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baddiewiththebook · 2 days ago

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Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 13

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

February 1984

Eddie slams his fist into the vending machine. The bastard ate his last dollar, and is refusing to return the other quarter he slid into the machine. This is just his luck.

"I might have another dollar," Gareth offers up.

Eddie shakes his head. "Don't bother.”

Gareth is already fishing through his wallet. Shit, he might have quarters to give up to his friend. Money has been tight on Eddie - Gareth was over last weekend, and the fridge was empty. Not to mention that he also caught a glimpse into Eddie's lunchbox, and there was hardly any food inside. A bag of pretzels, and an old napkin.

While fishing in his wallet, Gareth drops something. It lands with a plop on the school linoleum. Racing to snatch the condom, before Eddie can get his hands on it - he fails. Eddie flicks it between his fingers thoughtfully.

“Uh,” Gareth holds out one more quarter, “trade?”

How could this be any more awkward? With an audience maybe? Eddie didn’t even know you two were at that point in your relationship. Well, he still doesn’t. Should he ask?

Eddie doesn’t say a word, and Gareth takes the condom back. To prevent that from happening again, Gareth makes sure it’s secure in a deeper part of his wallet.

Clunk - clunk - clunk.

The vending machine does take Gareth’s quarters. With an aching buzz and a whirl, Eddie now has lunch. A crappy bag of chips that would fill him for another hour at best. Maybe he should have payed closer attention to his choices.

Suddenly, the hallway from the vending machines to the cafeteria feels more like a million steps instead of just a couple around the corner. The boys scuffle along the tile making an awful racket. Eddie pops the chip bag open upside down, and offers the snack out to Gareth.

“I’m good,” he doesn’t want to take away food from Eddie right now.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, and tries his best not to look terribly ravenous eating the chips in front of him. The cold truth is that he is surviving on junk until this Friday when Wayne gets paid. That, or he meets up with his boss. Eddie gets a sizable cut for the deals he makes selling weed to the kids that hate him the most. Rich kids. Church kids. All that matters is that these hypocrites have the cash, and Eddie hands out the supply. It’s simple. Very under the table.

The thing he can’t get off his mind is what Gareth is carrying around with him. A condom. It’s one condom.

Of course, Eddie knows what it is for. The better question is have you done it? Have you let Gareth do that to you? It’s against his better judgment that he asks the fatal question. He might as well load the bullet into the gun, then point it at his head, before letting Gareth pull the trigger.

“Are you guys- uh- have you guys-,”

Gareth stops abruptly in the hallway. This is not the conversation that he wishes to have right now. Not with Eddie in the least. Although, the halls are bare except for the few darting to the bathroom to smoke while the teachers aren’t looking. He’s done that enough times.

Truthfully, Gareth only stuck that thing in his wallet when the two of you began to date. Going to the store to buy them was enough of a challenge not to be seen by anyone from school or by anyone around town that his mom might know. The cashier gave him enough of a look over that made Gareth wonder if this was even a good idea in the first place.

It’s on his mind - you and him - like that. Sometimes Gareth wonders if he’s just a pervert because surely you can’t have the same mind that he does. Then again, you have needs too. Right?

Gareth is jittery already. It’s Valentine’s Day, and aside from buying you a bouquet of flowers, he’s also taking you to the school dance tonight. There’s a big announcement about it around a month ago.

You show little interest in the events around school, but every once in a while Gareth sees a twinge of excitement come from you. A flyer in the hallway caught your eye, and so he asked you. You were just as shocked as he was when the words flew out of his mouth. But, the smile grew on your face and he was smitten.

Gareth is thrilled to escort you to the dance. The nerves draw from getting dressed tonight. He’s got no idea what you’re wearing, but his tie will match your dress. For only this night, his mom is allowing him to borrow the car. She expects him to take you there and back in one piece. That is his plan too.

For the most part, his mom trusts him. The only child. The only one she’s got to keep an eye on. She’s proud of who he’s become as he’s growing up. Gareth regularly tries to stay out of trouble despite his outward appearance, and the ear shattering music that comes from the garage.

Gareth wants to continue his string of good luck with his mom by following her rules. The only problem is that now he has a condom in his wallet. A new player has entered the battlefield.

To tell Eddie the truth, Gareth has wanted to ask for his advice. How does he even approach the question? Is it a question? He doesn’t just want to start anything with you, and then you’re uncomfortable.

Eddie has experience. Gareth knows this. There’s been a time or two that Eddie has accepted a different form of payment to his after-school transactions. It’s not like he’s implied that any of his customers have to do that. But, as Eddie says, it’s the perks of being a good businessman. He takes it as a tip.

The only problem with asking Eddie for advice is how close you two are. If he found out that Gareth needed help in that department, then it would be easy to tell who he was talking about. And, if he isn’t talking about you, then who’s he talking about and how easy could Eddie hide Gareth’s body when he’s through with him.

Gareth scratches the back of his neck trying to find the words to reply to Eddie in a manner that’s not outwardly asking for sex advice. As he’s scanning his brain, Eddie is holding his breath for an answer. An honest answer.

“We’re not,” Gareth answers him finally, and thus letting Eddie breathe again. “I don’t know -,”

There’s a pregnant pause. Either boy doesn’t speak. The hallway stinks of cafeteria food bleeding down the rest of the school. It’ll smell like that all day. At least the biology classes haven’t started dissecting frogs yet.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Eddie huffs. “Either you are or you aren’t.”

Why did Eddie want to know so badly? He wishes he could shove his foot into his own mouth. A part of him wants to hear Gareth say that they are doing that. No idea why. Gareth isn’t the worst person in the world for you to be doing that with. It’s just - maybe someday, Eddie had hoped that would be him.

Eddie really has to give up on the thought of you two ever becoming a thing. It’s not healthy. It’s selfish. You’re into Gareth. And, if he’s making you happy then Eddie should be too. Even though the sting still feels fresh against his alabaster skin.

“Gareth."

Gareth winces at how abrupt his friend calls him by name.

“Just,” Eddie pinches his brows together, “be kind to her. And do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Please, spare me the details.”

-> <-

The sun has just set across Hawkins, but there is no moon to be seen. Clouds across the sky cast a blue-gray haze over the town. This doesn’t stop you from wearing your most favorite piece in your closet. Now you have an excuse to wear it, since your birthday didn’t work out. You zip up the back of the dress that Gareth bought for you.

Your hands dance along the side of the fabric that hugs at your waist. Lips press together to blend your lipstick in better, while you check all the details in your mascara.

The quiet air is suddenly broken by the shattering sound of glass in the kitchen. Even in a pair of heels, you’re quick to race out of your room.

Standing over twinkles of shards, your mother has drunkenly let a drinking glass slip from her grasp. Her hand trembles, but she doesn’t make much noise at the mess in front of her.

“Are you okay?” You stand in front of her on the other side of the mess.

Your mom has been home for a total of three days. That’s more time that you’ve ever seen her in the last few months. You’ve become quite used to coming home to a quiet house. The one day when she had shown up, you thought she was an intruder and you armed yourself with the baseball bat you have by your bedside.

Surprisingly, the moment she came home she was sober. No idea how she got home. That lasted all of an hour when she claimed she had a headache, then went out for booze. She came home again, and drank through nearly a bottle and a half of vodka. Enough to kill her. Maybe that was her plan. Leave you with the debt, and she’ll be buried six feet under.

None-the-less for some reason you still care. Three whole days of this, and you’ll still reach your arm out to catch her when she sways. She flinches away from you. Not a fan of touch anymore. At least, not your touch. She still has clients she reaches out too at ungodly hours of the night. She’s loud about the conversations, but if you ask her to lower her voice then she calls you unbearably nosey.

Why are you so glad to have her home? It’s so confusing all the time. The way you pick up after her. You’ve taken on her responsibilities. Shit, you’re looking for a job to begin to pay the bills that she can’t afford.

You’re sweeping the last of the glass, while your mother nurses a bottle of tequila in the dark corner of your kitchen. She hasn’t cut herself from the glass that she’s dropped.

“There’s macaroni in the fridge,” it’s like reasoning with a spirit in a human body. “Please eat.”

Your mother groans. All you do is pester her. Why did she have your ungrateful ass in the first place? A cat would have been less trouble than you.

There is a knock at the front door. You aren’t expecting anyone, but maybe your mom is. There are plenty of dirty men that want something from her.

“Gareth?” You pull open the door, and there is your date for the evening. Clean. Suit and tie. He smells expensive. All this for you. You shut the door behind you fearing your mom might gain a wind of energy. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the dance?”

Gareth is awestruck by you. For one, your radiance is unmatched and is indescribable in words. His jaw hits your porch.

“You look-,” he’s flattered you wore the dress, “God, you’re beautiful. How did I get so lucky?”

It is your turn to blush. To forget who’s behind you inside. Little do you know her ear is to the front door listening to the hooligans on her porch. They’re whispering about her!

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you acknowledge, but the scuffling behind the closed door brings you back to reality. “Er- the dance?”

“Right,” he swings his arm out to show off his mom’s station wagon, “my mom lent me her car tonight.”

“Oh, wow,” you’re both impressed, and terrified that your mother is planning her great escape.

That she is. One more word comes through her head that her kid is conspiring against her. She’s being sold out!

Swinging open the front door, she knocks into open archway. At least she doesn’t have a bottle of liquor anymore. Unless, that means your mom has finished that one too.

“Mom,” you plead, “it’s fine - go back inside.”

She assesses. Gareth is in a suit, but he’s too young to be a government spy. So, she accepts that he’s here for one thing. An exchange.

“Who are you?” The words come out in a slur that almost sounds animatronic. This is the most she’s spoken since coming home. It’s hoarse. That could be the alcohol. “Are you handsomely paid?”

Gareth’s face has fallen.

“Mommy,” you beg, “go back inside. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Her laugh is soaked in alcohol. “Please. You’re on your way to getting bred and dumped like me. Trust me - having a kid is the worst thing you could do.”

It’s clear to you now that she’s completely unaware who she is talking too, or has been talking too the whole time she’s been home. That’s why you’ve kept yourself locked in your room fearing she may forget you’re home, and mistake you for an intruder.

Still, the punch to the gut doesn’t hurt any less. Not only are you miserably unloved by the one person you know by blood, but your boyfriend stands mere steps away from you watching the whole exchange. You wouldn’t be surprised if Gareth turns to run.

This is the final act from your mother tonight. She swirls around on her heel, before retiring into the blackness of her bedroom. It’s safe when you hear her bedroom close.

“My purse,” you excuse yourself from Gareth a moment to tip-toe back into the trailer for your bag on the kitchen counter. Only five dollars is left in there. You should have known she would take it.

Gareth stays quiet - studying his shoes. You’ve never invited him over to your house before. Sure, he’s been around the neighborhood. Not when your mother is home. Things begin to make more sense about where she’s been on these “work trips” you’ve told him about.

“Let’s go,” you lock the door behind you.

The car ride is quiet, aside from the radio playing music that you’re unfamiliar with. His mom’s favorite stations, perhaps. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to cry or something. Confessing your mom is a drunk - or a pill popper - or a prostitute - yeah, that isn’t exactly on your agenda.

You don’t notice, but you’ve made it to the school. The building looks so different at night. It’s not as intimidating without all the expectations written on chalkboards, or the smell of the pages of used textbooks. Tonight the only area well-lit is the gymnasium. A girl’s laugh echos that brings you back to where you are. Earth.

Gareth’s eyes bore into you. All of these questions that he has, but he won’t ask. You won’t tell him until you’re ready anyway. The time comes sooner than later anyway.

“My mom is nice,” were you telling him that, or yourself? “She bakes. Well, she used too.”

Pause.

“My grandma was nice,” you pick your head up at this. “She baked too. She used too.”

Tears threaten to fall down your face, but Gareth catches each one before they ruin your makeup completely. You let Gareth just hold you right then. In the middle of the parking lot like no one else is around because no one matters more to him than you right then.

“She’s been home for three days,” you sniffle, “it doesn’t even feel like she’s really home.”

“Like she’s a ghost,” he traces shapes against your skin.

“Ugh, my makeup,” a silly little thing to worry about right now. But alas, you sit up to fix the mascara threatening to run down your face. “I’m sorry, Gareth.”

“Hey,” he takes your hand in his to draw your attention back to him. Easily, he slots his lips against yours. Once, twice, three times. Wet kisses. “You have nothing to apologize for. If you want to get out of here and just drive - say the word.”

The idea wasn’t bad. Getting out. Feeling the wind in your hair. Going somewhere far away. It wouldn’t work. You would have to come home in the end.

“No,” you breathe across his mouth. “Let’s dance.”

That is what you do. The whole evening. After clearing your eyes, and turning your brain off, you have a really fantastic time with Gareth. You even convince him to take photos with you in the Photo Booth.

A few dances in, and both you and Gareth find a rhythm to dance too. The rhythm might not have been the same one that everyone else was dancing too, but nonetheless you’re having a great time.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” your bladder is getting to the best of you. “Can you get me a glass of punch?”

“Sure,” Gareth could also use a break from the dance floor. He’s moving with two left feet!

The bathroom clears out as you come in. By the time you’ve finished in the stall, the only person left in the room with you is Chrissy Cunningham. The sweetheart you’ve grown to be fond of outside of her massive jerk of a boyfriend.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” she’s powdering her face over the sink. A floral scent wafts around her. She must have just applied a generous amount of perfume. “But, you and Gareth look like you’re having fun.”

Oh, Gareth! Even just saying his name brings your heart to a flutter!

“Uhm,” you can’t help, but break into a grin the size of Texas, “yes! Chrissy, he’s the nicest guy. Not to mention how ridiculously handsome he is.”

“You know what, he does clean up nice,” she plucks at her bangs dangling in front of her face. “Those so-called Freaks are surprising in more ways than one.”

“What?”

“Well, Jason’s waiting for me,” she tells you, “we should totally go on a double date. That way we can catch up!”

Ah, Chrissy. She can never be anywhere alone for too long without Jason. But, maybe the offer isn’t far out there. It could be the start of a truce between the boys.

“I’ll talk to Gareth,” you can promise her that. “Have fun! You look so pretty by the way.”

“You too!”

When you’re done powdering your nose, you find Gareth nursing a cup of punch at an empty table. No one wants to be near the Freaks. Boy, you haven’t realized how tired you are of hearing how badly the boys get picked on around here. They play a fantasy game, and listen to different music so that makes them completely undesirable? That gives this miserable school a reason to outcast them all?

“Hey,” Gareth holds up an extra glass of punch for you, “having fun, tonight?”

“I really am,” you sip the drink.

Gareth taps the table with his pointer finger. There’s something on his mind that he isn’t telling you. You’ve been together for nearly half a year, and his tells are already becoming more obvious to you. He knows this as well as you do.

“I’m really sorry if what I’m about to say is overstepping,” that’s not the best way to begin, “I found a phone, while you were in the bathroom. I booked us a motel room - I booked you a room.”

You must have heard him wrong, “sorry?”

“I know how hard it is to have a family member act like that, but living with her can’t be easy,” he tries to put as delicately as possible. “After you’ve been having so much fun tonight, I thought maybe you could use a break. I can drop you off and pick you up if you want. Or, you can tell me this idea was dumb. Whatever-,”

Stopping Gareth in his everlasting ramble, you reach over and plant a kiss to his lips holding onto the lapel of his suit jacket. His lips soften against yours.

“I love you.”

The words slip off your tongue, as you hold him there. You’re the only two people in the crowded gymnasium. Blush pink lights bounce off of his and your hair.

It’s funny how a single moment can rewrite the history and the time of your relationship. All of those moments he spent arguing with Eddie about why you had to be there at their band practice. You were - you are a complete distraction. Bobbing your head up and down to the music, even though you just hear noise. The times you sit on your porch with your nose in a book. Those are the days he recalls begging with fate for you to even glance up with that cross-eyed stare that could melt him. Even your snarky comments couldn’t stop his heart from beating out of his chest for you.

Gareth couldn’t wait to take a bite of that forbidden fruit that was just out of reach. Out on a branch just a bit too high in the sky. But, here is his with you in his arms. Your words hold the key to validate the same feelings that he’s had for a long time. He’s sorry that he’s taken so long to recognize them.

“I love you too,” he hold either side of your face to kiss you.

This is different than the kisses before. Your heart locks to his. Moving as one, you lose yourself in the moment. Nothing else matters except the two of you. Here.

“Hey!” A chaperone hollers. “You can’t do that here!”

The couple does separate in a fit of laughter. Gareth is wearing your lipstick, as he waves off the teacher for interrupting. You pull his jaw back to face you, so that you can begin wiping at the lipstick across his bottom lip.

“Is it my color?” Gareth jokes.

You snort. “Totally.”

After a brief silence, you speak again;

“Do you want to get out of here?”

-> <-

It’s not the cleanest place ever. The motel that is. Understaffed. Underpaid. The clerk at the front appears exhausted, malnourished and far less concerned than one might be seeing two teenagers with a hotel reservation. That must happen a lot. It’s a small enough town that there are only a handful of motels, and none of them are as glamorous as the ones in the big city.

You toy with a fake potted plant that sheds dust when you tamper with its leaves. That’s one of many pieces that could use a fix. There’s a tear in the couch that’s supposed to warm people into staying here. You wonder what might have happened.

“One key is fine,” Gareth tells the front desk lady.

The woman waddles when she walks. Hiding out behind a desk and standing all day does things to you. When she returns, she has the single key to your very own room.

You’ve only spent time at a motel once or twice in your life. Both times were with your mother years ago. She went into the city for a couple of job interviews that fell through. Back then, it was just another job. She assured you there are always more opportunities waiting, and that was just not the right time.

“Check out is eleven tomorrow,” she drops the key into Gareth’s open palm, “we do charge if you’re late.”

“Thanks,” he replies, “have a good evening.”

Leading you through the front doors of the hotel into the evening air, Gareth gives you the key now. You hold the brassy thing in your palm. The engraving reads ‘201.’ So, you’ll be on the second floor and closer to the front desk office. That’s easy enough.

Gareth comes along with you to make sure the room is alright for you. He’s already ready to rain hellfire if anything isn’t up to your standard. But, it’s unlikely seeing that all you really want is a bit of peace and quiet from the world.

Twisting the key into the lock, you push the door forward. It opened. That’s a start. There’s a switch next to the door, so you’re not fumbling around like a moron in front of your date.

It’s simple. A queen-sized bed with a scratchy top sheet you could flick off if you want. There’s a table with a small chair close to the entrance that they consider a ‘dining nook.’ Also, a fat color television in front of the bed. Completely snug in the back is the bathroom. It’s clean, and free of mold, hair, or bugs.

Coming back around from your inspection, Gareth stands still outside of the hotel room.

“What are you still doing out there?” You hold out your hand. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Gareth wants too. He really does, but he still has his mom’s car. This is your retreat anyway. A night away with some peace and quiet. He doesn’t want to screw that up for you.

“My mom is waiting for me,” he tells you honestly. “I’ll come back in the morning and get you.”

“Gare,” the nickname soothes him. “It’s late. Call your mom and tell her that you’re staying at Eddie’s or something. I’m sure he’ll cover for you.”

Gareth snorts out a laugh. It’s silly how easy you can sway his better judgement. That by him not wanting to ruin your evening comes from more than just ‘he has to get home.’ So, he crosses that threshold into the motel room where you are.

Hot breath crosses your face, “are you sure you want me to stay?”

Your voice comes out at a whisper, “please. Please, stay.”

Gareth closes the room’s front door. The outside world is no longer either of your problems. You’re here with him. That’s all that matters.

You spring onto the bed next to him, after using one of the hotel’s wet wipes to rid yourself of your makeup as best you can. There’s a silly little hand lotion that will make up for any of your real lotions back at home. This could have been better thought out. Neither of you have a change of clothes.

“I’ll be home in the morning, mom,” Gareth speaks into the telephone sat on the bedside table. Taking your advice, he fibs that he’s exhausted from dancing all night and will just stay at Eddie’s trailer. “I love you too.”

“I wish my mom was as concerned about me,” you’re half joking when Gareth does hang up the phone, after his mom is done yapping his ear off about the evening. “Do you think she would even answer the phone if I called?”

Gareth unties his tie, and allows a bit of laughter to leak through. You’re taking this very well. So, it can’t be new - your mom’s behavior.

“Gare,” you lean into him, “could you tell me about her? Your grandma that is.”

Oh. Gareth doesn’t have a clear memory of her, before the day he really came to life with full thoughts and full feelings. This is his mother’s mother. She died a few years ago. One morning she got as intoxicated as she could, then left for the store for more beer in the middle of the night during the winter. She found a park bench to sleep on, and never woke up. The doctors said it was the weather that got her.

“I’d have to ask my mom,” he presses a kiss to your forehead as he sinks deeper into the mattress with you. “I think she really liked her. My mom turned out fine, you know. You will too.”

“Thank you,” you mutter into his chest.

For a moment, you lay there. Your breathing is slow. The rise and fall of your chest makes Gareth aware how exhausted you must be after these past few days. However, in the midst of Gareth trying to decipher how he could sleep sitting up straight, your eyes pull open.

“Gare,” you only sit up enough to brush your nose against his. His response is a hum, “kiss me.”

Gareth doesn’t need to be asked twice. Hot lips bathed in that sweetened fruit punch from earlier meet yours. You find your breath is just as shaky as his, and you brush your nose into his as you swing your leg across him settling yourself onto his lap.

