that fell flat... So many gags that went nowhere......

but like, humor was his thing! If he couldn't impress you with that, he was never going to.

Fortunately, you didn't require all too much pandering. As soon as Mikey flat out asked to hang out with you, you were happy to accept.

Let me tell you, Mikey's so excited for you when it comes to every school production that you're a part of.

Even if you get screwed over in casting, you KNOW he's still gonna drag his brothers to that musical.

"Dude, she doesn't even have a speaking part, why are we here?"

"Wow, Don, I thought YOU of all people would appreciate good choreography."

When he eventually asks you out, it's a whole affair.

Unlike Donnie, he's confided in his entire family about his crush, and you can definitely expect some odd looks from all three of his brothers in the time that hes working up the nerve to ask you out.

He shows up to a study date one day with a pizza and one of those heart teddy bears you get on valentines day.

"hey so, like, It's.. Totally cool if you don't vibe with this, but. I like you. Like... a lot?"

He tries to downplay it-- he really values your friendship, and if you don't feel the same he doesn't want you to feel weird about it.

When you tell him that you do reciprocate, he gets so excited.

He.. definitely forgot to actually bring his backpack and stuff to this study date, since he was pretty distracted with the whole confession thing.

When you eventually step foot in the lair, prepare for his entire family to place their attention on you. Every single one of his cousins is going to want to meet you, and naturally Splinter is going to have to sit you down.

Prepare for the whole "What are your intentions with my son." Talk. Splinter doesn't care that you're a girl, he's protective!

But once he's deemed you a good fit, you're practically part of the family.

As the two of you have been dating for longer, expect him to start following you into your extra-curriculars more.

Mikey is taking a shot at everything! If there's something you're auditioning for, he's two steps behind you.

In short, he adores you, and he owes a lot of his growth to you! He's really come out of his shell since meeting you, hehe.

[mariacallous]

Tom O’Donnell had never really been that interested in how elections worked until former president Donald Trump lost in 2020. Then, everything changed.

Like hundreds of thousands of people across the US, O’Donnell joined so-called election integrity groups that posted baseless conspiracies about the 2020 election. His group was called Idaho First Audit, and members flooded election offices across the state with requests for voting data. They weren’t alone: Other organizations like right-wing activist group True the Vote inundated election offices across the country as part of a broader effort they believed would uncover systemic fraud within the election process.

Election workers in Ada County, Idaho, home to the state capital of Boise, were pretty amenable to questions about the election process from O’Donnell’s group. O’Donnell even organized a tour of the Ada County election offices “to learn more about the process of voting,” and struck up a relationship with Trent Tripple, then the deputy county clerk.

But Tripple, who became county clerk last year, was one of the officials struggling to cope with the barrage of records requests and threats that the majority of election offices were receiving at the time. After the records requests overwhelmed the election office’s employees, Tripple and Ada County’s director of election, Saul Seyler, decided they needed to change things up.

So after years of work, they’ve now given election deniers exactly what they’ve been asking for: Last week, Tripple and Seyler launched Ballot Verifier, a first-of-its-kind tool that gives anyone with an internet connection direct access to every single ballot that has been cast in all Ada County elections since 2022, meaning that those in the election denial movement can no longer say that they don’t have access to the information they want.

“We just decided there’s got to be a way that we can push back against this a little bit but also achieve that perfect marriage between technology and government records so that citizens, candidates, parties, everybody has access to all the information that we have,” says Tripple.

The tool provides sleek graphics of all election races, and allows users to filter by type of ballot and even drill right down to precinct level to see an image of every single one of the ballots counted. Crucially, the ballot images are presented alongside what is known as the cast vote record, which is the record of how the ballot tallying machine counted the vote on election day. By showing these side-by-side, anyone can instantly see whether there are any discrepancies.

“I can’t even dream up how we can be more transparent than this,” says Tripple. “There isn’t anything else that we have that the public cannot see.”

Ballot images and cast vote records, both details about elections barely ever mentioned prior to 2020, have become a focus for election conspiracists trying to prove widespread voter fraud conspiracies.