Pushing away at the sleeves of Gareth’s jacket, he follows your lead. He would follow you anywhere. You put your hands at the buttons of his shirt, and Gareth’s heart begins to slam against his rib cage. He figures you want him to place his hands somewhere, but he’s a bundle of nerves just waiting to burst.

Placing your palm across his heart, Gareth covers your wrist with his hand and using his thumb he’s counting the number of beats in your heartbeat. It’s just like his.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want too,” there is a note of vulnerability in his tone.

You stop there a moment. Hand still across his chest. His heart beating ever so quickly. You love the soul that carries on next to this heart. The young man willing to give you the world if he could. You’re terrified of love. When love will run as far away from you as he can because you’re too much.

Gareth searches for something deep in your eyes. That you will finally allow yourself to be completely happy. You deserve this. To be truly happy.

There’s a spark in your eye. Your lids droop halfway across your iris.

“We don’t have to do anything you want too,” you say with your lips dangling in front of him.

Gareth meets your eye line, “I want too.”

“Me too.”

-> <-

[to be continued]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo @chaoticgood-munson

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson preference #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic

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southtopaz · 2 days ago

Text

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM [FINAL]

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, violence, swearing, death, stabbing, mention of blood, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts.

Word count: +8k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake. Thank you to everyone that read this story, I hope you all liked it as much as I did ❣️

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20.

"Tara!" Iris screamed, her heart racing as panic surged through her. She bolted toward her, but Ghostface was quicker. With a swift motion, he swung a knife toward Iris, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light of the room.

Iris barely managed to dodge, her instincts kicking in as adrenaline flooded her veins. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else. Tara lay stunned on the ground, fear etched across her face, and the other girl knew she had to act fast to protect them both.

Iris slammed him against one of the walls with all her strength, the force of the impact causing the glass that covered it to shatter into a thousand glinting pieces. As he staggered back, disoriented by the blow, he recovered quickly and lunged toward her once more, his movements blazing with fury as he tried to stab her once again. But Iris was quicker this time. With a swift, calculated move, she sidestepped his attack and managed to shove him again, forcing Ghostface to the ground as she kicked him in the stomach.

"Tara! We have to move!" Iris urged, glancing over her shoulder. She reached down and pulled Tara up by the arm, her heart racing as the urgency and fear pressed heavily on her. With Tara stumbling to her feet, Iris turned and dashed to the door, flinging it open. She was relieved to see Sam and Chad waiting, their expressions laced with desperation.

"Let's go!" Chad shouted. Without a second thought, the group sprang into action, their feet pounding against the floor as they began to run.

"It's Kirby! She's the killer!" Sam exclaimed as they hurried down the dimly lit corridor toward the main hall of the theater.

"No shit!" Chad replied sarcastically. He cast a frantic glance toward the exit, his mind racing with ideas, but his hopes were dashed when Sam shook her head.

"It's locked," she said, her voice filled with frustation.

"Are we trapped?" Chad gasped, panic creeping into his tone.

"Yeah, she made this whole theater into a kill box," Sam continued, her breath coming in quick bursts. "For us."

"Hey, what about that?" Tara interrupted, her eyes darting upwards as she pointed at a small exit door in the second floor. She was still leaning on Iris for support. "Maybe it leads to the roof or something?"

Iris squinted at the opening, weighing their options. "There's only one way to find out," she said, already starting to move. "Let's go!"

"Bailey's on the way, but—" Sam started, her voice laced with anxiety, knowing they didn't have much time.

Sam barely had a moment to finish her thoughts when, without warning, Ghostface lunged out from behind the stage. The masked figure charged at them with a menacing intensity, and in an instant, he shoved Tara roughly to the ground, slicing her shoulder painfully. Tara gasped, the shock of the fall knocking the breath out of her.

"Get down!" Sam shouted, but before she could react further, Ghostface turned his attention to her. He pushed Sam hard, and she tumbled to the floor, her knife slipping from her grasp and skidding across the wooden surface.

In a blur, Ghostface swung his knife toward Iris, the blade tore through her clothing, narrowly missing her skin. Adrenaline surged through Iris as she instinctively lunged forward, her fist connecting with Ghostface's head in a desperate attempt to defend herself.

Just then, Chad spotted a video camera sitting on one of the nearby tables. Without thinking, he grabbed it. He rushed toward Ghostface and, with all his strength, brought the camera crashing down onto the masked figure's head.

"Smile for the camera, motherfucker!" Chad muttered angrily. Ghostface collapsed to the ground, motionless for a moment.

They all bolted down the hallway, urgency propelling them forward. Chad clutched the camera tightly in his grip, as he ran behind them. They could feel Ghostface's footsteps behind them as he charged after them.

The hallway was so narrow that they barely fit side by side, their shoulders brushing against the walls as they pushed forward. In a moment of desperation, Chad turned around and hurled the camera at Ghostface, hoping to hit him with it. But the masked figure was quick; he ducked just in time, the camera whizzing past him and crashing against the wall with a dull thud.

"Keep moving!" Iris shouted, urging the group onward as they could hear Ghostface's footsteps growing louder behind them, his knife poised menacingly in front of him.

Thinking quickly, Iris spotted the popcorn machine and, without hesitation, shoved it over. The machine toppled to the ground with a loud crash, glass scattering everywhere and popcorn spilling out. The mess created a momentary barrier, but it did little to slow down Ghostface.

Fueled by anger, he charged directly at Chad. With a forceful shove, he pushed Chad against the wall, the impact sending a shiver down his spine. Just as he was about to deliver a blow, both Tara and Sam sprang into action, each grabbing one of his arms and pulling him backward with all their strength. Their quick thinking gave Iris the opening she needed.

She stepped forward, summoning all her strength, and landed a solid punch to Ghostface's stomach. He doubled over, but Iris wasn't finished. In a swift motion, she delivered another blow, this time targeting his private parts. The killer groaned in agony, crumpling to the floor.

Without missing a beat, Tara rushed in and kicked him squarely in the head, her fury propelling her forward.

"Tara, come on!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing her arm firmly to pull her away. The urgency in her voice was clear as she glanced back at the unmoving figure. Tara, still fueled by fury , reached out and grabbed Iris's hand as well, drawing them both toward the door.

"Go, go!" Chad shouted, clutching a mini popcorn machine, ready to slam it in Ghostface's head. Just as he swung it, another Ghostface suddenly appeared and stabbed him in the side, making him scream in agony.

Iris spun around at the sound of Chad's shout, panic rising as she screamed his name. She tried to rush toward him, but Sam gripped her shoulder tightly, forcing her back.

Both Ghostfaces were stabbing Chad making the man fall to his knees as blood started pouring out of his mouth.

"Run," He said weakly. "Go."

Chad's body fell to the ground as the two of them turned to face Sam, Tara, and Iris wiping the blood off of their blades at the same time.

They turned and sprinted towards the main hall, but their escape was cut short. The two Ghostfaces loomed ominously on either side of the room, blocking any chance of escaping. Panic surged through them as they realized they were cornered.

"We have to fight!" Sam muttered to them, scanning the ground for anything they could use. Spotting a pile of bricks, she quickly snatched up two and handed one to them before grabbing one for herself. The three women formed a tight circle, their backs pressed together, a united front against the threat.

"Sam!" Tara cried, fear evident in her voice.

"Are you ready?" Sam asked, her tone fierce but steady. "I need you guys to be ready"

Iris clenched her jaw, her expression hardening. "This is for Chad" she growled, glaring at the masked figures.

"Look at me," Iris said, turning to Tara. "Are you ready?"

Tara nodded, her eyes darting toward the nearest Ghostface. "Come on Motherfucker!" she shouted.

But before any of them could make a move to attack, a loud gunshot echoed through the room. They all dropped to the floor, hearts racing as they scanned the place trying to find out where it came from.

"It's okay!" Kirby shouted, emerging from the shadows with her gun raised. Blood trickled down the side of her face, staining part of her shirt too.

"Stay the fuck back!" Sam snapped, positioning herself protectively in front of Iris and Tara.

"We know it's you, Kirby!" Tara yelled, distrust evident in her voice.

"How could you do this? I trusted you!" Iris shouted, her voice trembling with betrayal. This was the same woman with who she bonded over her sister.

"Listen, one of them knocked me out," Kirby pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation.

"And you expect us to believe that?" Iris shot back, her anger boiling.

"Iris, you have to trust me! I would never hurt you. I just want to help!" Kirby insisted, her voice cracking.

"Kirby, stop!" Wayne shouted, rushing onto the scene, his presence adding to the tension. "Get away from the girls!"

The blonde woman aimed her gun at him, her hands shaking. "What are you doing?!"

"Did you kill Quinn?" Wayne's voice was a mix of accusation and fear, his hand trembling as he held a gun. "Did you kill my daughter?"

"You're crazy!" Kirby exclaimed, horror etched on her face. "Whatever he's been telling you, don't listen! He's probably the killer!"

Wayne's gaze was fixed on her, his eyes showing a weird emptiness. Just then, one of the Ghostfaces slipped silently behind him.

"Behind you!" Kirby shouted, her voice piercing through the fear.

The man didn't even flinch at Kirby's word, almost like he knew exactly what was going to happen. Before any of them had a chance to react, he placed his finger on the trigger and fired the gun, sending two gunshots in Kirby's direction.

"Kirby!" Iris shouted in horror, her voice trembling as she lunged forward to chase after the woman. But just as she took a step, a shadow loomed over her; one of the Ghostface figures raised a knife threateningly, forcing her to stumble back, heart racing with fear.

Tara, sensing Iris's panic, quickly wrapped her arm around her shoulder, yanking her backwards towards their group for safety. "Dont move!" she urged.

A tiny smirk crept onto Wayne's face, his eyes glinting with cruelty as the other Ghostface emerged from the shadows behind him, brandishing his weapon like a trophy.

"Great job," Bailey praised, nodding with approval as he lowered his gun, only to have everyone gasp in surprise when another Ghostface appeared right beside him, a grin plastered across his face. "Both of you,".

"You?" Tara exclaimed, her voice a mixture of disbelief and fury as she stared at Wayne, struggling to process the betrayal.

"Yeah, of course me," Wayne replied with a feigned seriousness, shrugging his shoulders as he met her gaze with a simmering intensity. "Honestly, I expected more from the three of you after what you did to us." His tone was laced with a bitterness that hung in the air.

"We didn't do shit to you," Iris answered angrily. "We don't even know you, you piece of shit"

One of the Ghostfaces standing beside Bailey reached up for the top of his mask, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation as he slowly peeled it away from his face. When the mask finally came off, it was Ethan, his expression bright and triumphant, looking like it was the best day of his life.

"I fucking knew it. Of course it was you," Iris muttered, her voice barely audible, disbelief washing over her like a cold wave.

"You almost ruined it for me, Iris," Ethan snarled, his grip tightening around the weapon he held, the knife appearing more threatening than ever. "But it turns out it was so easy to lie to all of you. I lied so many times and none of you discovered me." His tone was dripping with mockery, a smirk dancing on his lips as he reveled in his own actions.

"Well, you certainly didn't lie about being a virgin, did you?"

Ethan's eyes flashed with fury, and he turned to her, ready to lash out at the woman. But just as he tried to walk towards her, Bailey stepped in, grabbing him by the cloak and yanking him back with surprising force. "Calm down" Bailey urged.

Ethan let out a deep, exasperated sigh, visibly frustrated, but he chose to ignore Iris. With a bright smile creeping back onto his face, he resumed speaking, clearly enjoying the spotlight. "You know, Mindy was right; it was easy to juke the roommate lottery. I mean, all I had to do to meet you guys was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad. Fuck, it felt good to kill him."

"I'm going to fucking kill you" Iris started walking towards him before both Sam and Tara harshly grabbed her by the arms pulling her towards them while Sam pinched her in the arm.

"You need to hold it, we will have time to end them" Sam whispered to her as they let the young boy talk.

Ethan held up the Ghostface mask he had been wearing, the fabric slightly tattered but still scary. "This was your grandmother's Sam, Nancy Loomis," he declared, his voice dripping with disdain as he scowled at her. "Really runs in the fucking family, doesn't it?"

"Speaking of family," he continued without missing a beat, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he pointed to himself. "My name's not Ethan Landry, is it, Dad?" His gaze flicked toward Bailey, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Bailey erupted into maniacal laughter, ruffling Ethan's hair affectionately as if they were sharing an inside joke.

"Dad?" Tara asked, confusion etched on her features as she tried to make sense of this twisted family reunion.

"Wait, if it's you two, that just leaves..." Sam finally found her voice again, dread creeping into her mind as she realized not a lot of options stood for the third Ghostaface. She really hoped it wasn't the name she was about to say. "Mindy?"

At that moment, the next Ghostface stepped forward, pulling down her hood with excitement. She removed her mask and shook her head a few times. "Hey, roomies!" Quinn greeted proudly, a mocking smile spreading across her lips. "Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

"Yeah, because you died!" Tara exclaimed, disbelief and anger swirling in her narrowed eyes. The shock of Quinn's reappearance struck her like a punch to the gut.

"I kind of didn't," Quinn replied dryly, tucking the mask under her arm with a casual nonchalance that felt jarringly out of place. She glanced over at the others, her expression unrecognizable to the girls that shared an apartment with her "Though it was a pretty good way to get off the suspect list. Stabbed Gale Weathers, stabbed Mindy on the train, it was a pity I wasn't the one to stab Anika but hey you can't have everything"

Iris's jaw clenched, her fingers dug down into the brick she was holding and she was about a few seconds away from launching it over at the girl's head. "We mourned you, fuck I even cried for your death".

"Truly a pity Iris" Quinn whispered, tilting her head to the side as she looked over at the girl. "You and I could've had a lot of fun if you weren't so keen on being Tara's bitch". Quinn gave the brunette a teasing smile, twirling the knife around her index finger.

"Don't fucking talk to her" Tara growled.

"Uhh feisty, I like it" Quinn said mockingly.

"I just had to make sure I was the first one on the scene," Wayne explained after a few tense seconds of silence. "That way, I could switch her body out with a fresh one. A little fake blood, a prosthetic here and there. You'd be amazed at what a grieving father can get away with." His voice dripped with a mix of pride and arrogance, as if he were sharing a clever trick rather than a heinous act.

Quinn's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I got Stu Macher's mask," she chimed in, a grin spreading across her face. "He was my favorite."

Ethan carefully placed the mask he had been wearing onto a nearby mannequin dressed in white clothing. "That's number three," Bailey said, holding up three fingers as he moved slowly down the narrow aisle towards the girls, his demeanor both casual and predatory. He glanced over at his daughter, who placed her mask on the mannequin across from Ethan's. "That's two," he added, a sense of satisfaction in his voice.

"Which leaves..." Bailey reached inside his jacket, pulling out another mask "Your father's," Wayne extended the mask towards Sam, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling expectation. "This is what we've been counting down to, Sam," he said, his voice low and insistent. "I'm going to need you to put it on."

"Fuck you!" Sam shouted, her voice echoing through the room as she smacked the mask away with the brick in her hand, sending it clattering to the floor.

Ethan, unable to resist the chaos, lunged forward with an excited grin, slashing Sam's arm with the knife he held, his laughter ringing out. Sam hissed in pain as she took a look to the wound that started bleeding down her arm.

"Stay the fuck away from her!" Tara hissed, stepping protectively in front of Sam.

"What is this?" Sam asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as she scanned the faces of the family, each one a mask of anger and betrayal. "You did this as a family?"

"Oh yeah bitch, you should know better than anyone," Quinn shot back, her voice laced with bitterness as she took a few hurried steps closer, her brother Ethan right beside her, smirking in a way that sent shivers down Sam's spine.

"They're still not getting it," Ethan chuckled.

"Well then start explaining," Iris growled, her voice low and threatening, the urgency palpable in her tone.

"I don't know what you believe, but I didn't commit those murders in Woodsboro!" Sam pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. "It wasn't me!"

"We know that. Of course you didn't," Wayne interjected, speaking as if that were obvious. "You think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? Come on. Who do you think started the rumors about you in the first place?"

Quinn raised her hand, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Do you know how easy it was to turn Sam from the hero of Woodsboro into the villain? How easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people rather than the best?"

"Because it's not enough to just kill someone these days," Ethan said. "You have to assassinate their character first. So when Dad here discovers your horribly mutilated bodies.. posed with Sam wearing her father's mask, he'll say some poor dumb bastard read on the internet that you're the real Ghostface and took matters into their own deluded hands."

"Exactly, that's why it's the perfect alibi," Bailey said with a smirk, his laughter low and taunting as he locked eyes with Sam. "And all the best lies are based on the truth."

Sam spun around, her heart racing as Bailey leveled a finger at her. "You're a killer," he accused, his expression hardening into a grim line. "Just like your father."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are! You motherfucker! You killed our brother!" Quinn shouted, her voice cracking with rage and pain.

"What are you talking about?" Sam stammered, confusion etched across her face, her breath coming in shallow gasps as horror began to dawn on her.

"You said your brother died in a car accident," Tara pressed, her eyes flashing with confusion.

"No, no, no, you sweet dumb thing," Ethan interrupted, his voice laced with mockery as he pointed his knife toward them. "He died in Woodsboro, at the hands of your bitch sister".

A cold wave of realization washed over Sam. "You're Richie's family," she gasped, her heart sinking as she turned back to Bailey.

"Yeah," Bailey replied, a twisted smile creeping onto his lips as he thought of his oldest son.

Just as Sam was about to talk, Ethan lunged forward, thrusting his knife into her collarbone with a swift, brutal motion. "Ding, ding, ding!" he shouted with unsettling enthusiasm as he pulled the knife away, leaving behind a raw bloody mark on her skin. The pain shot through her, but before she could react, Iris yanked her backward, pulling her out of Ethan's reach.

"Now! It wasn't until I saw that photograph of what you'd actually done to him that I knew!" Wayne suddenly shouted, his voice ringing with fury, "That I knew you had to fucking die! You had to be punished! Along with anyone else who stands in our way."

Quinn stepped forward, gripping the knife tightly and pressing it menacingly against Sam's throat.

"There's the killer," Quinn whispered, her voice a chilling rasp as she studied Sam's expression. The girl remained still, her dark chocolate eyes showing no fear, only a growing coldness that seemed to mirror Quinn's own rage.

"Great parenting job, by the way" Tara interjected, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she cast a disdainful glance at Wayne.

"Shut your whore fucking mouth!" Quinn shrieked, her rage boiling over as she shoved Tara violently, sending her towards the floor. Iris reacted instantly, grabbing onto her shoulder to prevent her from crashing to the ground. With a firm grip, Iris pulled Tara close, turning her body to face Bailey, who stood watching the chaos unfold.

"Have I been a perfect dad? No," Wayne admitted, shaking his head as if acknowledging a painful truth. "Have I maybe overindulged Richie's love of these little movies? Yeah, maybe. For me, they're just a little dark. But, Richie really loved them. He loved them and even made a few of his own."

Suddenly, a video began to play on the screen, and a younger Richie appeared, his innocent face juxtaposed with the madness that lay ahead. Iris felt a surge of disgust; even as a child, Richie was already showing signs of being a psychopath.

Wayne turned away from the screen, his gaze drifting upward as tears filled his eyes. "There's a very special bond between a father and his first son," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Which is why I helped him build this collection."

"This was all his?" Sam muttered in disbelief, her mind racing to comprehend the situation.

"Yes, he is a very passionate collector, and he inspired others. We had to kill those two wannabe film students because, well, we had to kill you first, Sam. I put the theater in their name, then good old Detective Bailey would've just stumbled on it, but I didn't have to because, by golly, that Gale Weathers is one hell of a journalist. I built a tribute to my son. Which is why this is where you have to die, surrounded by all of the things he loved the most."

"What happens next?" Sam demanded. "After you're done with us, you just disappear?"

"No!" Wayne started stepping down from the stairs. "We got to hurry over to the hospital and make sure Mindy and Gale don't pull through. Because everybody dies, Sam! Everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son suffers and dies."

Ethan moved towards Tara eager to use his knife as the girl tightened her grip on her brick but Iris moved in front of her.

"Don't touch her" Iris shouted, her jaw tensing as she pulled Tara behind her.

Ethan moved even closer, now pressing just the tip of his blade against her chest as he rolled his eyes at Iris's comment "You have no idea how much I want to put this knife on you Iris, and once I'm finished with you, I'm going to do to Tara the same thing I did to Anika but this time I'll finish the job" Iris growled in fury but before she could lunge at him, he jumped forward and slashed Iris on her side, making her hiss in pain as blood started pouring out. "always the hero, aren't you?"

"Iris" Tara yelled moving towards her but stopped once she saw Iris making a stop sign to her.

"I've got a plan, they are angry" Iris whispered to Sam.

Suddenly, Iris burst into maniacal laughter, clutching her side as if the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her. The three Ghostfaces exchanged bewildered glances, momentarily thrown off by her unpredictable reaction.

"So you're telling me you did all of this for Richie?" she taunted, her laughter escalating. "He was such a pussy; it was honestly embarrassing just to look at him!"

Tara watched in horror, her heart pounding as she observed the killer's anger growing with each passing moment. But that was the plan, to infuriate them enough that they'd slip up, making it easier for them to fight back. Sam seemed to grasp this strategy quickly.

"He was... so pathetic," Sam declared, her tone utterly flat, as if she were discussing something mundane and boring.

"That's not true!" Wayne protested, his voice rising in indignation, unable to accept her words.

"Yeah, your son, he was a man-baby who made his accomplice do all of the killing,"

"Isn't it embarrasing? He couldn't even do it himself, the one time he had to do the killing, he died like a fucking loser"

"He was a strong, virile young man!" Bailey's body shook with rage.

"He was a limp dick little fuck who cried before I slit his throat," Sam said coldy, as a tiny smirk spread across her face.

"Shut the fuck up!" Quinn charged forward without warning. Tara spun around, slamming the brick into the redhead's face. She collapsed into the floor, choking out a few bloody teeth from her mouth. Detective Bailey, clearly irritated, raised his gun, preparing to shot at the girls. But just then, gunshots rang out from the other end of the room.

Kirby, surprisingly still alive, fired at the three Ghostfaces. Tara and Sam quickly stepped back as Bailey fell to the ground, hit, while Ethan ducked to the side and charged at Kirby, tackling her down.

"Recognize this?" he grinned maniacally, showing the woman the same knife she had been stabbed with in 2011 by Charlie Walker as he stabbed her once again.

"Fuck you!" she spat through clenched teeth

Iris rushed forward, bringing her brick up and slammed it into Ethan's head, knocking the boy to the side. "Leave her alone you fucker" The boy stumbled to the wall, groaning in pain.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Iris told Kirby, dropping to the woman's side. "But I'm gonna need to borrow this." She took the knife from her body, and Kirby let out a pained gasp. But her eyes showed nothing but understanding.

"Fuck him up." She told the girl, her voice ringing with determination. Iris nodded.

"What are you going to do with that bitch?" Ethan growled, leaning against a pillar as he clutched his head.

Iris shouted in anger and lunged at the boy, stabbing him right in the chest. She twisted the knife, digging even further into his skin. His eyes widened in shock as he let out a cry of pain. "You wanted to be like your big brother? Well now you get to die just like him too".

"Fuck you!" He shouted at her. "I'm going to fucking kill you, Iris!"

"You don't have what it takes". She pulled it out, only to stab him once again. "This is what happens when you threaten my girl, you fucking die."

"IRIS" Tara shouted at her to get her to move away from him. She made her move to leave but not before dragging the knife upwards, causing the boy to scream in agony.

"I'll come back for you, I promise!" She said to Kirby in apology as she passed the woman. Sam and Tara were climbing up the ladder, and Iris quickly followed them.

Iris spotted Tara climbing up the pipes. As the girl reached the top, she pushed aside the plastic sheeting that covered the first floor entrance and stepped onto the balcony, her heart racing. Tara turned around just in time to see Iris and Sam climbing up behind her, a wave of relief washing over her as she took in their presence.

Shortly after, Sam got into the first floor too and she lead the way across a row of empty seats that creaked underfoot. The dim light cast shadows around them as they navigated the abandoned floor. However, they soon encountered a section of the balcony they couldn't reach as it was blocked by a jumble of old furniture stacked high, creating an impassable barrier.

With no clear path ahead, they were forced to edge near the balcony's precipice. One misstep could send them plummeting down. Sam took the lead, her focus intense as she approached the edge. She carefully placed one foot on the inner railing and another on the outer one, her body tense with concentration as she maneuvered across the narrow ledge.

"Careful," Sam warned, her voice steady despite the danger, as she steadied her breathing before hopping off the railing.

Iris held onto the railing tightly, her heart pounding in her chest as she inched along the ledge. When she was close enough, Sam reached out, her grip firm and reassuring, helping Iris down with deliberate care. The adrenaline coursed through them as they exchanged glances, knowing they had to keep moving to stay safe. Now they turned around to help Tara.

A gunshot echoed through the building, and Tara let out a scream as she lost her balance and stumbled toward the edge. In a desperate move, she managed to grasp the railing for a brief moment, giving Iris just enough time to reach over and grasp Tara's hand tightly, preventing her from falling.

"I've got you," Iris panted, straining as she fought to pull Tara back to safety. She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle a groan, the pain from her open wound flaring sharply as blood trickled down her side.

Sam leaned over the edge, desperately placing her hands above Iris's to lend support, she refused to let her sister fall.

Blood smeared Sam's hands from the wound on her arm, making it increasingly difficult for Tara to maintain her grip as the slickness threatened to make her slip away.

"I can't. I can't hold on!" Tara cried, tears streaming down her face as she raised her left hand to grasp her sister's arms more firmly. But just as she did, her hand slipped, eliciting another desperate cry.

"We won't let you fall," Iris reassured her, panic tightening in her chest as she felt Tara's hand slip lower.

Bailey and Ethan's maniacal laughter could be heard from everywhere as they drew closer to Tara. Ethan clutched his chest in pain, Iris couldn't understand how he was still alive. He started swinging his knife mockingly as he taunted the shorter girl.

"I always wanted to stick something in you, Tara." Ethan screamed as he tried to stab her.

"Fuck you." Tara hissed.

"Fuck you." Ethan retorted as he jumped in an attempt to grab the girl.

Out of the corner of their eyes, Quinn showed up to their floor, her face covered in blood. Sam, Iris, and Tara all glanced at her silently.

"You guys are so fucked now!" Ethan screamed excitedly.

"Sam!" Tara shouted, her voice filled with desperation.

The two women looked down at her in horror as Quinn approached. "Let me go," Tara insisted.

"No!" Sam gasped, her eyes wide with fear.

"Are you crazy, Tara?" Iris shook her head, gripping Tara's hand tightly as her heart raced in her chest.

"Yeah, let her go, guys," Ethan urged, his voice dripping with mockery. "Come on!"

"Trust me," Tara pleaded, her gaze flickering to the knife tucked into Sam's pants, trying to convey her urgency. "You have to let me go."

Iris glanced at the knife tucked into Sam's pants and quickly understood Tara's plan, though she hesitated to let her go. Sensing her uncertainty, Tara locked eyes with the brunette, her expression pleading as she whispered, "Let me go baby."

Quinn advanced toward them, looking more unhinged than ever.

Sam passed her sister the knife and both of them let go of her at the same time, watching how Tara got stabbed by Ethan the minute she touched the ground. Iris let out a desperate shout as she turned around just in time to see Quinn running towards them.

She spotted a gun laying on the floor, she quickly grabbed it and aimed it at Quinn. Both Sam and Iris turned towards Tara to make sure she was okay.

Tara took the knife Sam gave to her and quickly plunged it into Ethan's mouth. She moved it down his throat as he choked on his own blood. Quinn looked down at her brother in horror, her hand trembling as she gripped the knife.

"Now die a fucking virgin." Tara said to Ethan darkly as she smirked.

"Looks like you're down another brother," Sam said innocently once Ethan stopped moving.

Quinn let out another scream and charged at her, but Iris was faster. She pulled the trigger, the bullet landing in her chest. Quinn hit the ground, shouting in pain. Sam and Iris moved towards her and stared the woman down.

Iris passed the gun to Sam "Wanna do the honors?"

"Please no no no... I don't wanna die" Quinn pleaded with desperate tears.

"Gladly" Sam grabbed the gun.

"Say hi to your brother" Iris muttered with a sick smile on her face as Sam pulled the trigger that ended with Quinn's life.

Detective Bailey stood shocked, his face a mixture of grief and rage as he stared down at the dead body of his daughter.

"I guess you're the last Ghostface left," Iris told him.

"Always gotta shoot them in the head," Sam added.

Pure rage crossed the detective's face, but he stood there waiting for their next move. Sam aimed the gun at him and pulled the trigger, but it clicked, they had no more bullets.

"You've got to be kidding me," Iris muttered as they watched Bailey running toward them as he also aimed his gun at them.

Sam effortlessly knocked the weapon aside while Iris punched the man in the face, causing him to stumble backward. Sam then pulled him close and, with a swift motion, threw him over the railing, sending them both crashing to the floor below.

Iris rushed down from the balcony to the theater floor. She saw Tara, with Ethan's blood all over her clothes, shaking Sam to wake her up, with Bailey unconscious on the ground next to her.

"Sam thank god" Tara muttered when she saw her sister starting to wake up.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, glancing down at her.

"No," Tara replied, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes. "Is he dead?"

"Not yet, always go for the head" Iris raised her knife ready to plunge it into Bailey's head before Sam stopped her.

"I have a better idea," Sam said as she pulled her cellphone from the back pocket of her jeans. She turned to her younger sister and offered her the phone.

"You want us to call him?" Tara asked, confusion in her voice as Iris took the phone.

Iris examined the device, gradually understanding Sam's plan. "A little bit of payback, it's time we are the ones to fuck them up"

"Sam, make sure he suffers," was the last thing her sister said before Sam grabbed her father's cloak and mask and dashed down the stairs.

"Are you sure about this?" Tara turned to Iris as they both stared at the phone once they were left alone and they finally had a small moment of quietness.

"Absolutely, I mean the worst thing that could happen is that we die".

"You're such a fucking idiot, I can't believe I'm in love with you" Tara shook her head in amusement, even at the worst moment, Iris still found ways to be annoying.

"I love you too darling, now ready to slice one more motherfucker?"

"Fuck yeah"

When Detective Bailey finally regained consciousness, he found himself sprawled on the splintered remains of a shattered wooden table. He struggled to sit up, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him as his ears rang with a dull, persistent thrum.

As he blinked away the haze, the faint sounds of a movie played in the background, the projection flickering against the walls. It was the film Richie had made, its dialogue a distant murmur that barely registered in his mind. He glanced around the room, disoriented, and tried to make sense of his surroundings.

Wincing at the pain that shot through him, he pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled forward, limping slightly, with his gun still secured in his hand. Just then, the sudden sound of his phone ringing jolted him back to reality, the beeping and buzzing coming from his pocket.

With a heavy huff, he reached into his pocket, wincing at the effort, and finally pulled out his phone. He pressed it to his ear, uncertainty creeping into his mind as he answered the call.

"Hello, Detective Bailey," the familiar voice of Ghostface sneered from the other end. "I have a question for you."

"Oh, really?" the detective scoffed, walking toward the stage. "And what's that?"

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

Bailey let out a chuckle, incredulous at the audacity of the call. "Favorite scary movie...?"

"I'm asking because you're in one right now. You're in our movie."

The detective fired his gun, but his shots struck nothing but the mannequins scattered around the room. As he scanned the area, his eyes landed on one particular mannequin, Billy Loomis's, stripped of its cloak and mask.

He let out a laugh. "Ah, I see you've put on your true face, huh? Your birthright. Poetic, that you're gonna die in it."

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

The detective fired again, thinking that he finally got to Sam but instead he only shot at another mannequin. "Now you know the truth, huh? Murder's in your blood." He scanned the room, growing increasingly furious. "Now stop fucking around and show yourself!"

"Be careful what you wish for,".

"I'm a fucking police officer." He shouted. "How do you think this is gonna go? Who do you think they're gonna believe, huh?"

He could hear a sick laughter. "Probably the one who's still alive."

The detective screamed in anger, as now he was the one being taunted. He turned around as the new Ghostface appeared and his eyes widened in fear.

"No, no!" The detective screamed, as he was attacked. Sam relentlessly stabbed him in every inch of skin she could have access to. Not even his cries of mercy were enough to stop her.

Finally, the man drop to the floor, where he choked on his own blood, hands pressed against the wound on his neck.

Ghostface pulled off the mask, revealing Sam, who glared down at the detective, her head tilted as she raised her hand ready to kill him off. But before she could act, the curtains behind her rustled open, and Tara and Iris stepped onto the theater floor.

Tara looked at her sister in disbelief, while Iris stood with her phone in hand, whistling in awe at what Sam had just done.

"Damn girl"

"My father was a murderer. No matter what you think, I'm better then that." Sam stated.

The detective gasped, desperation in his voice as he could feel the blood pouring from his body. "Thank you," he choked in relief. "Thank you."

Tara stared at Sam in disbelief, while Iris tilted her head, as if questioning, *Does this bitch really think?* The three shared a knowing glance.

A smirk danced across Sam's lips as she redirected her attention to the detective.

"But you did fuck with our family, so..." She grabbed the detective by the back of his neck, and she stab him right in the eye. Not soon after he fell into the floor unmoving forever.

Tara glanced at his body and nodded impressed at her sister's work "...Nice."

Sam returned the nod, her breath coming in heavy puffs. "Thanks."

Iris patted Sam's shoulder as she softly chuckled. "Can you believe this bitch truly thought you would let him live? Man that's hilarious"

Sam glanced at the two girls. "You guys okay?"

"No"

"Fuck no"

"Fair enough"

Tara and Iris made their way down the creaky staircase, then settled onto the steps to rest as they waited for Sam to join them.

"I can't believe we dodged death twice by now" Iris exhaled "we are like cockroaches"

Tara laughed silently "Finally it's over"

"If you look at it, it wasn't that bad"

Tara looked at her like she was insane "I mean yeah they tried to kill us but because of that now I have a girlfriend, and also they are dead so if you ask me it's a win win"

"Girlfriend?" Tara asked, a smirk on her face. "I assume you're not talking about me."

"What...?" Iris stammered.

"Because for me to be your girlfriend, you'd actually have to ask me."

"Well then..."

Tara cut her off. "And you definitely can't ask me now. It has to be romantic."

"Why? Don't you think being in a murder theater is romantic enough?" Iris teased.

"Keep joking like that, and you'll be single for the rest of your life."

"Geez, so bossy," Iris shot back with a grin. "I wonder where else—"

Just then, Sam appeared and slapped Iris on the head. "That's my sister you perv!"

"Ow! I can't believe you just punched me!"

"I feel like you don't get punched enough," Sam replied as she settled down beside them. "So, you two are finally a thing?"

The two girls exchanged soft smiles, intertwining their fingers. "Yes."

"So I take it it was Tara who confessed first?"

"Wh... I mean, yeah, but why would you assume that?" Iris feigned offense.

"No offense, Iris, but you're a pussy when it comes to this stuff."

"Hey!"

"She's kind of right, though."

"Well, now you're just being a traitor, love."

"Honestly, I'm really happy for both of you," Sam said warmly.

"Does this mean I have your approval?" Iris joked, knowing Sam couldn't imagine anyone better for Tara.

"Of course," Sam replied with a smile, looking at her sister and at the girl she was sure she would call her sister too one day. "But it also means I want the door open at all times."

"We're not twelve!"

"Absolutely not," they both protested in unison, leading to a shared laugh among the three of them.

After some moment of silence Tara spoke again. "Thank you guys for letting me go."

"I knew you could take care of yourself," Sam said fairly and then in a more softer tone added. "I want to be in your life, but only as much as you want me to be.

The youngest Carpenter let out a tiny grin. "I want you to be. I promise you both I'm gonna get so much therapy after this,"

They laughed as Iris wrapped an arm around her girl. "Finally"

Tara nudged her playfully as she intertwined their fingers, staring at both Iris and Sam. "We're gonna get through this, together".

Out of nowhere, Ethan came out from the darkness, charging at them with a fierce scream. Their eyes widened in shock and fear as he closed in with his knife raised ready to attack.

An old television crashed down on top of him, ensuring he would never rise again. Ethan let out choked sounds from beneath the weight before finally going limp.

Sam, Tara, and Iris stared in horror before their eyes shifted to Kirby, who was limping towards them, wearing a smirk. "I saw that in a scary movie once."

Suddenly, the theater doors burst open as police flooded in. Danny led the way, his expression softening with immense relief when he spotted Sam. He stumbled forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as he caught his breath.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched across his face as he scanned her features.

Sam smiled gently at him. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"I thought you might need some reinforcements. I called the hospital and Mindy and Gale are gonna be okay. Mindy's on her way here right now; they couldn't stop her."

Tara gave the man a soft smile. "Not bad, cute boy."

He smiled back. "Thanks."

"I approve" Iris mouthed to Sam as she smiled at them.

Iris approached Kirby slowly, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her as they made their way outside for help.

"I'm sorry," Iris said, feeling ashamed for not trusting the blonde woman.

Kirby smiled at her. "It's okay, Iris. You did the right thing."

"Still, I'm sorry. I promise I won't accuse you of murder again."

Kirby laughed, wincing in pain. "God, you're just like your sister, you owe me a coffee." They exchanged warm smiles before they carefully helped Kirby onto a stretcher.

Outside, a crowd had gathered around the police's bright yellow caution tape. Various doctors tended to the injured girls, and thankfully, none had severe wounds that required extensive treatment; they only needed stitches and bandages.

As Kirby was wheeled toward the ambulance, the paramedics paused in front of the vehicle, allowing her a moment to say goodbye to the three girls.

"If you ever need me, call. We're all part of the same fucked up family now. And legacy doesn't always have to be a bad thing. Okay?"

They all smiled weakly at her but Iris looked down for a moment and sniffled lightly. Kirby turned to her with a soft look.

"Hey."

"It's just-" her voice broke, "Chad. We couldn't save him".

"Hey, we've got another one here!"

The girls turned to see medics carrying a familiar figure out of the theater on a stretcher as they wheeled him toward an ambulance.

"Chad!"

The girls rushed to his side. "You're alive!" Tara exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears as she gently touched his shoulder.

"How the fuck are you not dead?" Iris said, her voice laced with happiness as she grabbed tightly his hand.

The boy put up his hand weakly, five fingers splayed out.

"Core fucking five". Iris laughed before she took the boy's mask off, it seemed like he wanted to talk.

"Don't tell me you guys were crying for me" Chad spoke really quietly as he had trouble doing so.

"Absolutely not," he laughed at the comment, though the sound quickly shifted to a faint groan of pain.

Iris quickly put his mask on with a sheepish smile. "Sorry dude you probably need that".

"Oh my god! Oh my god, are you guys okay?" They turned as a familiar voice approached them, and Mindy skidded to a stop in front of the girls. She clutched her side, where a series of white bandages wrapped around her waist. "I know who the killer is. It's Ethan and Bailey."

Sam smiled fondly at the girl's worried expression. "And Quinn."

"Quinn too? Fuck!" Mindy exclaimed. "Did I miss the monologue again?"

Her eyes fell to her brother's injured figure. "Are you okay?" She asked her brother, before her eyes turned to the other three girls. "Are you okay? You guys don't look okay." She rambled as she followed the workers who wheeled Chad up to the ambulance. "Omg, we all survived. It's a twist and a twist; they gave me a lot of drugs, by the way."

Before she could leave with her brother, she turned to Iris. "I saw Anika" she smiled softly at them. "She's asking for you, you better go visit her"

"I will, I promise," Iris said with a fond smile as she watched her best friend get into the ambulance on their way to the hospital. Meanwhile, Sam headed over to Danny, who was waiting for her at the corner. As she turned around, she noticed Tara already watching her.

"What"

"Nothing, I just... I can't believe we're okay," Tara said, stepping closer as she wrapped her uninjured arm around Iris's neck. "We can finally live our lives in peace again."

"A peaceful life with you sounds like a dream come true," Iris replied, pressing her lips to Tara's forehead while wrapping her arms around her waist, pulling her even closer.

"You're my dream come true," Tara said, but immediately made a face after realizing how sappy it sounded. "Disgusting that was way too cheesy".

"Says the girl who wrote me a letter confessing how much she loves me,"

"Shut up! I take it back," Tara shot back, her cheeks flushing.

"You can't! I'm sorry, I don't make the rules," Iris laughed, enjoying Tara's mock annoyance.

Before Tara could respond, Iris leaned in, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss that silenced all the teasing and wrapped them both in a moment of warmth and relief.

"How do you think Mindy and Chad are going to react when they find out we're together?" Iris asked, a playful grin spreading across her face.

"Oh, they're going to go absolutely insane," Tara replied, bursting into laughter at the thought.

"Did you know they have a bet going on with Sam?"

"Jesus even Sam?"

"Yeah"

"I fucking hate them"

The two shared a moment of laughter, imagining their friends' over-the-top reactions.

"I love you, Tara," Iris said softly, her tone sincere as she looked into Tara's eyes.

"I love you too, Iris," Tara replied, her heart swelling with affection. She pulled Iris closer, savoring the moment.

They walked side by side toward a group of police officers ready to take their statements when Iris's phone suddenly began to ring. Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she pulled it from her pocket. Upon seeing the caller ID, her eyes widened in horror.

"What happened?" Tara asked, glancing at her with concern.

"My mother," Iris whispered, a note of panic creeping into her voice.

"Oh," Tara squeezed her hand for support. "Good luck, you're fucked".

Iris took a deep breath and answered the call. "Hey, Mom!" she said, forcing a cheerfulness she didn't feel.

"Iris, baby, I saw the news!" her mother exclaimed, her voice filled with concern.

"What news?" Iris feigned ignorance, stealing a glance at Tara, who raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"They caught two Ghostfaces in some abandoned theater in New York!" her mother continued, clearly distressed.

"Well, actually, there were three," Iris replied, trying to inject some humor into the situation. "They're innovating, you know."

A heavy silence hung on the line as it sank in that she had just made things worse.

“Iris, please tell me you weren’t there,”

“Well, Mom, let me hold your hand when I tell you this…”

“IRIS!

#scream #scream 5 #scream 6 #scream x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter x female reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega #sam carpenter

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stargazedwinchester · 5 hours ago

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ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `steady hands, dean winchester

Summary: You help Dean overcome a panic attack. Word Count: 739

“Shit!” you scream as the vengeful spirit dashes you across the room, thrashing your head on the plasterboard, causing you to tumble onto the floor. You’re weak, your whole body shaking beneath you. The spirit approaches you, its face full of distress and misery. Heart racing, he reaches toward your chest and plunges his hand toward your ribs, making you cry out in pain.