In some cases, election conspiracists have even built programs to look at ballot images. Well-funded groups like True the Vote have built online tools based on voter rolls, previously reported on by WIRED, which they are urging their tens of thousands of supporters to use and then erroneously claim voters should be struck off the voter rolls.

“It's very different if [an online tool] is coming from an independent group, like True the Vote, that obviously has certain political leanings, and information that they're providing is through a lens,” says Seyler, as opposed to “something like [Ballot Verifier], which is available to everybody and truly transparent.” The data, the team says, is also private. “There is nothing that is printed on this ballot other than the individual markings, [nothing] that would tie it to a particular voter,” says Tripple. “The ballot is completely private.”

Still, some election experts have voiced concerns about the potential for systems like Ballot Verifier to pose privacy risks for voters, particularly in small precincts or in cases where voters leave notes on the ballots that could identify them.

“Despite the clear benefits to transparency of releasing cast vote records and ballot images, making these records public comes with trade-offs,” researchers from the Bipartisan Policy Center wrote in August. “Voters’ privacy might be compromised, and vote buying becomes feasible when ballot secrecy is violated—an extreme, if less likely, potential ramification of making ballot images public.”

There have also been some prior efforts to give voters access to ballot images, such as in Pueblo County in Colorado in 2021, but these efforts were not as comprehensive or technically proficient as Ballot Verifier.

At the same time that Tripple and Seyler were trying to think about a better solution, Idaho had been using a tool called ElectionStats to give voters access to statistics around election results. That tool was created by Civera Software, a civic technology company that ended up working alongside Ada County election officials to build out the new Ballot Verifier tool.

And even before the system went live, Tripple invited O’Donnell and other skeptics to be among the first to test it out.

“I think it's really good. It's more than I thought would have happened, because when we request our images now, we just get a data dump of files,” O’Donnell tells WIRED, adding that the Telegram group has responded positively to the launch of Ballot Verifier.

WIRED also tested the Ballot Verifier tool, looking at specific precincts and races, filtering votes by type (mail-in ballot, absentee ballot, etc.) and found that the system worked smoothly and instantly displayed images of every ballot cast.

US elections have never been safer, and the 2020 election was declared the “most secure” by Trump’s own officials. But a lot of people still believe unfounded conspiracies about elections, and the roll out of this tool in one county in one state is not necessarily going to change that overnight. Indeed, a review of O’Donnell’s 400-person Telegram channel by WIRED this week shows that many within the election integrity group are still regularly sharing widely debunked conspiracies about voting.

Adam Friedman, Civera’s founder, believes part of the reason for this is a lack of transparency, something which Ballot Verifier can address.

“A lot of the conspiracy theories and divisiveness and toxic rhetoric and mistrust around elections in America goes hand-in-hand with people not being able to see enough and people perceiving voting as being a black box experience,” says Friedman. “Ballot Verifier is really a way to turn a black box into a glass box.”

Friedman says that Civera had already signed a contract with several counties in Texas to provide the tool to them, and was in discussions with counties in multiple other states. The tool is also of interest to academics, and Friedman says the company is in preliminary conversations with two prominent universities and a number of political scientists who study cast vote records.

But Ballot Verifier is not cheap. Friedman and Civera provided a “large discount” on the research and development costs for this tool, but it still cost Ada County $40,000. While there are no current plans to roll the tool out nationally, Seyler says that while every county could benefit from using a system like it, election budgets have been historically underfunded. While all the backend work to upload new election data is handled by the company’s employees, the company is also currently building tools to allow local election officials to do this themselves, and go even faster.

The next big test for the Ballot Verifier tool comes later this month with the statewide primaries in Idaho on May 21. This will be the first time the officials will be working with recent election data rather than historical data, and they know there will be pressure to get that information online as soon as possible. Seyler says the current projection for getting the data uploaded is four to six weeks, though it could be quicker if Civera can finish some additional tools they are working on to improve efficiencies.

Looking further ahead, Tripple even foresees a point when data is available in Ballot Verifier so quickly after a vote that it could be used by candidates or parties to decide whether a recount is necessary, potentially avoiding the expensive and drawn-out recount process.

“That's not going to be possible now because of the speed at which we're uploading this data, but I think that's something that could be happening in the future,” says Tripple.