Where the fuck are Sam and Dean?

Dean has a gut feeling that something terrible is about to happen. Adrenaline rushes through his head as they finally burn the ghost’s body, which had been terrorizing the new residents. Dean knew to get back to you.

As soon as the match greets the gasoline, Dean shoots off to the Impala, Sam hurrying behind him.

You lie there, half unconscious. You hear footsteps approaching you with muffled voices. “Y/N?” Dean kneels before you, his hands on your shoulders. He lifts you up so you’re sitting with your back against the wall. You hiss in pain. The damage that the ghost has done felt irreparable. Dean sits at your level, his eyes complete with panic and anxiety. “Y/N?” He begs, noticing you’re trying your damndest to respond, hell, trying to stay awake. He taps your cheek, gaining your attention. “Baby, please…” He calls, his voice cracking slightly. Sam paces behind him, his phone pressed to his ear. Your feet feel like static, a million little needles travelling up your legs, numbing your whole body. Everything goes dark. “Sammy, she’s not responding!” Dean frets, his cheeks burning bright red with fear of losing you. He scrambles through the inner pockets of his jacket, searching for his flask. He twists open the bottle and pours a small amount of holy water over your face. It’s cold enough for you to regain consciousness, and your eyes meet his perturbed ones. Dean takes a tremendous sigh of relief, sitting fully on the floor, his hands covering his eyes as he goes to lie flat on his back.

Sam insists on leaving the room to give you both some space. He was worried about your health, of course, so Bobby was talking him through on what to do to help you gain consciousness again. It takes you a little bit of time to come around, and you lock eyes with Dean, who’s now sitting up watching you with wide, cautious eyes. He seems stiff, like he’s paralysed with consternation. You’re winded, but it doesn’t stop you from crawling over to Dean, who looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “Dean?” You call him softly, and he just glances at you before staring down at the floor. “You okay?” You run a hand through his hair. He gulps.

“I almost lost you,” his voice breaks. His whole body visibly shaking from terror. Dean’s breathing becomes more apparent. Uncontrollable. Dean has suffered irreplaceable losses. He wasn’t careful enough when it came to you.

“Dean, baby, listen to me.” You instruct. “I’m okay, I’m just winded. I’m not hurt. Okay?” Dean doesn’t respond, so you place yourself right next to him, rubbing his back. “I want you to try something with me,” you soothe him, and he hardly nods. “Take a deep, slow breath in through your nose, then out through your mouth, baby. Ready?” You attempt to show him how to calm himself down. His shaky breaths break your heart seeing him so vulnerable and upset. You repeat this process a few more times, rubbing his back for reassurance. “I’m here, Dean. You’re okay.” You lull, using your opposite hand to cup his face and place a kiss on his cheek. He looks over at you, and you’re smiling at him with comfort, hoping that he knows that when he struggles, he’s not alone. That you’ll always be by his side, no matter what.

“I love you.” Dean makes out, and you nod in agreement. “I love you too.” You place a long kiss on his temple. He huffs with relief before standing up, grabbing both of your hands and helping you up too. He opens his arms to engulf you in a hug, and you don’t hesitate to wrap yourself around him, inhaling his scent and feeling completely at ease when you touch. Dean plants a kiss atop your head, his hand scrunched in your hair. His grip indicates he’s not ready to let you go.

He never wants to let you go.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn x you #spn x reader #spn x y/n #supernatural x you #supernatural x y/n

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gorgeys · 3 days ago

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thirty minutes ★ santana lopez x fem!cheerio!reader

santana only has you for thirty minutes a day

word count: 885 warnings: SMUT - fingering, lowk angsty

a/n: the santana brainrot is so real ughhhhh

thirty minutes.

that's the exact amount of time between the end of cheerios practice and the end of football practice. and you and santana make the most of it.

while the rest of the cheerios hit the showers, you and santana race to the parking lot, her hand tightly wound around yours. she looks both ways, ensuring there's no witnesses, before literally shoving you into the backseat of her brand new car.

"it's not cheating," she reassures you, grabbing you by the hips and settling you in her lap. "if the plumbing's different."

before you can ever protest, her lips are meeting yours in a bruising, dizzying kiss and any thought of your kind-hearted boyfriend, quarterback finn hudson, is erased from your memory.

he's probably throwing the football around on the field right now, thinking about the date he's going to take you on tonight. he probably overthrows a ball because he's too busy contemplating what type of flowers to buy you or what shirt he's going to wear.

you do feel bad for doing this, especially since you can see the bleachers of the football stadium from the rear window of the car, but the death grip santana has on your hip bones, forcing you to grind down onto her bare thighs, feels too good.

and santana says it's not cheating anyway. she wouldn't lie to you, right?

her fingers start to creep beneath the hem of your skirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they skim the inside of your thighs. for the sake of time and her own eagerness, she pushes your underwear to the side and buries two fingers inside you without warning. the way you groan and arch into her hands leaves her looking up at you like you're the only thing in her world.

"bet he can't make you feel like this," she says, driving her fingers deeper. she feels like she's on cloud nine when you nod back. all the hate in the world couldn't compare to what she felt for stupid finn hudson.

other than her occasional whispers, this is the only time in her life that she actually shuts up and listens. she listens to every sound and incoherent babble that leaves your lips and the squelching sound of her fingers inside of you. she watches you screw your eyes shut and throw your head back, an attempt to avoid the way she looks at you. it's easier to ignore the longing and desire in her eyes than to accept it. especially when you only have ten minutes left.

it doesn't matter how many times you cum or tell her that the overstimulation is too much. finn may have you for the rest of the day, but these are her thirty minutes with you and she intends to use each and every one of them.

"you can take it," she mumbles, pulling down the front of your cheerios uniform so she can leave kisses on your bare chest. "don't you wanna be good for me?"

she keeps curling her fingers inside of you and watching your wetness drip down her wrist with blown pupils until you notice the football boys start to emerge from the field.

"shit," you mumble, brain still fuzzy as you climb off her lap. she frowns as you flatten your skirt, missing the feeling of your nails digging into her neck. "do i look okay?"

she thinks you look perfect as always with lips puffy from kissing and ponytail much looser than before. to anyone else it would have been obvious you were up to something, but finn was so oblivious santana didn't even have to worry.

"yeah," she says breathlessly, her chest still heaving beneath the school logo of her uniform.

"okay," is all you say before you open the car door and step out. she sighs before following your lead and stepping out the other side.

she closes the door just in time to see finn walking up, his helmet tucked under his arm. she leans against her car and crosses her arms as he engulfs you in a hug, not even questioning why you had emerged from the backseat of santana's car.

she scowls watching you beam back at that stupid gassy infant grin on his face. maybe she wasn't ready to proclaim her love to you in front of the entire school like he was, but she still couldn't understand what you saw in him that you didn't see in her.

he slings an arm over your shoulder and starts to lead you toward his car, but you make sure to turn back before he can take you too far.

"i'll call you later, san!" you shout with the smile she'd give up everything for.

santana only grimaces back, conflicting feelings fighting each other in her head. finn, who's still somewhat scared of your intimidating best friend, looks back and gives her a subtle wave and tight-lipped smile. it only upsets her more.

you never say it, but she knows you'll end up in her car tomorrow, bouncing on her lap again. and the day after that and the day after that. so for now, she'll just have to replay the vivid memory of you in her head, wishing she could be so much more to you.

#santana lopez #santana lopez x reader #santana lopez x fem!reader #santana lopez x you #glee #glee x reader #glee santana #wlw #wlw smut #x fem!reader #lesbian

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nickeverdeen · 5 hours ago

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Under the Mask | Spider-Man!Vi x fem!reader

Pairings: Vi x reader (romantic)

Type of fic: Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Wounds, you’re a bit toxic at one point

Summary: Vi never told you her hero identity and the way you find out was unfortunately not ideal for either of you.

——————————

The day was unusually quiet. You had called in sick, your body begging for rest after weeks of nonstop work. Wrapped in a cozy blanket, you were curled up on the couch, half-watching some random show while sipping on tea. But the buzz on your phone drew your attention to the news—another classic Spider-Man sighting, this time during some wild rooftop chase.

You glanced at the clock. Vi should have been home by now, but you didn’t think much of it. You trusted her to let you know if anything came up. Still, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder when she’d walk through the door.

It wasn’t long before you heard the unmistakable creak of the front door opening. “Vi?” you called out weakly.

“Hey,” her voice came, a little winded but casual. “Just give me a sec!”

You frowned, shifting on the couch. Something about her tone felt…off. Before you could think too much, you heard the shuffle of her boots against the floor and the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut.

Curiosity piqued, you stood and padded down the hall. As you approached, you heard faint muttering and the rustling of fabric. You gently pushed the door open—and froze.

Vi was standing in front of the mirror, half out of a torn Spider-Man suit, her back turned to you. Her signature undercut was damp with sweat, and faint bruises already marred her toned arms.

“Vi?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

She whipped around, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “Shit!” she cursed, instinctively covering herself with the mask she’d been holding. “I—I can explain.”

But your gaze dropped to her exposed side, where a nasty gash bled through the fabric. “You’re hurt,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Vi stiffened, her lips parting as if to protest, but you were already reaching for her arm. “Sit,” you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated, glancing at the torn suit in her hands, then back at you. “Listen, I—”

“Sit down, Vi,” you repeated, guiding her to the edge of the bathtub.

The silence was thick as you carefully peeled the rest of the suit off her, trying not to wince at the various cuts and bruises littering her body. She flinched once or twice, muttering apologies, but you didn’t respond. Your focus was on cleaning and dressing her wounds, even as your thoughts raced.

Once you were done, Vi let out a low sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ll…take a shower. You probably have questions.”

“Yeah,” you replied, standing and crossing your arms. “I do.”

She looked at you for a moment, guilt written all over her face, before nodding and stepping into the shower.

While the water ran, you busied yourself stitching up her suit. Your hands moved on autopilot, the familiar motion calming you slightly. But the emotions bubbling under the surface—worry, frustration, hurt—remained unresolved.

When Vi emerged, her hair damp and clad in a hoodie and sweats, you gestured for her to sit on the couch. She obeyed, her shoulders tense.

“Vi,” you began, sitting beside her, “how long?”

She winced, avoiding your gaze. “A while.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger,” she said quietly. “The less you knew, the safer you’d be.”

You let out a sharp breath, leaning forward to press your hands against your face. “I get that, Vi. I really do. But do you know what it feels like to see you come home like this? To find out like this?”

Her hand hesitantly touched your arm. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was going to tell you, I swear.”

You shook your head, lowering your hands to meet her gaze. “You should’ve trusted me.”

“I do,” she said firmly, taking your hands in hers. “I do trust you. I just—” She broke off, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your resolve softened slightly at her vulnerability, but the worry still gnawed at you. “You could’ve died today, Vi. And I wouldn’t have even known why.”

“I know,” she whispered, pulling you into her lap. You let her, burying your face in her neck as her arms wrapped around you. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise.”

You stayed like that for a while, the weight of the day settling between you. Despite everything, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t letting her do this alone anymore.

#imagine #vi x reader #arcane vi #vi x you #vi x y/n #vi x fem reader #wlw #arcane

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 1 day ago

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Checkmate: Book 3 of 3 BTR Series: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 11: Cal pt. 2

Meanwhile in an undisclosed location..

Valerie pressed the cold rag against Rhea’s burning forehead, her own hands trembling as she tried to keep her breathing steady. The fever had worsened over the past few hours, Rhea’s body convulsing in fits of shivering, her skin clammy and unnaturally pale. Valerie knew what was happening—toxic shock syndrome. The infection was taking hold, and if they didn’t act fast, Rhea wouldn’t make it through the night.

“Stay with me, Mamba,” Valerie murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from Rhea’s face. “You gotta hold on.”

Rhea’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her body trapped between fevered delirium and painful consciousness. She twitched, her fingers curling weakly against the sweat-soaked sheets beneath her.

Valerie bit her lip, her mind racing. They were running out of time. The man who took Rhea hadn’t exactly been kind—no proper medical treatment, barely enough water, and whatever wounds she’d sustained had clearly turned septic. Valerie had seen this before. She knew where it led.

The door creaked open, and Valerie tensed as a shadow entered the dimly lit room.

“What’s her condition?” The voice was deep, clipped, void of emotion.

Valerie didn’t bother looking up as she wrung out the rag and placed it back on Rhea’s forehead. “She’s dying.”

A pause. Then, a slow exhale. “Fix her.”

Valerie’s eyes snapped up, a glare cutting through the dim light. “She needs a hospital, antibiotics—actual medical care, not me dabbing her with a fucking wet cloth.”

The man—tall, broad, face obscured by the darkness—stepped closer. “That’s not an option.”

“She won’t last another twelve hours like this,” Valerie shot back. “You need her alive, don’t you? Then let me do my job.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, the man sighed. “What do you need?”

Valerie clenched her jaw. “IV fluids, antibiotics, something to control the fever. And I need her moved somewhere cleaner—this place is a breeding ground for infection.”

The man was quiet for a moment before turning toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As he left, Valerie let out a slow breath, her hands trembling as she turned back to Rhea.

“Just hold on,” she whispered, gripping Rhea’s hand. “Dustin will be back with everything.”

After some time, Dustin stood in the doorway, his presence looming as he tossed the supplies onto the small table beside Valerie. IV bags, a vial of antibiotics, syringes—enough to keep Rhea from slipping further into the abyss. He watched as Valerie immediately got to work, her hands moving with practiced precision as she prepped an IV line.

“I should’ve let her die,” Dustin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

Valerie’s hands paused for the briefest moment before she turned to face him. “This shit is getting—”

Before she could finish, Dustin moved. His hand shot out, gripping her hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Think long and hard about what you’re about to say,” he warned, voice dangerously low.

Valerie swallowed hard, but her gaze didn’t waver. Her scalp burned from his grip, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, she let out a slow breath and spoke evenly.

“Let me work on her.”

Dustin held her there for a second longer before releasing her, watching as she stumbled slightly before regaining her composure. She turned back to Rhea, rolling up the sleeves of her sweat-soaked shirt as she inserted the IV catheter into Rhea’s arm.

As the saline began to drip, Valerie murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

“You’re not dying today, Mamba.”

Dustin lingered for a moment before stepping back, his eyes flicking between Rhea’s pale face and Valerie’s determined one. Then, without another word, he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

After a few hours, Valerie exited the room after she managed to finally get Rhea’s fever down. She took one last look at Rhea, letting out a quiet sigh before stepping out and shutting the door behind her. She climbed the stairs with heavy steps, her mind racing, before finally reaching the surveillance room where Dustin sat, his eyes glued to the monitors.

“How long is your revenge going to take?” Valerie asked, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe.

Dustin didn’t look away from the screen, his expression indifferent. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft for The Black Mamba.”

Valerie’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Dustin let out a sharp chuckle, finally turning his head to look at her. “You should’ve thought of that before you approached me at Demetri’s funeral.”

At the mention of her ex-boyfriend’s name, Valerie flinched. Her eyes darkened, but she pushed forward. “There’s no use anymore! We could just put her in the van and drive back to Stamford.”

Dustin threw his head back in laughter. “That would be the day, huh?”

Valerie’s patience snapped. “We’ve done all we said we would do! For God’s sake, Dustin, her fingernails are gone! She’s bandaged up like a damn hospital patient! She is not The Black Mamba anymore!”

Dustin’s smirk wavered, but he stayed silent.

Valerie pointed at the screen, her voice rising. “That is not a trained assassin anymore! That’s a broken woman who probably doesn’t even have the strength to fight back. So tell me, Dustin, what more do you want?”

Dustin leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the desk. “You don’t get it, do you?” He nodded toward the monitor. “She doesn’t have to look like The Black Mamba anymore. She just has to be her. And if you think that part of her is gone, you’re dead wrong.”

Valerie shook her head in frustration. “This isn’t revenge anymore, this is torture. And I won’t be a part of it.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes at her, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Then I suggest you tread carefully, Valerie. Because walking away? That’s not an option.”

—

June 14th, 2025

Rhea rubbed cocoa butter over her large tummy, her fingers gliding gently over the stretched skin. A small smile played on her lips as she felt a strong kick from inside.

“Jeyson, stop superkicking me,” she murmured, shaking her head as another nudge followed.

She washed her hands and exited the bathroom, stepping into the dimly lit bedroom. Jey was already in bed, leaning against the headboard, his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he watched her with an easy smirk.

He clapped his hands together. “Get your sexy self in this bed now.”

Rhea rolled her eyes but obeyed, making her way over with exaggerated slowness. As she climbed in, Jey reached out, running his fingers along the side of her belly before resting his palm against it.

“Did I ever tell you how complete you look?” he asked softly.

Rhea snorted. “Completely overweight?”

Jey made a tsk sound and shook his head. “Nah, Mami… completely beautiful.”

His voice was full of sincerity, and Rhea felt her chest tighten. Pregnancy had made her self-conscious, but with Jey, she never felt anything less than adored.

She sighed as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her stomach. “You always know what to say.”

Jey smirked, looking up at her. “That’s ‘cause I mean it.”

She ran her fingers through his short curls, relaxing into the warmth of his body beside her. The kicks inside her softened, as if Jeyson knew he was safe too.

“How about me and you tomorrow before the party, we go and pick out Jeyce’s birthday gift?” Jey suggested, his voice filled with that playful tone that always made Rhea smile.

Rhea frowned a bit. “Baby, I already picked it out for him,” she replied, her words slightly casual, as if she hadn’t even realized Jey was going to suggest going together.

Jey’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. “Baby!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t even give me a chance to be part of the fun!”

Rhea tossed him an apologetic smile, before kissing him softly on the forehead “Well, you didn’t answer the phone, and it was the last one. So, I went ahead and grabbed it.”

Jey pouted. “What did you get him then?”

Rhea smirked and proudly said, “I bought him an all-black record player with the vinyl Louder Than Bombs.” She added, “Don’t worry, I put ‘From Bonus Mommy and Daddy’ on the gift tag.”

Jey’s expression shifted from playful to confused. “Louder Than Bombs?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that vinyl?”

Rhea’s lips curled into a smile, “It’s an album by The Smiths.”

Jey’s confusion deepened. “The Smiths?” he repeated, sounding incredulous. “What’s so great about a band from the ‘80s? That’s way before Jeyce was even born!”

Rhea chuckled softly. “I know, it’s an old band. But the thing is, Jeyce has been spending a lot of time with Demi lately, and he’s gotten into them. There’s just something about the way their music resonates. It’s soft, melancholic, and honest—just like Jeyce in a lot of ways.”

Jey tilted his head slightly, trying to understand. “So you’re telling me you bought him a vinyl from a band that’s not even around anymore, and it’s because of Demi?”

Rhea nodded, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of affection and understanding. “Yeah. Jeyce has been going through a lot lately, and I think The Smiths speak to him in a way that most music doesn’t. It’s not about being modern; it’s about the depth in their lyrics, the way they capture the complexities of life.”

Jey’s gaze softened as he processed her words. “I guess I never really understood why people like The Smiths. I’ve heard their songs before, but I didn’t get it.”

Rhea reached for Jey’s hand, holding it gently in hers. “It’s not just about the music, Jey. It’s about connection. The way we connect with things that speak to us—whether it’s music, people, or something deeper. Jeyce sees something in their lyrics, something he can relate to. It’s not about the time or era; it’s about finding something that speaks to who you are in the moment.”

Jey stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “So it’s more than just some vinyl. It’s about you understanding where Jeyce is at and showing him you get him, even if it’s through an old record.”

“Exactly,” Rhea replied softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Jey nodded slowly, finally understanding the thoughtfulness behind the gift. “You always know how to give gifts with meaning, don’t you?”

Rhea smiled, shrugging slightly. “I just want to make sure he knows we’re thinking about him, no matter how old he gets.”

Jey leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her stomach. “Well, I might not have understood the whole thing at first, but I get it now. And I’m proud of you for thinking about him the way you do.”

Rhea laughed softly. “It’s not about being proud, babe. It’s about being there for him when he needs us the most. And for now, music is his way of expressing it all.”

Jey wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Well, we’ll make sure he knows how much we love him—through vinyl and everything else.”

—

The next day, Jey and Rhea arrived at Sabrina’s Sweet Tooth, a cozy little bakery known for its irresistible treats. Rhea couldn’t help but smile as she stepped inside, the sweet smell of freshly baked goods wrapping around her like a warm hug. She approached the counter, looking at the young cashier with a pleasant smile.

“I’m here for a birthday cake,” Rhea said. “Should be under Fatu.”

The cashier nodded, gesturing toward the back of the shop. “I’ll grab it for you right away.”

As Rhea waited, she glanced around the bakery. But when she turned to look at Jey, he wasn’t standing beside her. Instead, he was bent slightly forward, his face inches from the display case. His eyes were locked onto something inside with a look of sheer wonder.

Rhea raised an eyebrow, amused. “Baby… what are you doing?” she asked, her voice playful as she walked up to him.

Jey didn’t even glance over at her at first. “It looks so good,” he murmured, clearly mesmerized by what he was staring at.

Rhea followed his gaze and soon found herself looking at a towering mountain of Oreo and chocolate chip cookie brownies. The perfect marriage of two decadent treats—brownies and cookies, piled high into what could only be described as heaven on a platter. The Brookie, as some people called it, was impossible to resist.

Rhea chuckled softly. “Which one, babe?” she teased, already knowing the answer.

Jey’s eyes stayed glued to the dessert, and with a small grin, he pointed toward the platter. “That glorious thing right there.”

Rhea tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “That one?” she asked, still teasing.

Jey turned to her then, his expression breaking into a wide grin. “I want the whole platter.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

Jey didn’t flinch. “I’m serious.”

Rhea sighed in mock exasperation, shaking her head with a smile. “You really want that much?”

Jey’s grin only widened. “Why not? It’s a birthday celebration. We’re treating ourselves.”

Before Rhea could respond, the cashier returned with the cake, just as she ordered. Rhea took the cake with a smile, but she was still eyeing the Brookie as she set it on the counter.

The cashier, noticing their interest, said brightly, “The Brookies are buy one, get one free today!”

Jey’s eyes lit up. “I’ll take the whole platter, please,” he said eagerly.

The cashier smiled and moved quickly to grab the entire platter of the decadent brownies, carefully packaging them up and totaling everything. Rhea couldn’t help but laugh, watching Jey’s excitement as he stood there, practically bouncing with anticipation.

She paid for the cake and the Brookies, amused by how quickly Jey had decided to indulge in the sweet treat. As the cashier handed them the packaged desserts, Jey grabbed them with both hands, his eyes practically glowing with happiness.

As they made their way out of the bakery, Jey grinned, glancing over at Rhea. “I can’t believe you let me get the whole platter,” she said, still surprised at his bold choice.

Jey shrugged playfully, his voice full of contentment. “I am content with life right now, Mami,” he said, holding the large platter close. “What’s better than cake, cookies, and spending the day with you?”

Rhea laughed, shaking her head at him, but her heart swelled with affection. There was something about Jey’s unapologetic joy that always managed to make her feel lighthearted. “You’re impossible,” she teased.

They made their way to the car, and Jey placed the cake and Brookies carefully in the backseat. As Rhea began to open the passenger door of the Tahoe, she hesitated for a moment, feeling the strain of her late trimester taking a toll on her body. Jey immediately noticed, his eyes softening with concern.

He quickly moved to her side and gently helped her into the seat, supporting her with his steady hands. “Got you, Mami,” he murmured softly.

Rhea smiled gratefully, leaning into him as he closed the door behind her. “Thanks, babe,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Jey gave her a wink as he made his way to the driver’s side. “Well, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

As he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at Rhea, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of her, even more beautiful in her pregnant glow. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Jeyce’s face when he opened his presents later, but for now, he was content to just be with Rhea. The road ahead was full of surprises, but with her by his side, Jey felt like nothing could stop them.

Rhea leaned back in her seat, feeling the weight of the day’s sweetness, both from the desserts and from being with Jey. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the calm, knowing that, in this moment, everything was going great.

—

The song ‘I Love You For All The Seasons’ by The Fuzz played in the backyard as it remained alive with laughter, chaos, and the unmistakable aftermath of a sugar rush. Jeyce and Demi bounced around like wild animals, their energy seemingly endless as they ran circles around the patio furniture, the effects of the Brookies hitting them in full force. Their giggles filled the warm air, making it clear they had no plans of calming down anytime soon.

Meanwhile, Jaciyah and his girlfriend, Daya, sat comfortably on the couch inside, lazily stroking Rhea’s fluffy guinea pig, Bartholomew. The tiny creature twitched its nose as Jaciyah ran a finger over its soft fur, while Daya rested her chin on her hand, watching the interaction.

On the patio, Jey stood by the grill, flipping the burgers with practiced ease. The scent of sizzling meat filled the air, mingling with the faint traces of chlorine from the half-constructed pool in the backyard. The ground was still a mess, dirt and gravel scattered across the yard, but Jey hadn’t let that stop him from throwing a proper barbecue. His patio was untouched by the renovations, and that was all he needed.

Beside him, their dogs Barry and Bella stood alert, their eyes locked onto the grill, tails wagging in anticipation.

Inside, Rhea held the bowl of seasoned steaks, waiting for Jey to be ready for the next batch of meat. However, as she took a step forward, a sudden sharp kick from Jeyson made her freeze. The unexpected pressure knocked the wind out of her, forcing her to clutch the edge of the counter.

She set the bowl down quickly, sucking in a slow breath as another strong kick followed.

Daya, who had been casually watching her from the couch, straightened up, concern flashing across her face. “Mrs. Fatu, are you okay?” she asked, her voice edged with worry.

Rhea groaned quietly, one hand pressing against her belly as she tried to breathe through the discomfort. “I’m fine,” she reassured her, though her voice was strained. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head as she gently rubbed her stomach. “Just baby Jeyson thinking it’s okay to kick the hell out of me.”

Daya gave her a knowing smile. “Sounds like he’s already trying to be a little wrestler like his dad.”

Rhea huffed a small laugh, still massaging the spot where her son had just launched his assault. “Yeah, well, he better save those superkicks for when he’s actually out in the world.”

Jaciyah chuckled from the couch. “Better hope he doesn’t come out putting people in the Uso Splash straight out the womb.”

Rhea rolled her eyes but smiled, finally straightening up. “If he does, I’m sending him straight to his father.”

She grabbed the bowl again, heading toward the patio door where Jey was still focused on the grill. As she stepped outside, she caught him in the middle of a conversation with Barry and Bella, who were both staring at him like they were deeply invested in whatever he was saying.

“No, y’all ain’t gettin’ none,” Jey was saying, pointing the tongs at the dogs as if they could understand him. “Don’t even try it.”

Rhea smirked as she set the bowl down next to him. “Babe, you know they’re not gonna listen, right?”

Jey turned toward her, eyes scanning her face with slight concern. “You good, baby?” he asked, catching the way she was still lightly holding her stomach.

Rhea nodded. “Yeah, just your son reminding me he’s in there training for his first WrestleMania.”

Jey laughed, flipping another steak. “That’s my boy.”

Rhea shook her head, smiling as she leaned against the counter, watching as their family and friends enjoyed the day. Despite the chaos, the half-finished yard, and the sugar-fueled madness, everything was nice.

Jeyce and Demi came running up to them, practically vibrating with excitement. Their eyes were wide, their movements erratic—the clear signs of a sugar rush in full effect.

Jeyce grabbed onto Rhea’s arm, practically bouncing in place. “Rhea! Can I cut my cake?!” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Jey, standing beside the grill, gave his son a pointed look. “Don’t even try it, lil’ man,” he warned. “You haven’t even had your food yet.”

Jeyce groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “But you gave us the Brookies!”

Jey narrowed his eyes. “I gave you each one Brookie. Just one.”

Rhea, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, turned to her husband, her brow lifting slightly. “You gave them one?”

Jey looked at her suspiciously, picking up on the shift in her tone. “Yeah… one.” His gaze sharpened as he studied her face. “Don’t tell me you gave them more than one?”

Rhea pressed her lips together, her silence saying everything.

Jey’s jaw dropped. “Baby!”

Rhea shrugged, feigning innocence. “They looked so happy,” she defended. “And they asked so nicely.”

Jeyce and Demi took that as their cue to bolt, giggling as they ran into the house before Jey could lecture them further.

Jey sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “See? This is why they’re bouncin’ off the damn walls!”

Rhea chuckled, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Relax, baby. It’s a party. Let them have fun.”

Jey exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, when they throw up from all the sugar, you clean it.”

Rhea smirked. “Deal.”

Jey shook his head again, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. This was his life, just like he wanted.

“UNCLE JON!”

Jey and Rhea turned their heads as Jeyce pulled his girlfriend, Demi, by the hand, both rushing toward the front door. Excitement radiated off Jeyce as he sprinted ahead, nearly knocking over a side table in his eagerness.

Inside, Jon and Trinity had just stepped in, pushing a sleek black double stroller where their twin baby boys, Jarrell and Judah, were comfortably nestled. The moment Jeyce spotted them, he wasted no time launching himself at Jon, wrapping his arms around his uncle in a tight hug.

“Hey, nephew!” Jon laughed, nearly stumbling back from the impact before returning the hug.

Rhea smiled at the sight and patted Jey’s arm. “I’ll go greet them, baby.”

Jey leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Go ahead, mama.”

He watched her as she walked toward the family, her pregnancy giving her an even more radiant glow. Jey let out a small breath, shaking his head with a smirk before turning his focus back to the grill. He flipped the burgers, setting them aside on a tray, then reached for the seasoned steaks, carefully placing them over the open flame. The air filled with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat.

Just as he settled into his rhythm, the patio door slid open, and Jey didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“What up, Uce?” Jon’s familiar voice greeted him as he stepped outside.

Jey smirked, grabbing the tongs. “Ain’t nothin’ much, just tryin’ to keep the peace before these kids burn my damn house down.”

Jon let out a deep chuckle, glancing toward the house where Jeyce and Demi were now chatting with Trinity. “Yeah, I saw Jeyce runnin’ on a sugar rush. Y’all let them loose on the sweets?”

Jey sighed, shaking his head. “Man, I gave ‘em one Brookie. Just one.” He turned his head and shot Jon an exasperated look. “Rhea? She prolly’ gave them three each.”

Jon let out a loud laugh, clapping Jey on the back. “Damn, Uce. You losin’ control of your own house.”

Jey scoffed, flipping a steak. “Man, don’t remind me. She always settin’ me up, then lookin’ at me all innocent like she ain’t just turn these kids into straight-up maniacs.”

Jon grinned, cracking open a beer and leaning against the railing. “That’s what happens when you marry a mastermind.”

Jey smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s my mastermind.”

Jon took a sip of his beer, his expression shifting slightly. “How she doin’, though? For real.”

Jey’s movements slowed for a second before he sighed. “She good. Just tired. This pregnancy hittin’ her harder than she lets on.”

Jon nodded, watching the grill. “You makin’ sure she takin’ it easy?”

Jey let out a dry laugh. “Tryin’ to. But you know Rhea. Telling her to rest is like tellin’ the sun not to shine.”

Jon smirked. “Yeah, well, she’s definitely one of us.”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head. “No doubt.”

Jon took another sip, then nodded toward the driveway. “Ma and Pops land yet?”

Jey flipped the last steak, watching the juices sizzle. “Yeah, they should be pullin’ up soon in a few minutes.”

Jon let out a low whistle. “Damn. Whole squad in one place.”

Jey smirked, tapping the tongs against the grill. “Ain’t nothin’ more important than family, Uce.”

Jon clinked his beer against Jey’s tongs. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“UNCLE OOOH AHH!”

Jey and Jon turned toward the front door as Joe stepped inside, his booming presence filling the room. His wife, Galina, walked in beside him, her warm smile already set on Rhea.

“Look at you,” Galina said, pulling Rhea into a gentle embrace. “You are glowing.”

Rhea chuckled, rubbing her belly. “You’re like the third person to say that today.”

Joe, meanwhile, scooped Jeyce into a bear hug. “Damn, nephew! You gettin’ big on me.”

Jeyce grinned. “I been eatin’ good, Uncle Joe!”

Joe ruffled his hair. “I bet. With your pops on the grill, y’all probably eatin’ better than me.” Galina gave her husband of ten years a playful smack on the his arm.

After giving Rhea a quick hug, Joe crossed the living room, heading for the backyard where Jey and Jon were manning the grill. As soon as he stepped outside, he took a deep breath, nodding in approval at the scent of seared seasoned meat.

“Aight, who’s on the grill?”

Jey smirked. “Who you think?”

Joe let out a deep chuckle, pulling both of his cousins into a quick, brotherly hug. “Man, it’s good to see y’all.”

Jon clapped Joe on the back. “Same, Uce. You know it ain’t a real cookout ‘til you show up.”

Joe grabbed a beer from the cooler before leaning against the patio railing. His eyes drifted toward the house, where Rhea was now sitting on the couch, her hand resting on her belly as Galina and Trinity talked around her.

“Yo,” Joe said, nudging Jey. “Your woman looks like she’s about to pop.”

Jey let out a short laugh, flipping the steaks. “Due date’s mid-August.”

Joe took a sip of his beer. “Damn, you ready for that?”

Jey exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the house before turning back to the grill. “Yeah. But I ain’t gonna lie, this pregnancy been different.”

Joe smirked. “She hit the I hate you phase yet?”

Jon let out a loud laugh as Jey shook his head. “Bruh…” Jey ran a hand down his face. “I accidentally ate one of her ice cream sandwiches, and I swear to God, it was like I started World War III.”

Joe nearly spit out his drink. “Oh, hell no.”

Jon was still laughing. “She probably looked at you like you committed a crime.”

Jey gave him a deadpan look. “She did, Uce. I ain’t never seen her so mad in my life. Talkin’ ‘bout how could you do this to me? Like I just betrayed the whole family.”

Joe was doubled over laughing now. “Yo, you never mess with a pregnant woman’s cravings, man. That’s a death wish.”

Jey sighed, flipping the last steak. “Trust me, I learned my lesson.”

Joe took another sip of his beer, shaking his head. “Man… fatherhood looks real good on you.”

Jey looked at him for a moment before smirking. “Yeah… it feels real good too.”

Joe took another swig of his beer, glancing around at the massive pile of dirt and construction materials in the backyard. “So, I don’t mean to be curious, but why the hell is your backyard gone?”

Jey let out a laugh, shaking his head as he flipped the last steak. “Man, ever since Rhea got her little inheritance, all she wanna do is spend. This woman wants a pool now.”

Joe smirked. “Shit, at least she’s giving back.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “Hell yeah, man. ‘Cause I’m takin’ off all these days to be with the boys and Trin’, and she got me doing seminars and meet-and-greets for her charity foundation. If anything, Rhea is helping us stay afloat.”

Joe chuckled. “Yeah, man. Ever since I stepped back from wrestling for a bit, she got me doing the same thing in Florida. I’ve been workin’ with her on some shit down there, helping set up events. Rhea’s helping the family more than you think.”

Jey looked toward the house, his expression softening. Through the patio doors, he could see Rhea sitting on the couch, laughing as Jaciyah excitedly showed off the guinea pig to Galina and Trinity. The warmth in her face, the way her body instinctively cradled their unborn son—it filled his chest with something deeper than love.

Still watching her, Jey’s voice grew quiet. “Thank you for saving her that day.”

Jon glanced at his twin, reading the weight behind his words. He knew exactly what Jey was talking about—Orlando. The blood transfusion. The day everything nearly slipped away.

Jon exhaled, rubbing his chin before responding. “Anytime, Uce.” He patted Jey’s shoulder, his voice steady. “She family for real. Not just ‘cause she carryin’ our blood now, but… somethin’ deeper than that.”

Jey nodded, swallowing back the emotion creeping up his throat. “Yeah… deeper than that.”

Jey continued, “But shit y’all I don’t mean to brag but you know she about to be in Forbes?”

Joe nearly choked on his beer. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Jey smirked, flipping a steak and nodding. “Forreal. They called her this past week, they wanna do a special edition.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “What they finna call that?”

Jey grinned, pride clear in his voice. “‘First & Only Female Billionaire of Sports Entertainment.’”

Joe let out a low whistle. “Damn. I thought she inherited nine-fifty?”

Jey nodded. “She flipped it. Now she got more than a billion, dude. I tell you, man… she is set.”

Joe leaned against the grill, smirking. “I like how you said she instead of we.”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s her money. I like what she’s doin’ with it. Shit… to be honest, money never really changed her.”

Joe grinned. “That’s good! That means the man who gave her that money knew what he was doing.”

Jey’s jaw tightened at that. His hands clenched briefly on the tongs before he relaxed. “Yeah… that fucker.”

Jon glanced at him, sensing the shift in mood. “Aye, man. He made sure Rhea was good before he bit the dust. Be thankful for that.”

Jey exhaled slowly, nodding. He didn’t want to be thankful—not to Morris. The mere mention of him annoyed the hell out of Jey. But still… he had to admit, the man secured Rhea’s future.

Before he could dwell on it too much, Joe perked up, his ears catching a familiar sound. “I think I hear that laugh.”

Jey and Jon turned toward the house and saw their father, Solofa, standing in the doorway, his deep laughter echoing as he hugged Jeyce. Beside him, their mother, Talisua, held Jeyce’s face in her hands, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Then Jey watched as Solofa wrapped Rhea in a big hug, his strong arms pulling her in like she was his own daughter. Rhea melted into the embrace, and Jey couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

And just when he thought the house was already full, their younger brother Joseph strolled in, his arm wrapped around his wife Almia.

Jon grinned. “Shit, we got the whole damn family here now.”

Solofa opened the patio door, taking in the sight of his sons gathered around the grill. A warm smile stretched across his face. “Mālō le soifua, boys,” he greeted before pulling all four of them into a tight hug.

Joseph dapped up his two older brothers before turning to their cousin. “Joe, what’s good, Uce?”

Joe grinned, slapping Joseph’s back. “Man, just chillin’. You know how it is.”

Solofa, ever observant, glanced past them and raised an eyebrow. “Son… why the hell is there a big hole the size of my ass in the ground?”

Jey, Jon, and Joseph burst into laughter.

Jey wiped a tear from his eye. “Rhea wanted a pool, so… we’re getting a pool, Dad.”

Solofa shook his head, chuckling. “I might just have to sell my properties in Florida and move here.”

Jey scoffed, flipping a steak. “Dad, there is no way.”

Solofa crossed his arms, his smirk growing. “And why not? Me and your mother will have fresh Pani Popo ready for you and Rhea every week.”

Jon raised his hands. “Shit, Pops, come to our crib instead.”

Jey smirked, side-eyeing his brother. “Yeah, Dad, go to the oldest twin by nine minutes.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Man, I knew you were gonna say that.”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Y’all still arguing about nine damn minutes?”

Joseph laughed. “Man, you know they never let that shit go.”

Solofa just smiled, shaking his head as he watched his boys bicker like they were kids again. “Doesn’t matter where we go—y’all all gonna be eating at our table, anyway.”

—

After Jey finished grilling, the scent of seared steak and burgers lingered as everyone gathered around the dining table. Laughter and conversation flowed freely, the atmosphere thick with the kind of love and comfort that only family could bring. Plates clinked, utensils scraped against dishes, and voices overlapped in easy rhythm, filling the house with a joyful hum.

Jey leaned back in his chair, his arm draped over Rhea’s shoulders, watching the scene unfold with quiet pride. This was what he had always wanted—a full house, family surrounding them, happiness radiating from every corner.

Rhea, cradling her growing belly, let out a soft chuckle as she watched Jaciyah and Daya sneak extra fries from each other’s plates. Across from them, Jon was bouncing one of his twin boys on his knee while Trinity wiped drool off the other twin’s chubby cheek. Joe and Galina were deep in conversation with Solofa and Talisua, reminiscing about old stories from Solofa’s time in the business. Even Joseph and Almia, usually more reserved, were fully engaged, laughing as Jeyce sat next to Demi, he animatedly retold some wild tale from school.

Jey let the moment sink in before clapping his hands together. “Alright, y’all, time for the main event.”

Jeyce’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with anticipation. “The cake?!”

Jey smirked, standing up. “Of course, the cake. You think we’d forget?”

Jeyce practically vibrated with excitement as Jey disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned, carrying the cake carefully in both hands. Gasps and murmurs of appreciation spread around the room as everyone caught sight of it.

It was a masterpiece—a cake designed to look like a stack of vinyl records, each layer crafted with meticulous detail to resemble Jeyce’s favorite albums. At the very top, Chewbacca stood proudly, holding a miniature version of The Smiths’ album cover. It was the perfect blend of his two greatest loves, Star Wars and The Smiths, and Jeyce’s eyes shone with disbelief.

“Yo, that’s so sick!” Jeyce gasped, practically bouncing on his feet.

Jey chuckled as he grabbed a candle, carefully pressing it into the cake before lighting it. The small flame flickered, casting a warm glow over his son’s beaming face.

Stepping back, Jey slid his arm around Rhea’s waist, pulling her close. She leaned into him, her own smile soft and full of love as she watched their son soak in the moment.

“Alright, everyone,” Jey said, his voice warm and full of pride. “Let’s do this.”

As the first notes of Happy Birthday rang out, voices filled the room, rising together in perfect harmony.

“Happy birthday to you…”

—

Present

Jey lunged forward, his entire body coiled with rage, ready to tear Brent apart. But Cal intercepted, gripping Jey’s arm with unyielding strength.

“Let me go!” Jey snarled, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Cal didn’t move. “He has information.”

Jey’s nostrils flared. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. “What fucking information?”

Cal turned to Brent, who refused to meet Jey’s eyes. Instead, Brent’s head hung low, shame carving deep lines into his face.

“Tell him,” Cal demanded.

Brent exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he was about to say. “They’re dead… the other two that helped me.”

Jey didn’t flinch. “I don’t give a fuck about them. Where is Rhea?”

Brent hesitated before shaking his head. “I—I don’t know. That wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan.”

Jey’s patience snapped. “What the fuck was the initial plan, then?”

Brent’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to say this.”

Cal picked up the cattle rod from the nearby table, the metal humming as he clicked it on. “You’re going to tell him.”

Brent’s eyes widened, his body stiffening. He licked his lips nervously before blurting out, “It was just supposed to be revenge! That’s all!”

Jey’s jaw tightened. “Revenge? On who?”

Brent exhaled sharply. “Adam. He was supposed to get back at Matthew, but Adam disappeared. Went into hiding. So Matthew took it upon himself.”

Jey’s stomach twisted at the name. “Matt? Rhea’s ex-husband?”

Brent nodded, guilt etched deep into his expression. “Matthew befriended Rhea at the gym on purpose. He was under the illusion that she stole Adam’s share of the money from her sale, and he wanted it back. He was only supposed to get close to her until he found the money.”

Jey’s heart pounded against his ribcage. “But what happened?”

Brent hesitated before continuing. “Matthew fell in love with Rhea. He stopped answering our calls. We didn’t hear from him for a while, but then, in February 2023, he came back to me, Adam, and Thomas. He told us someone sent him a picture of Rhea coming out of some wrestler’s hotel room… and from then on, Matthew changed the plan.”

Jey’s blood ran cold. He knew exactly whose hotel room Rhea had been in. His.

Jey’s voice was low and dangerous. “What plan?”

Brent’s fingers twitched as he rubbed his palms together. “Matthew decided he would marry her. Wait until she confessed the affair. And then…”

Jey stepped closer, his body radiating fury. “Then what?”

Brent’s lips parted, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

“Go on!” Jey barked.

Brent flinched. “Then… then he was going to end her life.”

The air in the room turned suffocating. Jey felt like the floor beneath him had given way, like the walls were closing in, but his rage anchored him. His fists trembled, his entire body vibrating with barely contained fury.

He forced himself to breathe through his nose, his mind racing.

“Just to be sure,” Jey said, his voice rough. “February 2023?”

Brent nodded. “Yeah… February 2023.”

Jey’s heart slammed against his ribs. That was the month their affair started. The month Rhea had chosen him over everything else.

His throat tightened, but he pushed forward. “So what was the end goal?”

Brent exhaled slowly, his face haunted. “We were going to eliminate Rhea and then go after Morris.”

Jey’s brow furrowed. “Morris? What the fuck does he have to do with this?”

Brent hesitated before speaking. “Well Matt knew of Morris and Morris knew of Matt.”

Jey’s head spun. Pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even know existed were falling into place. The inheritance. The power struggle. The threats that never made sense before.

His grip on his fury wavered as the realization hit him like a truck.

This wasn’t just about money. This wasn’t just about revenge.

This was about control. About legacy. About something much bigger than he’d ever imagined.

And Rhea… Rhea was at the center of it all.

Jey looked at Cal, “Just one more question.. who is this other man?”

28 notes · View notes

hoe4hotchner · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 14 - Time to rest

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

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

Word count: 9.0k

Warnings: Mild swearing, medical treatment and injury, hospital, emotional distress, non sexual intimacy

A/N: Soooo this marks the official end…. But I've got an epilogue coming soon. Ahem ahem….. Maybe it will have some spice ;)

Masterlist

The soft hum of music drifted through your apartment, it was a comforting backdrop despite the chaos unfolding within the four walls of your bedroom. Your closet doors were flung open, dresses scattered across your bed as you stood in front of the mirror, clutching a crimson red dress in your hands, the fabric shimmering slightly in the light.

You still didn’t know where Hotch was taking you—only that he’d sent a text earlier instructing you to wear something classy. The vague direction had set your heart racing, but with time slipping away, it made you more and more frantic in your search for the perfect outfit. How classy had he gone for? Where was he taking you?

You exhaled, smoothing the fabric of the dress between your fingers before stepping into it carefully. The material was rich and silky against your skin as you pulled it up, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves into place. It hugged your figure, making you look effortlessly elegant, the deep red striking against your skin.

You turned in the mirror, tilting your head as you inspected yourself. The color was bold, but there was something about it that made you feel powerful—like you were stepping into this date fully in control, no matter how fast your heart was pounding.

Padding over to your vanity, you sat down and reached for your curling iron, wrapping sections of your hair around the barrel with careful not to burn yourself in the process. The scent of hairspray lingered in the air as you worked, soft waves cascading over your shoulders, framing your face. It was only as you reached for your finishing spray that your eyes flickered to the clock on your nightstand—6:52 PM.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, shit—”

The curling iron was abandoned in an instant as you scrambled for your makeup bag, tossing aside its contents until you found your foundation. You worked quickly, blending the product into your skin, moving through your routine with the speed of someone who had gotten ready in a rush far too many times to count. Concealer, powder, a soft blush—each step blurred together in a desperate attempt to beat the ticking clock. Hotch was precise and you knew he would be there at exactly 7:00 PM.

Your eyeliner was the real test, and you forced yourself to slow down just enough to keep your hands steady, dragging the pencil along your lash line in smooth and even strokes. A few coats of mascara followed making your lashes more defined, before you finally reached for the finishing touch—lipstick.

The deep red shade matched your dress perfectly. You had just finished pressing them together when a firm knock echoed through your apartment, the sound sharp.

You froze.

He was here.

Lipstick still clutched in your hand, you remained still at your vanity, staring at your reflection. Your heart pounded against your ribs, excitement and nerves swirling together in a dizzying rush.

You jolted into motion, shoving your lipstick down on the vanity before darting toward your closet.

Heels—heels—where were they?

Your fingers curled around the first pair you could find, slipping them on hurriedly as you steadied yourself, smoothing your dress with one final exhale before making your way to the door.

The moment you swung it open, Hotch’s smile widened—really widened. Not the polite, reserved curve of his lips you might have expected, but something softer, something completely unguarded.

He looked stunning, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his tie a deep navy blue—wait was that a Gucci logo you spotted? You quickly snapped your attention away from his tie again, letting it fall to what he was holding in his hands—a bouquet of soft pink peonies, delicate and full, nestled between his large hands.

“These are for you,” he said, his voice warm as he held them out.

Your heart swelled, excitement bubbling in your chest as you took the bouquet, bringing the flowers up to your nose to breathe in their fresh, floral scent. The petals were plush as they brushed against the tip of your nose, their pale pink hue romantic in a way that made your stomach flutter with the flaps of a million butterfly wings.

“Aaron, they’re beautiful.” You grinned, looking up at him. “Thank you.”

His lips quirked slightly, a trace of something almost shy flickering in his expression before he cleared his throat.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

“Come inside,” you said, stepping aside.

Hotch followed you in, shutting the door behind him as you made your way to the kitchen. You placed the flowers on the counter, quickly pulling open a cabinet in search of a vase big enough to fit the whole bouquet. After a moment, you found one—clear glass, simple and round—before glancing over your shoulder at him.

“How much time do we have before… whatever it is you have planned for us?” you asked with a smile, quirking a brow.

His expression softened as he leaned against the island, watching you. “We have time.”

“Good.”

You grabbed a small knife from the block, carefully trimming each stem at an angle, the soft snipping sound filling the air as you worked. You filled the vase with fresh water, arranging the peonies delicately, adjusting the blossoms until they sat just right, and filled the vase out evenly.

Hotch didn’t say anything.

He just watched.

There was something about the way you moved—so effortlessly feminine, so natural in the way you tended to the flowers. It was such a simple thing, cutting stems, and arranging petals, but it held a kind of beauty to it that he hadn’t expected.

If he’d been the one to receive the flowers, he probably would have just plopped them into a vase of water and called it a day. But you—

You made it look like an artform.

His gaze softened, his chest tightening in a way that was entirely new and yet completely familiar. Something he hadn't felt since—no he didn't want to think about that, not when he was trying to create a new beginning.

As you made the final adjustment to the flowers, letting your fingertips brush over the soft petals one last time, you looked up at Hotch and found his eyes locked on you. His gaze was intense in a way that made warmth creep up your neck, although you could tell he had zoned out a little. The weight of his stare sent a thrill down your spine. A slow smile spread across your lips as you tilted your head slightly.

“You’re staring, Aaron.”

Hotch blinked as if he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He straightened almost imperceptibly, his broad shoulders shifting as his hands twitched at his sides. “I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly before fumbling over his words. “I didn’t mean to— I was just— You looked—” He cleared his throat, visibly flustered, before offering a rushed, “I’m sorry.”

Your smile widened in amusement, and you leaned forward just slightly, resting your fingertips on the counter. “I’m kidding, Aaron.”

The tension in his shoulders immediately eased, and he let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at himself.

“You’re a dangerous woman,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand over the back of his neck as if trying to compose himself.

You bit your lip, amusement dancing in your eyes. “So, where are you taking me?”

Hotch’s lips quirked slightly, and something shifted in his expression. The slight awkwardness from before disappeared, replaced by a sudden air of confidence that sent another shiver of anticipation through you. His dark eyes gleamed with something playful, something smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased, voice dipping into something smooth, before he punctuated the words with a slow wink.

You let out an huffed laugh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Really? You’re gonna be like that?”

His smirk deepened slightly, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, offering his arm like a man straight out of an old-fashioned romance film. “Come on, let’s go then.”

You eyed him for a moment, still amused but undeniably intrigued, before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm.

Stepping outside, the air brushed against your skin, sending a pleasant contrast through you against the warmth buzzing under your skin from Hotch’s presence. His hand hovered near the small of your back, never quite touching but close enough that you could feel the gesture as you turned around to lock your door.

When you reached the passenger side of his car, he moved smoothly ahead of you, reaching for the handle before you could. With a firm but practiced motion, he pulled the door open, stepping aside slightly to let you in.

You arched a brow, lips curving into a teasing smile. “Such a gentleman.”

Hotch met your gaze, something flickering in his eyes. Then, ever so slightly, his smirk returned. “Only for you.”

A warmth spread through your chest at that, and you let yourself hold his gaze for just a moment longer before finally sinking into the passenger seat. As you settled in, Hotch waited, making sure you were comfortable before—without missing a beat—he carefully shut the door.

Through the window, you watched as he moved to the driver’s side, his posture as composed as ever, but there was something in the way his fingers flexed at his sides before he opened his own door—something almost as unsteady as the way your own heart was hammering in your chest.

Hotch carefully backed out of the driveway. The quiet between you was comfortable, the silence didn't need to be filled with words to feel significant and that was something you valued.

The city lights flashed by, casting soft glows through the windows each time you passed a lamppost.

As Hotch navigated the streets, you let your fingers tap lightly against your thigh, the anticipation building within you. You tried not to let it show, but you were curious—where was he taking you? The playful tease from earlier lingered in the air like a promise, and you found yourself wanting to know more.

"So," you said, breaking the silence with a casual tone, though you couldn't hide the glint of curiosity in your eyes. "What kind of date does Aaron Hotchner have in mind for me?"

Hotch's eyes flickered to you for just a moment, a flash of amusement dancing in them at your use of his full name before he returned his attention to the road. "You'll see," his reply was cryptic, his voice smooth, that same confident, effortless demeanor still in place as the day you had first met.

You raised an eyebrow. "You're really not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope," he said with a grin that was barely noticeable but still there. "Not yet."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in mock disbelief. "You're impossible."

The ride was calm, but you could feel the tension between you, feeling the energy that had started to simmer ever since that first gaze across the room while you were arranging flowers. Most of all, you wanted to lean over the center console and kiss him. Wanted to feel the touch of his lips against yours once again, just like yesterday.

A few minutes later, Hotch slowed as the car turned down a narrow street lined with trees. You hadn’t been paying attention to where you were, but you knew that this wasn’t anywhere you’d been before. The area seemed quiet, almost secluded.

"Almost there," he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

Before you could respond, Hotch guided the car into a small parking lot next to a charming little building. It looked like a cozy, tucked-away bistro, it felt timeless, almost out of place in the modern world. A low, warm light spilled from the windows, and the gentle hum of conversation floated and slow music out into the evening as well.

As he parked the car, you couldn’t help but glance around, your eyes wide with surprise. You had no idea he’d chosen such a quiet, intimate spot.

"This is..." You trailed off, searching for the right word. "Unexpected."

Hotch didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he put the car in park, turned to you with that same unreadable look in his eyes, and slowly unbuckled his seatbelt. “I thought it would be nice to get away from the noise for a bit.”

You nodded, your heart skipping a beat as you caught the sincerity in his tone. There was something refreshing about the simplicity of it all, about how he had chosen this place—just the two of you, away from the chaos, somewhere you could be yourselves.

As he opened his door and stepped out, you followed his lead, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Hotch was waiting by your side of the car as you stepped out, his hand hovering just a little too close to your back as you walked toward the entrance.

The hostess inside greeted you instantly with a smile, ushering you to a small, private table tucked in the corner of the restaurant. The dim candlelight flickered on the table, casting soft shadows on the walls, and you couldn’t help but feel like this moment was exactly where you were meant to be like it was always meant to be you and him against the world.

The waiter poured some water for you and handed the both of you a menu, giving you a moment to look over your options. But you didn’t even open yours right away; instead, you watched Hotch, his posture relaxed, it felt like the first time you had seen him this relaxed. There was something magnetic about the way he leaned back in his seat, the dark suit and tie somehow making him seem even more striking.

“You look good,” you murmured, caressing his hand on the table, before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out.

Hotch’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, and for a moment, there was an intensity in his eyes, something more than just the usual steely composure. It was a warmth, an openness that he didn’t let show to just anyone.

“Thanks,” he said softly. His eyes held yours for a moment longer before he glanced down at his menu, breaking the tension between you. "You look incredible, by the way."

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face at his words. It was a simple compliment, but somehow, coming from him, it meant more.

After a few moments of studying the menu, the waiter returned to take your order, and as she walked away, you found yourself once again drawn to the man across the table. The playful teasing from earlier seemed to have settled into something deeper, something more intimate. You felt a sense of calm you hadn’t expected, and it was all because of Hotch.

"So," you started, tilting your head slightly, "tell me something—how do you pick a place like this?"

He chuckled. “I’ve learned that sometimes, the best places aren’t the ones everyone knows about. The quieter ones, the ones that aren’t in the spotlight—those are the ones that feel more personal."

You met his gaze, the weight of his words settling in. Personal. There was something in that, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

"Sounds like you know exactly what you’re doing," you said, your voice softer now, almost like a confession.

Hotch leaned back in his seat slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I try."

There it was again—the same intensity that always lingered when you were around him, the feeling that this date was more than just a night out. It was something more, something that neither of you were quite ready to define yet, but it was there, hanging in the air between you both.

As you both settled into the rhythm of the evening, the faint buzz of the bistro slowly faded into the background, leaving only the soft clink of silverware and the low murmur of your voices. The waiter returned with your drinks, placing them gently on the table before retreating to the shadows, and you both took your time, savoring each sip as the conversation flowed between you effortlessly.

The first course arrived. You both dug in, exchanging comments on the flavors, but it wasn’t just the meal that had your attention. It was the way the flickering candlelight cast a soft glow on Hotch’s face, accentuating the sharpness of his jaw and the warmth in his eyes.

As the evening progressed, the conversation naturally deepened, taking on a more intimate tone. You spoke about everything from childhood memories to moments of vulnerability you'd rarely shared with anyone else. Each word that passed between you felt like a tiny piece of yourself you were handing over, trusting him with it.

The second course followed, and the food became secondary to the space between you two, your gazes lingering longer than they had at first. Hotch’s movements were slow, deliberate, his attention never wavering from you. It was as if, for the first time, you felt how truly present he was, not just physically, but emotionally. He was there, with you, in this moment.

You felt the same pull—drawn in by the way his voice softened when he spoke, the way his lips would curl slightly when he smiled, and how his hands, when they brushed against the edge of his glass or his silverware, always seemed to be just a little too close to yours.

As the evening wore on, the other tables around you slowly emptied. The atmosphere in the bistro shifted from lively to peaceful, the quiet growing around you. The last few customers trickled out, and soon, it was just you and Hotch, alone in the soft glow of candlelight. The waiter had stopped coming by, sensing that the two of you were content to linger.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling the warmth of the wine and the slow burn of the conversation, your eyes studying Hotch more closely now. The way the flicker of the candlelight reflected off the surface of his eyes, making them shimmer with a certain intensity that made your heart stutter. He was magnetic in this light, it made everything feel charged.

Hotch must have noticed your gaze because he shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in question. But when he saw the look on your face—soft, open, and not at all like the guarded, professional he usually saw—he smiled.

"Something on my face?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, yet laced with an undertone that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted to know or not.

You shook your head, unable to keep the smile from playing at the corners of your lips. "No," you said softly, leaning forward slightly, drawn to the way the light caught in his eyes. "It’s just... the way the light is catching your eyes. They’re..." You paused, feeling the warmth flood your chest. "They’re beautiful."

For a moment, Hotch was silent, stunned by your comment. He blinked, his gaze flickering to the candle on the table, then back to you. It was as if he was looking at you in the same way—like he saw something deeper beneath the surface.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, before a soft smile curved your lips again. "I think the light agrees with you," you said, the words slipping out without thinking.

Hotch’s lips parted, and you caught the way his breath hitched slightly, the way his eyes darkened just a fraction. It was the smallest change, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“I think you’re right,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze moved over you with an intensity that made you feel as if he was memorizing every detail of you—the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fluttered as you blinked, the slight rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, letting the candlelight and the quiet of the room fill the space around you. And in that silence, you could feel the pull between you both growing stronger, something so soft and so sensual, the way his eyes never left yours, the way your body seemed to hum with the shared understanding that this night—this moment—wasn’t just about the date anymore. It was about the connection that was blossoming between you both, one glance, one touch at a time.

As the last of the plates were cleared away, you and Hotch lingered over your drinks, the evening winding down, but neither of you was quite ready to call it a night. After a few more moments of easy conversation, Hotch reached for the check. You started to protest, but he held up a hand, his voice gentle but firm.

“I insist,” he said, his smile reassuring yet unyielding. “Let me take care of this.”

You couldn’t help but smile, nodding in acceptance, and watched as he placed his card on the table. The server returned almost immediately, and with a quiet exchange, the transaction was made. Hotch didn’t seem to mind, his demeanor calm and composed, as usual.

Once the bill was settled, he stood and offered his hand to help you from your chair, the gesture as natural as breathing. You took his hand, your fingers fitting perfectly in his as you rose.

The night air greeted you as you stepped out into the cool evening.

It was the perfect night, crisp but not too cold, the sky clear with a scattering of stars. The bistro's warm, glow seemed to fade behind you as you walked side by side, the faint sound of footsteps muffled by the quiet streets.

There was a peacefulness about the night, a tranquility that matched the soft rhythm of your conversation. It felt like time had slowed down, as though the world outside this little moment had ceased to matter.

As you walked, the path took you toward a lake, the water shimmering in the pale moonlight, reflecting the stars in its surface. The air smelled fresh, cool, and earthy, and the only sound was the soft rustling of leaves in the trees around you.

You kept pace with Hotch the best you could in your heels, the comfort of his presence beside you making the peaceful evening feel even more perfect. But soon, you started to notice a chill creeping over you, the air growing cooler as the night deepened. You shivered slightly, the breeze making the thin fabric of your dress feel a little too light for the night.

Hotch, always attentive, noticed your goosebumps immediately. His gaze shifted to you, his expression softening with concern as he saw you rub your bare arms, trying to warm up. Without a word, he slowed his step, reaching up to adjust the lapels of his suit jacket before slipping it off his shoulders. His movements were smooth and deliberate, as he draped the jacket over your shoulders carefully.

“You’re cold,” he said softly, his voice low. The jacket enveloped you, the warmth of his body still lingering in the fabric, and you felt a rush of gratitude.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his with a small smile. “Thank you, Aaron.”

He nodded, but the warmth in his gaze never faltered. His hand lingered for just a second on the jacket’s collar, adjusting it around you, as though he wanted to make sure you were comfortable wearing it.

The way he was looking at you now, made your heart beat a little faster.

“Better?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was something in his tone that made your chest flutter.

You nodded again, feeling the warmth of the jacket as you started heating up a little. “Much better. But I think you were right—I was starting to freeze.”

Hotch smiled, and the sound of his deep laugh made you feel even more at ease. He didn’t pull away right away, instead walking a little closer to you, his side brushing against yours as you continued the peaceful walk by the lake. His presence felt solid beside you, and the world seemed to slow again, the calmness settling around the two of you.

It was moments like these—small, quiet moments—that made you realize how much you were growing to trust him, to rely on his presence. The night felt like it was stretching out before you, full of possibilities and the gentle tug of something deeper, something meaningful.

It was the kind of night that made you want to stay forever in the warmth of his jacket as you walked next to him.

A few weeks had passed since that date, and you found yourself back at the rink, focusing entirely on your routine as nationals came closer and closer.

The board had found you a new coach—a warm and encouraging woman with an impressive track record— it was a perfect fit for you. The two of you had been working tirelessly to perfect every move, every leap, every intricate spin, finally having someone to guide you.

She was supportive but knew when to push you, and you’d come to appreciate that balance.

Today, though, you were on your own, practicing outside of your scheduled hours to refine a particularly difficult jump that the two of you had been working on. The rink was empty, save for the sound of the overhead lights cracking a little and the sound of your blades slicing through the ice.

As you prepared for another run, the air felt cold against your face, but the effort of your practice had warmed you. You took a deep breath, positioning yourself for the jump, your muscles coiling with anticipation.

You pushed off, the familiar rush of adrenaline fueling your movements, but something went wrong. Your skates didn’t grip the ice quite the way they were supposed to as you landed, and the next thing you knew, you were tumbling forward.

It wasn’t a terrible fall, but you instinctively put your hand back to catch yourself, your palm meeting the cold surface of the ice with a harsh impact. There was a sharp, unmistakable crack as something in your wrist snapped, the pain immediate and blinding. You let out a soft whimper, the kind that escaped before you even had a chance to stifle it.

From the sidelines, you saw Hotch’s tall figure moving quickly toward the boards, a look of concern flashing across his face as he hurried toward the rink. His instinct to protect you kicked in, and you heard his voice calling out before you could even fully process the pain.

“Are you okay?” His tone was sharp, laced with worry, but you held up a hand, signaling for him to stay where he was. Hotch had only just arrived, bringing you lunch and coffee to make it through the day.

“I’m fine,” you managed through clenched teeth, but you could feel the waves of pain in your wrist intensifying. You tried to push yourself up, but the pain flared again, and you couldn’t help but let out another soft whimper.

Hotch’s gaze locked onto you from behind the boards, his protective instincts flaring. He was already moving toward the opening to the iced part of the arena, his concern written all over his face, but you gritted your teeth, your vision a little blurry from the pain, and held your hand up again.

“I’m okay. Just… give me a second.”

Despite your protest, Hotch remained frozen for a moment, concern evident in the way he stood at the edge of the rink. You could feel him watching you, his eyes focused on you, but you pushed through the pain as you struggled to regain your footing. You carefully eased yourself back onto your feet, one hand still clutching your injured wrist close to your chest, and despite your effort, you felt every ounce of discomfort shoot through you with each small movement.

The seconds felt like an eternity, but finally, you managed to glide over to the boards, slowly, carefully. Each stride was measured as you approached him, trying your best to hide the discomfort that flared every time you moved your wrist even a little.

Hotch didn’t say anything at first, but the moment you reached him, he didn’t hesitate. He gently guided you to sit down on the bench, his hand resting on your shoulder as he crouched in front of you, his eyes scanning you for signs of injury.

“Let me see your wrist,” he said softly, his voice steady but with an underlying current of concern that made your chest tighten.

You hesitated, your breath shaky as you reluctantly held your hand out to him. As he carefully took your wrist in his hands, you winced from the sharp stab of pain. He examined your wrist closely, his fingers pressing gently but firmly, and when he applied pressure, you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper, the pain radiating through your hand.

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flickered with concern.

“You need an X-ray,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, Hotch, I—” You started, but the words were cut off by the unbearable pain in your wrist. You tried again, shaking your head slightly. “It’s not that bad, I don’t need a hospital.”

You tried to pull your wrist back slightly, but Hotch’s grip tightened just enough—without hurting you further—to let you know he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere until you were checked out. His expression softened for a moment, but then his gaze sharpened with that famous Hotchner stare as he met your eyes.

“That is non-negotiable,” he added, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was no use. You knew he wasn’t going to let you talk your way out of this, and even though you wanted to protest more, something about the way he looked at you made it impossible to push back any further. Besides, he would carry you to the hospital if you didn't follow willingly.

“Fine,” you muttered, but your tone softened as you leaned slightly against him, letting him take charge. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Hotch gave you a small, almost unnoticeable smile as he gently helped you sit back on the bench. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you sank further into the seat, the pain still pulsing through your wrist but now more manageable. His movements were fluid and purposeful as he knelt down in front of you, his hands gently cupping the edges of your skates.

“Let’s get those off,” he said softly as he carefully untied your skates. You tensed slightly, still a little self-conscious about needing help, but Hotch didn’t rush—his touch was steady and reassuring, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into the rhythm of his actions.

When the skates were off, you glanced down at your feet, wincing slightly at the coldness pushing past the flimsy fabric of your socks, you curled your toes in retaliation.

Your shoes were still on the floor next to the bench. You shifted, preparing to put them on, but before you could move, Hotch’s hand on your knee stopped you.

“Let me,” he said, his gaze soft as he met your eyes for a moment before he bent down to carefully slip your shoes on, tying the laces. His presence, so close, made the simple act feel surprisingly intimate.

You allowed him to do it, his hands gentle and deliberate as he secured your shoes, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at you—focused, soft, protective. A warmth spread across your cheeks as he finished, his gaze still locked with yours.

Once the shoes were on, he stood up slowly, watching you carefully to make sure you were steady. His gaze never left you, as though waiting for a sign that you were ready. You took a deep breath and with a slight wince, slowly and carefully pushed yourself to a standing position, your body leaning slightly against him for support but not fully depending on it.

Hotch stepped back slightly, not reaching to assist you but standing close enough to catch you if you fell or needed his help.

“Let’s just get you taken care of,” he said, his voice was gentle. You didn’t argue. Instead, you let him guide you out of the rink.

As you and Hotch walked out of the rink, the crisp air made your wrist throb. Each step sent a jolt of pain through you. You tried to ignore it, focusing on Hotch beside you. His hand never strayed far from your back, guiding you towards his car.

Once you reached it, Hotch opened the passenger door for you, his movements smooth. You slid into the seat with a soft wince, carefully adjusting your wrist to avoid putting too much pressure on it.

Hotch was quick to close the door, moving around the car with speed before sliding into the driver's seat. The engine hummed to life, and he glanced at you, his gaze still soft, though there was a clear edge of worry in his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to force a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite convince him. “I’ll be fine. Just… a little sore.”

Hotch didn’t buy it. He let out a sigh and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the parking lot, the sound of the tires crunching against the pavement filling the air.

“You’re not fine, and you know it,” he said gently, his eyes flicking to you for a split second before returning to the road. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

The thought of protesting again crossed your mind, but you didn’t. The sincerity in his voice left no room for argument, and despite the stubborn part of you that wanted to power through it, the logical side of you understood the importance of getting checked out.

As you drove, the familiar streets of the town blurred by, and you could feel the tension in your body begin to unwind, even as the pain in your wrist remained constant.

You turned your head slightly, catching his profile. “You really didn’t have to do this,” you murmured, almost more to yourself than to him, though the words slipped out before you could stop them.

Hotch’s lips quirked up at the corner, his voice low but firm. “Yes, I did.” He didn’t elaborate, but the way he said it made you realize that, in his mind, there was no other option. You didn’t argue with that. You didn’t need to.

The drive to the hospital was short, but by the time you arrived, you were feeling the full weight of the pain in your wrist as the adrenaline had worn off. Hotch parked the car and immediately got out, moving to your side with urgency. You glanced up at him as he opened the door, his face set in determination.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. You let him help you out of the car, leaning on him more than you would’ve liked, but there was no denying how much you appreciated his support.

As you made your way inside, the sterile scent of the hospital filled your nose, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar anxiety that came with waiting rooms and doctors’ offices. But Hotch remained at your side, his presence felt like an anchor. His hand stayed close to your back, and whenever you winced, he immediately checked on you, his gaze always soft but concerned.

“You’re doing great,” he said. You didn’t respond, but you felt a small sense of relief as he helped you settle into the waiting area before moving the counter to check you in.

And as much as you hated that this was happening, that you were here instead of on the ice, there was something calming about having Hotch by your side. Something that made the waiting, the pain, and everything else a little bit more bearable.

The time in the waiting room felt longer than it actually was. You sat there with your injured wrist resting on your lap. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to you, checking for any signs of discomfort.

After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse finally called your name, and you stood up slowly, careful not to put too much pressure on your wrist. Hotch stood with you, his hand hovering close by as the two of you were led down a hallway to a small examination room.

The doctor was a middle-aged man with a calm, reassuring demeanor. He had you sit on the examination table, and you winced as you moved your arm into a more comfortable position. He immediately started assessing your wrist, pressing gently around the area where the pain was sharpest.

You couldn’t help but flinch, but you didn’t say anything. Hotch was standing off to the side, quietly observing, though his gaze never left you.

The doctor was quiet for a moment, his fingers working expertly around your wrist before he gave a short nod. “I’m going to send you for an X-ray,” he explained in a calm tone. “It seems like it might be broken, but I’ll confirm once we have a better look.”

You nodded, your heart sinking slightly at the thought of a broken bone. But at least you would know for sure.

A few minutes later, you were led to the imaging room, where another nurse helped you position your arm for the X-ray. The process was quick, and before long, you were back in the examination room, sitting in the same spot as before, waiting for the results.

When the doctor returned, he had a small, reassuring smile on his face. He sat down across from you and took a quick glance at your X-ray results.

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” he began, his voice still calm.

“The bad news is that you’ve broken your wrist, and you’re going to need a cast for the next eight weeks.” He paused, letting that settle in, and you couldn’t help but sigh. But then, he continued, “The good news is that it’s a clean break, which means the recovery time will be fast, and you’re not looking at a complicated healing process or surgery. You’re lucky in that sense.”

You let out a soft breath of relief, though it wasn’t the news you had hoped for. At least it wasn’t worse. And at least you knew it would heal properly.

“I’ll have a nurse come in to put the cast on in a little bit,” the doctor said, standing up. “It’ll take a little while to get it set, but once it’s on, you’ll be free to go home. Just make sure to keep your wrist elevated when possible and avoid any strenuous activities.”

You nodded in understanding, your mind already starting to focus on how you would manage with one hand for the next two months. But with Hotch beside you, there was no doubt that you would have the support you needed.

The doctor gave you a reassuring smile before exiting the room, leaving you alone with Hotch.

He glanced over at you, his eyes soft with empathy. “You’re handling this surprisingly well,” he said.

You looked up at him, offering a small smile despite the situation. “I’m not sure I have much of a choice.”

Hotch chuckled softly, a warm sound that made the situation seem a little less heavy. “You’re strong. But if you ever need help—” He hesitated, his gaze shifting to your wrist briefly, before meeting your eyes again. “I’m here.”

You gave a small nod, appreciating the offer, but you didn’t need to say more. His presence alone was enough.

Soon after, the nurse entered, and with a few more steps, the procedure was underway. You sat still, feeling the cast being applied, the warm sensation of the plaster shell being molded to your wrist, and the material wrapping around your wrist.

Despite the pain, despite the inconvenience, you felt a sense of relief that you were getting through this.

As the nurse finished, she gave you a few instructions on how to care for the cast, and then, with a small, kind smile, she wished you well before leaving the room. Hotch helped you up from the bed, and you felt the weight of the cast on your arm as he gently guided you toward the exit.

“Ready to head home?” he asked softly, his voice calm and reassuring.

You looked at him, offering a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

And with that, the two of you left the hospital.

The hospital parking lot felt vast and silent—despite the hundreds of cars parked—as you and Hotch made your way to his car. Your steps were slower now.

Once you reached the car, Hotch opened the door for you, helping you settle into the passenger seat. The moment you sat down, a small groan escaped your lips as the full weight of the situation hit you. Your body sank into the seat, and you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders slowly unwinding, but the frustration still gnawing at you.

Hotch slid into the driver’s seat and glanced over at you, concern written all over his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You looked out the window for a moment, as everything started catching up. Your wrist ached, and there was a lingering frustration, a bitterness that you couldn’t shake. “Nationals... It’s in four weeks,” you said quietly. “I’ll miss it. And that’s... that’s my shot at being considered for the next Olympics. If I don’t make it this time, I have to start all over again. It’s... it’s a huge setback. It'll be four years before I get this opportunity again.”

Hotch’s expression softened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He let the silence stretch out, just long enough for you to feel understood. His gaze was warm but thoughtful as he reached out to rest a hand on your thigh.

“I’m not going to lie,” he said, “I know how important this is to you.” He exhaled slowly. “But you’re going to get through this. I know you will.”

You nodded, but the frustration lingered. “But I’ll miss my chance,” you murmured. “I’ve been working my whole life for this... and now, I’ve got to start over.”

Hotch’s hand tightened briefly on your thigh before he turned to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. “I get it,” he said. “I understand how much this means. And yeah, you’re going to miss this year’s nationals. That’s a tough pill to swallow. But you won’t be starting over. You’re already ahead. You’ve been training for years. You’re one of the best as far as I know.” He paused, letting his words settle in the space between you.

His eyes softened. “And the Olympics? They’re not going anywhere. This is just a setback, not the end of the road. You’ve got time. And when you’re ready, you’ll be back at it.”

You let his words sink in, the weight of his reassurance giving you a bit of relief, even if it wasn’t enough to chase away the frustration completely. You glanced over at him, offering a small, tired smile. “You really think so?”

Hotch’s lips quirked up just a little, a small but reassuring smile. “I know so. You’re strong, you’ve already proven that.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “And you’ve got me in your corner, every step of the way.”

You leaned back in the seat, letting the comfort of his words settle in your chest. It didn’t fix everything, but somehow, hearing him say it made it feel a little lighter.

With a deep breath, you finally nodded, looking back at him. “Okay. I’ll get through it. I just... need some time to figure it out.”

You exhaled slowly, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. And as the car slowly pulled out of the parking lot, you felt a bit of hope return, even if it was just a flicker for now. It wasn’t the end, not by a long shot. And maybe, with time, things would start to make sense again.

Four weeks had passed since the injury, and while the road to recovery had been slower than you’d hoped, you were finally starting to feel more like yourself again. The cast was still on your wrist, it was a constant reminder of the Nationals that never came to be. But tonight, you weren’t focused on the past—you were here, on the couch with Hotch, enjoying the comfort of his company.

Hotch was sitting up, his legs stretched across the couch, taking up the majority of the space. You were nestled between his legs, your head resting softly on his pelvis, the warmth of his body beneath you making everything feel safe and grounded. Your right hand rested gently on his thigh, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shorts every so often. The left, still bound in its cast, lay tucked carefully under the blanket, out of the way.

The television was on, showcasing the Nationals competition, and you couldn’t help but comment on everything. It wasn’t just a sport to you; it was your passion, your life. Every move, every jump, every spin was something you had trained for—something you understood better than anyone else. Hotch seemed content to let you talk, chuckling occasionally and offering small, encouraging words here and there.

You’d made peace with the fact that you were watching Nationals from the comfort of his living room instead of participating in it. It wasn’t easy. It stung in ways you couldn’t quite describe. But you were doing your best, and for once, you weren’t pushing yourself to be perfect. Tonight, it was just about being with Hotch and enjoying each other's company.

When the camera cut to another skater, your mood shifted, and a little flicker of annoyance sparked in you.

“Ugh, Natalia,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “She’s only here because my spot opened up. I can’t believe they picked her to take over after me.”

Hotch’s laughter rumbled softly through the room, and you felt his hand pat your waist affectionately. It wasn’t a teasing pat—it was one of reassurance, of care. “Easy there, tiger,” he said with a warm chuckle, his voice light and teasing but laced with tenderness. “I’m sure she’s worked hard for her spot, too. Besides, she got in second place, remember? They probably just moved down the list.”

You huffed, crossing your arms beneath the blanket to the best of your ability, you could feel the tiny smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to keep up the façade. “She’s not even that good,” you continued, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “She doesn’t have the same edge. The same... passion.”

Hotch’s hand stayed on your waist. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting you vent, but his presence was enough. He wasn’t here to tell you to get over it or to brush off your frustration. He understood. He just let you feel it, knowing that in time, you’d come to terms with it.

“You know,” he started after a few moments, his voice soft but steady, “you can’t measure your worth by someone else’s success.”

You nodded but didn’t say anything at first, just letting his words settle in your mind. You knew what he was saying was true. Still, it didn’t stop the tight feeling in your chest whenever you watched someone else take the spot you’d worked so hard for.

“I know,” you murmured after a moment. “It just feels... unfair. I’ve been working for this my whole life, and now it’s like... I’m invisible.”

Hotch squeezed your waist again, this time a little firmer. “You’re not invisible. You’re just waiting for your chance. And when it comes, you’ll be ready. You’re stronger than that.”

You shifted a little, turning your head so you could look up at him. His eyes were soft but steady, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. He didn’t need to say anything else. He didn’t need to tell you everything would be perfect or that there were no setbacks in life. He just needed to remind you that you would come back even stronger once your wrist was healed.

A sigh escaped your lips, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the feeling of Hotch’s hand on you soothe the restless thoughts in your mind. It wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about doing your best, about finding the strength to keep going even when things weren’t going your way.

After a long moment, Hotch spoke again. “Look, I know it’s hard right now. But missing one competition... it’s not the end of the world. You’ll get your shot again. And when that time comes, it’s going to mean so much more because you’ll have fought for it.”

You let out a soft breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “Yeah, I know you’re right. I guess I just need to stop comparing myself to everyone else.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hotch said with a smile, his thumb gently brushing against the side of your waist. “You’re on your own path, and it’s not going to look like anyone else’s. And that’s a good thing.”

You didn’t answer right away, but you felt the weight of his words sinking in. You weren’t the same as Natalia or anyone else. You were you. And that was enough.

As the next skater took to the ice, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the TV filling the room. Your head was still resting against Hotch’s pelvis, his hand resting on your waist, the warmth between you both undeniable.

As the competition continued, the soft flicker of the television cast a dim glow through the room, the commentators’ voices blending into the background. Hotch was still watching intently, his focus trained on the screen, but a small part of him was aware of the way your breathing had evened out, the rise and fall of your chest beneath his hand. It wasn’t long before the steady motion of his stomach, gently rising and falling with each breath, became a sort of lullaby for you.

You shifted slightly, your face rubbing lazily against his pelvis as you tried to get comfortable. The movement was so subtle, yet Hotch felt it—felt how your body started to relax. He didn’t look down at you; he knew what was happening. You were drifting off to sleep, just like you always did when you were cuddled up to him, when you felt safe.

Hotch’s gaze never left the screen, even as he noticed how your body melted more and more into the couch, your head becoming heavier in his lap, your right hand slipping further down onto his thigh, the tips of your fingers a little cold against his skin. He stayed still, the steady motion of his breath the only movement as he let you rest, not wanting to disturb you.

By the time the last skater took the ice, Hotch felt you completely surrender to sleep, your breath soft and even. He had sensed it happening—especially the way you’d rubbed your face against him in search of comfort. It wasn't until around the moment, when the competition was reaching its final stages, that he knew you were already out.

He had learned by now to let you sleep. You were always so focused, so driven, but when you were with him—when you finally let yourself unwind—it was like you were all his. He didn’t mind the quiet. In fact, he cherished it. Watching you, feeling you trust him enough to fall asleep in his presence, was worth more than he could express.

The competition was still playing, but Hotch didn’t feel the need to turn it off. He knew you’d want to know the outcome once you woke up. You’d ask, of course, wanting to know who won and how the skaters performed. So, he kept watching, his gaze now absorbing the intricacies of the sport with interest, something he hadn’t really had before despite spending so much time around it.

Truth be told, Hotch didn’t know much about figure skating—hell, he wasn’t sure if he even understood all the rules. But in the past year, he’d learned enough to know when you were frustrated, when you needed comfort, and when you simply needed someone to sit next to you and listen. And now, watching the competition with you, he felt the tiniest bit of pride in himself for taking the time to try to understand the thing you loved so much.

He didn’t need to know every detail, but he could appreciate it.

Eventually, the competition wrapped up, the closing comments fading into the background, and Hotch knew that soon enough, you’d wake up. But for now, he didn’t want to disturb you. He let the peace settle between the two of you as he shut the TV off. You continued to rest, your body curled comfortably in his lap. And as you slept, Hotch watched you, feeling more content than he had in a long time.

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

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googlemooglemadi · 2 days ago

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ੈ✩ 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚, 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓 ˖°࿐

❛ 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥. ❜

One second, Viktor’s coffee was on the table. The next, it was a dark brown puddle on the floor, and Jayce was staring down at him with a look that could only be compared to a puppy who’s just been caught digging a hole in the garden.

“Shit, dude, I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed, and moments later, he scrambled to grab napkins from the dispenser on the counter.

Viktor, frozen in his seat, was unable to formulate a response outside of gaping like a fish out of water. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a quiet, “Oh, it’s – it’s fine.” He shut his laptop and tucked it into his bag, standing up and reaching for his crutch.

Jayce was quick to wave him off, still looking almost comically guilty. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. Look, I can pay you back for the coffee, or –”

“It’s alright.” Viktor assured with a shake of his head, picking up the sopping-wet napkins from his table and tossing them into the trash can. He leaned against his crutch, looking down at the man crouched on the floor. This was just his luck, wasn’t it? The same man who was causing every single one of his crises at the moment, putting him in a situation where he had no choice but to carry on a conversation with him.

Jayce looked like he wanted to insist, but Viktor’s stubborn glare left no room for argument. He huffed a little, clearly frustrated, and returned to scrubbing the floor clean. He stood and dropped the rest of the napkins into the trash bin, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.

“Sorry again,” Jayce said, offering a hand to Viktor. “I’m Jayce.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Viktor insisted. He was still rooted to the floor, unable to come up with anything to say. He was pretty sure this was his worst nightmare. He forced himself to nod dumbly as the man introduced himself, taking Jayce’s hand and shaking it weakly. “Viktor.”

The grin on Jayce’s face could best be described as dopey, and Viktor hated how much it made his heart race. “Cool. You’re in my physics class, right? I’m about to head that way if you, uh… want to join me.”

Viktor blinked a few times, more than a little caught off-guard. He usually walked to his classes alone, but his first instinct was to agree. Jayce was already slinging his backpack over his shoulder, preparing to leave, and Viktor mumbled a barely-audible “sure” before he could manage to talk himself out of it.

Jayce was, as he’d expected, nothing short of a chatterbox. His excited rambling seemed to stem from a fear of any sort of awkward silence, and surprisingly, Viktor found himself not minding it. He couldn’t tell if he was feeling so tense because he’d become comfortable in his solitude, or because the familiarity of his dreams lingered at the back of his mind.

It took a while until there was a lull in the (rather one-sided) conversation about Jayce’s homework, and Viktor finally worked up the courage to ask some questions. “So, what are you majoring in?”

“Mechanical engineering,” Jayce responded, casting a sidelong glance at the shorter man beside him. “You?”

“Chemical engineering.”

Jayce hummed in acknowledgement, running a hand through his hair. The silence between them lingered for a long moment before he spoke up again. “Did you grow up in Piltover?”

“Zaun.” Viktor responded curtly. Usually, the mention of Piltover’s dilapidated sister city alone was enough to make anyone from the upper-class region want to switch topics. Jayce didn’t seem to follow this trend, but it was clear that he was unsure of how to respond – Viktor wasn’t surprised.

“Oh. That’s… neat. Do you have any siblings?”

As frustrating as it was, Viktor didn’t mind the subject change. He’d rather not deal with the awkwardness that would come from discussing Piltover and Zaun’s deep divide. “None. Do you?”

“Nah,” Jayce answered, shaking his head. He kept stealing glances to the side, and though Viktor could tell he was attempting to be subtle, he was anything but. “It’s always just been me and my mom.”

Viktor couldn’t help it; he found himself curious as to what Jayce’s family dynamic was like. He wanted to ask questions, to find out why he had only grown up with his mother, but the last thing he wanted was to push the man away so soon. So he nodded instead, reaching up with his free hand to brush a lock of hair off of his forehead.

As they approached the front doors of the building, Viktor shifted his crutch to reach out for the heavy glass door. Jayce beat him to it, though, pulling the door handle and propping it open with his foot. “I’ve got it.”

Viktor nodded gratefully, murmuring a quiet “thanks” to Jayce as he stepped into the hallway. He was thankful to see no trace of pity – something he’d grown contemptuously familiar with throughout his life – in Jayce’s gaze.

The door slammed shut behind them, cutting through the sudden silence that had fallen. They reached the lecture hall, and Viktor was fully prepared for their short conversation to end with a goodbye; if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t be shocked if they never spoke again. However, when he headed for his usual spot in the back row, Jayce trailed behind him and dropped his things in the space next to him.

Viktor cast a sidelong glance at him with a raised eyebrow as he sat down, but he looked away before Jayce could catch his confused expression. He didn’t mind having Jayce next to him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the fact that all he needed at the moment was some space to think.

His mind was foggy with déjà vu. The feeling of Jayce’s body next to his, combined with the infuriatingly familiar sound of his pen scratching against the paper of his notebook, created a tight sensation in his chest that he’d only ever experienced when waking up from his dreams about the lab.

Selfishly, though, Viktor almost wished his nighttimes weren’t plagued by Jayce or their shared lab anymore. Yes, part of him wanted to get to the bottom of why he felt like he’d lived lifetimes with Jayce while only knowing him for a total of… what, twenty minutes now? The other part of him, though, longed to get to know Jayce as if they were complete strangers.

He huffed as he opened up his laptop, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. If this was what physics was going to be like from now on, he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive it.

guys this is not a drill! the gays are finally interacting!!

on another note i am a big fat liar. i said this would be up by this weekend, but... i was really busy yesterday 😞

i haven't said anything like this yet because i didn't want to sound desperate but i actually am desperate (/j) so please don't be afraid to leave comments!! i love reading them!

credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

---

@frog-fans-unite

#writing #arcane jayce #fanfic #jayvik #arcane #arcane viktor #jayce talis #arcane league of legends #arcane lol #modern au #college au #romance #jayvik fanfic #jayce x viktor

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jessicaloons · 3 days ago

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Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

Chapter 10

Masterlist - Previous - Next

The Heartbreak Prince

"Arthur, I don’t have time for this. Who ever Lindsay is, Maman knows what’s she’s doing…" Charles’s groaned, waving at the sea of fans that were waiting for them at the Whitleburry Hall hotel close to the track.

"Lauren. The girls name is Lauren." his little brother retorted, waving at some girls screaming his name.

"Whatever. It’s not something I need to think about as well, okay?" the Ferrari driver smiled at his fans, signing pictures of himself and taking selfie after selfie, when the security guards waved him in he looked at his brother, who waited together with Joris for him "Also, why are you so interested in Larissa?"

"Lauren! Are you even listening?" Arthur sighed frustrated, leaning against the steel wall of the elevator.

"Honestly? No. I don’t. Like I said, I have other things on my mind." the older Leclerc scratched his chin.

"Oh, whatever…"

"Why does this bother you so much?" Joris asked when they left the elevator, looking for their rooms "Since when are you this interested in your mother’s business?"

"I’m not! It’s just-… it was the way she said the name? The way she smiled? I don’t know, I’m just curious…" Arthur sighed and Charles patted his shoulder.

"Listen, whoever Leonore is, Maman will know what she’s doing. So can we now please focus on this weekend? Yeah? I need a good weekend, you as well… so stop thinking about some girl you’ve never even met and start focusing on your job…"

"FUCKING HELL, HER NAME IS LAUREN!" Arthur spat out, pushing his brother’s hand off his shoulder, entering his hotel room "You’re doing this on purpose!" and with that he slammed the door shut.

"That was childish…" Joris rolled his eyes and Charles nodded.

"It was…"

"Not him, you! Oh don’t look at me like that! You were riling him up on purpose!"

"I swear I didn’t. I just don’t have time to remember irrelevant things!" he unlocked the hotel room and put his stuff down "I’m in no position to think about other things then the race weekends ahead and how I can thank my mother to take care of Ava this much. And if Maman hires someone to help her out, I honestly shouldn’t question it. She’s the reason why I can still have my career while being a single father…"

"Maybe you should offer her to pay the-…" Joris began but Charles interrupted him.

"I should pay the salary of Lynette!"

"Oh now you’re messing with me as well!" his best friend threw a pillow at him and Charles caught it laughing.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about… can we focus now on Silverstone?"

"No water. No radio. No car that’s doing what I want. What a shit show…" Charles muttered underneath his breath when he got out of a van at the airport and grabbed his bags, waving at some fans at the fence.

He sighed, the weekend was a disaster with a mediocre qualifying and then a bad race with a 5 second penalty for speeding in the pit lane and a disappointing P7 at the end. He wanted to leave. He had to leave.

"It wasn’t the best of weekends, that’s for sure…" Joris nodded, taking his bags.

"The only good thing about this weekend was that it was the penultimate race before the summer break…"

"Yeah, I think you never needed it this badly…"

"I just want 3 weeks with Ava in the sun, far away from camera’s, fans and all of this." the driver nodded towards some screens that showed the race highlights.

The two men followed the airport hostess to their secluded terminal where another surprise waited for them.

"I know that look…" Charles began, looking at the red head in front of him.

"Charles, there is a problem…" Silvia said slowly, her eyes wary "There’s no easy way to say this, but your jet… it’s not here. You have to take a commercial flight… and the next one available is at 6:25 am."

Charles was too stunned to speak. Her words hit him like a freight train. 6:25 am?

"What?" was all he mustered to say, taking a deep breath.

"The jet is not here. You have to fly commercial."

"Are you serious? What do you mean the jet is not here? And isn’t there an earlier commercial flight? Like tonight maybe?" Charles looked at Silvia with wide eyes.

"The booking wasn’t confirmed… and now the jet is booked for a different flight…"

"I have to be at home tonight, Silvia. My mother is leaving early in the morning and I told her it’ll be just fine! I can’t miss this flight!"

"Well, technically you’re not missing your flight… also, you’re not the only one who has to go back ho-…"

"But no one else has to be at home because their mother can’t watch their daughter forever!" Charles whisper shouted frustrated, his mind racing. Always when he thought a weekend couldn’t end worse, life was showing him just how worse it really could be, now that he stood in the little terminal for private jets, with no way to fly back home "Fuck!" he let out frustrated, typing away on his phone.

"I don’t know what else-…" Silvia began when Charles shook his head, walking away to call Lorenzo.

"Charles?" a voice behind him made Charles flinch, turning around to look at Max "You okay, mate?"

"Of course, an amazing weekend with an amazing end, no?" he pressed out, not in the mood for more unnecessary conversation.

"Umm-… sure. I overheard-… well who didn’t? You weren’t speaking quietly. Anyways, if you have to be in Monaco this urgently, you could fly with us? I have two seats left?" the Red Bull driver offered and Charles cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, yeah, it’s not the first time we share a jet, it’s been a while but… yeah you know, I don’t know why you have to be in Monaco, but your voice tells me it must be important…" Max replied, tilting his head.

"It really is. I- umm… I promised my mum to be at home tonight. She needs me…" the Monegasque driver said vaguely and Max nodded.

"Alright, then come on, you and Joris can join us."

"She’s amazing. She helps me so much… I can now fully divide my time between the salon and my gorgeous granddaughter… leaving for the convention tomorrow was also only possible because of her!" Pascale raved about her new assistant while feeding Ava "Best decision ever to hire her."

"I didn’t even know you were looking for an assistant and now you constantly talk about her?" Arthur asked, looking up from his tablet.

"Constantly? She’s here now for what? A month? A little more?" Pascale rolled her eyes "Also, I wasn’t looking for an assistant, it was more coincidental, you know? She got a haircut, we talked and et voila I hired her… and she’s doing such an amazing job! She manages the whole salon on her own! I just have to come and cut some hair and then I can leave already because she took care of the rest…"

"As long as she’s a help for you…" Arthur shrugged, right when Charles walked in, hair still damp from his shower.

"Who’s a help for who?" the older Leclerc brother asked, gently kissing his daughters fingers.

"My new assistant-…" his mother began but got interrupted by her youngest son.

"L-a-u-r-e-n… you remember? Maman is raving about her for the past weeks now…"

"You hired a new assistant?" Charles asked, ignoring his brothers eye rolling while sitting down next to her, watching her feed his daughter.

"Yes, it was all really spontaneous. I gave her a haircut, we talked, and then I hired her and believe me Charles, she’s amazing. A hard worker, sweet and charming to all my clients, always polite. She’s a quick learner, amazing with her hands… and don’t let me start on how beautiful she is! She could be a model for sure…"

"Oh yeah? I might have to visit you then in the salon…" Arthur wiggled his eyebrows, earning a slap on his upper arm from his mother "Ouch! What was that for?"

"You have a beautiful girlfriend yourself. Behave!" she replied and then turned slightly to her other son "You on the other hand…"

"Stop. No. Don’t do that, Maman!" Charles rolled his eyes, groaning. He was too exhausted for this. It was the middle of the night, he was tired, frustrated from the weekend and not in the mood for his mother’s attempts to meddle with his love life. He knew her all too well. How she always eyed up his girlfriends, saying him that she wasn’t the one and frankly she was right every single time, but it wasn’t something she had to know.

"Don’t do what?" his mother asked innocently.

"You’re not setting me up with your new assistant-…"

"I wasn’t! I just said that if someone wanted to come over and get to know her it should’ve been you. The single one." Pascale shrugged her shoulders, cooing at her granddaughter.

"Single father…" Charles replied, sighing.

"I don’t think that would be a problem for La-…"

"See! You want to set me up with her. No. Not happening. I have Ava and my career. That’s all I need."

"I didn’t say-…" Pascale began but then shook her head "Whatever, Charles. But just so you know, you would love her. You all would, I for sure am. That’s all I’m saying."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Alright, now that you’re here, I can go home and have some sleep before I have to get up and leave." Pascale leaned over, laying Ava down in her father’s arms "I’m glad we didn’t have to stick to plan B…"

"I am able to take care of her!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Sure you can…" his mother patted his arm "Now come on, you have to drive me home."

"Fine." he got up as well, gently stroking his nieces arm "Good night, little Ava. Charles." he winked at his older brother who smiled lazily, watching his daughter fighting off the inevitable sleep.

As soon as his mother and brother left, Charles got up and laid Ava down in her bassinet, his own tiredness and exhaustion slightly taking over. He pulled the bassinet next to his bed and laid down, watching his daughters every little movement.

"Good night my pretty little princess. Daddy’s here now…" he whispered, before he fell asleep almost immediately.

Charles woke up from Ava’s crying and whimpering. Worse than anything he ever heard before. He was up in an instant, switching on the bedside lamp.

"Hey my little angel, what’s up?" he cooed at her, gently scooping her up, her tears dampen his shirt "Hey, hey, hey. What’s the matter baby girl, hmm?" he patted her back gently, rocking her in his arms "Are you hungry?" he got up and made his way to the kitchen, preparing a bottle, all while Ava cried and whimpered into his chest. He never heard her cry like this before, his heart braking with every new sound from his little girl and when he 10 minutes later sat down with her, trying to feed her he had to learn that it wasn’t the bottle she wanted "Fresh diaper then?" but again, not what was wrong. Charles sat in his bed, rocking Ava who got squirmier with every second, her little sobs making her tiny body shake, which made Charles heart clench "What is it, Ava? Hmm? You’re not hungry, your diaper is clean. What do you need baby girl?" he turned her a little, so he could look into her eyes, tears staining her face. She was pale. But her nose and cheeks were red. Her hair felt like it was a little damp. Charles gently stroked her cheeks and he thought they felt warmer than usual. But was it a fever? Or was it now from crying that much? Charles checked his phone. It was 5:46 am. Ava was awake over half an hour earlier than usual as well "We should try to sleep a little more baby girl… let’s put something on the TV and then try to sleep a little more…" Charles scooted into the middle of his bed, propped up a little against the headboard so that Ava could sleep on his chest, pillows on his left and right in case he fell asleep that Ava was safe. Then he put her down on his thighs and took off his shirt, remembering what the nurse told him the night Ava was born, and put her back on his chest, pulling the blanket over them "Look at that. A nice documentary narrated by David Attenborough… with his soothing voice, we’ll be sleeping in no time…" Charles cooed at Ava, gently rubbing circles on her back. And he was right it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep again. Not her peacefullest one, but she slept. And with her finally settling down, Charles followed shortly after. But not for too long. From the moment Ava woke up an hour later her crying got worse. Her tiny sobs sounded as if she was having a cold and Charles wondered what he should do. When he was having a cold he drank hot tea, took some medication and that was it. But what was he supposed to do with Ava? He grabbed his phone, already dialling his mother’s number when he hung up. His mother was already on her way to the convention and he knew she would turn around immediately. He had to figure it out himself. So he googled. But the results were all too different. Too many different opinions on what to do and he was confused. He was rocking Ava in his arms, pacing back and forth in his apartment, when he called Enzo, asking for help from Charlotte but his older brother told him that she wouldn’t be home for the next couple of hours.

"What’s wrong with her?" Enzo asked, sensing his brother’s distress "I can be at yours in 10 minutes?"

"She’s just not calming down. I tried to feed her, she’s not really eating much. She’s changed, so that shouldn’t be a problem, she can’t be tired because she doesn’t want to sleep. And… she feels a little warmer than normally? She’s a little sweaty… I don’t know what to do? I’m feeling like Maman would know what to do, but I can’t call her. Not when she finally, after years, does something for herself again!"

"Charles, maybe you should go and see a doctor?" Enzo suggested "I can drive you there?"

"I don’t even know who her doctor is…" Charles whispered "I have no idea… Maman took her to the doctor the last times…" he felt like the worst father on earth.

"It’s at the children ward at the hospital. Get ready I’ll pick you up in 10."

"It’s okay, baby girl, we’re going to see a doctor, you’ll be fine. Just fine…" Charles whispered, looking outside the car window, checking where they were "Just a little longer, Ava."

"Almost there." Lorenzo said, looking into the rearview mirror, seeing his brother’s pale face, jaw tightened "5 minutes…"

"You hear that? Almost there, little princess." Charles gently stroked Ava’s cheek, feeling her warm skin "Almost there…"

"I’ll drop you off and then I’ll head to the airport picking Charlotte up… and you let me know what’s up with Ava, okay? And when I have to pick you up…" Lorenzo said.

"Yeah…" Charles mumbled, unbuckling his seatbelt the moment his brother stopped in front of the hospital.

He got out of the car and opened the boot of the car, taking out Ava’s stroller.

"Here you go…" Enzo gently laid his niece down "It’s going to be alright, little Ava." he cooed at her, pulling the blanket over her "Call me, whatever it is, if you need me, don’t want to feel so alone, just call me, okay?" he then said to his brother, hugging him "It’s going to be okay, you hear me?"

"Okay… yeah…" Charles replied "And thanks for driving us… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to drive safely…"

"It’s okay. Now go inside…" Lorenzo patted his back and Charles nodded, pushing Ava’s stroller to the entrance, through the doors to the front desk.

"Hi, umm- I need a doctor, no, my daughter needs a doctor, she’s restless and she feels hot and sweaty and I don’t know what to do, the temperature is rising I think? My mum- she umm, she was here before with Ava, my daughter…" Charles stammered, looking at the nurse who smiled at him.

"Okay, so your daughter’s doctor is here at the children’s ward?" she asked and he nodded "Okay, do you know where the children’s ward is? No, okay… follow the rainbow coloured line on the floor, to your right…" she pointed at the different coloured lines on the floor and Charles nodded.

"Thank you." he replied and walked off, following the line through the hallways until he arrived at a glass door, children’s ward written in colourful letters on it "We did it, baby girl, just a moment… they will help you…" right when he wanted to push the door open it sprang open and an older looking nurse walked out, looking at him.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Umm yes-… this is Ava, my daughter, she umm- she needs a doctor, she’s sick I think…" Charles said and the nurse cocked an eyebrow, looking into the stroller.

"Ava? So you are Ava’s father, I was wondering when we would see you here…" she said, nodding towards the front desk inside the children’s ward "Go on in there…"

"Umm- okay." Charles was a little confused by the icy tone of the nurse but he couldn’t think too much about it, walking to the front desk "Hi, my daughter needs a doctor. She’s restless and cries a lot, she didn’t sleep much, doesn’t want to eat and she feels warmer than usual… I think she has a cold…" he explained to the nurse behind the desk and she got up immediately.

"Alright, please follow me…" she brought them into an examination room and helped Charles with getting Ava out of the stroller, taking off her jacket, right when the door opened again "Could you please fill out the paperwork with Mr. …?"

"Leclerc… I’m Charles and this is Ava…" Charles replied and the nurse nodded.

"Alright, can you please help Mr. Leclerc with the paperwork?"

"And Ava?" he asked, his eyes widened.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Leclerc, the doctor will be here shortly, I’ll take care of her, and as soon as you’re done with the papers you’ll be back with your daughter." the nurse smiled and he nodded "It won’t take long, don’t worry. And I’m here, taking care of Ava."

"Mr. Leclerc, would you please follow me?" the other nurse lead him outside and Charles followed her hesitantly "Don’t worry, she’s in really good hands. I just need you to fill out these documents, you can sit down there…" she pointed at some chairs lined up at the wall of the hallway and Charles took the clipboard and sat down, scribbling away.

Charles hands were a little shaky, he never liked hospitals, too many people did he lose in one. But for Ava he had to be strong, push the negative thoughts away and focus on her wellbeing. When he was done with the paperwork he looked up, but the nurse wasn’t sitting behind her desk and he looked to the left, where two women walked up to him.

"Mr. Leclerc? Hi, I’m Cleo Bernoit, this is Marianne Goulard, we’re from the CPS in Monaco…" the blonde woman began.

"CPS?" Charles interrupted, looking confused between the two women.

"Child protective services…"

"What? Are you kidding me? Why?" he was at a loss of words, confused and scared.

"Someone called us after the incident with your daughter… it’s a standard procedure. Mandatory." the red haired woman, Marianne, said "And since we have an office here in the hospital, we just want to check in quickly."

"You see, you’re a single father with a demanding job. We’re just here to make sure that everything is alright." Cleo added and Charles swallowed hard.

"Umm- okay… but it wasn’t really an incident? I just wasn’t sure what to do and couldn’t reach my mum, that’s why I brought her to the emergency room…" he mumbled, his hands gripping his thighs tightly, knuckles turning white "She was restless, cried and felt a little warmer then usually. I couldn’t calm her down. So yeah, I thought taking her here would be the best."

"I see. Does this happen more often?" the blond woman asked.

"That she’s restless and cries and I can’t calm her down? Or what? The slightly higher temperature?" Charles was confused.

"No, that you need to check in with your mother, regarding your daughter’s health." the redhead said.

"What?" he was taken aback "What do you mean?"

"Ava is your daughter. You’re the one responsible for her and-…"

"I know that she’s my daughter and I’m responsible for her. But she’s also my first child, I don’t know everything about babies yet and before I make a mistake I check in with my mother, who successfully raised three kids-…" Charles began, his voice wavering with emotions.

"We know that Mr. Leclerc. It’s just… we’ve been notified that for the last two check-ups, it was your mother who brought Ava in. Not you." the redhead said and Charles eyes widened "And when Ava got her second round of vaccines a month ago, it was also your mother who brought her in again…" she continued.

"Yes. Because I had to work. And while I’m being away working, my mother takes care of her granddaughter. Is there a problem with that?" he said.

"Mr. Leclerc. Ava is your daughter, she’s not even three months old but you are more interested in travelling the world then-…"

Charles had enough. He got up from his seat, his hands balled into fists, breathing heavy.

"I am not more interested in travelling the world than being with my daughter. It is my job. I am a Formula 1 driver. Travelling the world is my job. I am a single father who is more than grateful that his mum takes care of his daughter while he’s away, working. Excuse me, but I want to see my daughter now." his voice was dangerously low, his anger and frustration palpable.

He walked away towards the nurses station, already typing a message out for his mother.

"Hi, can I see my daughter now?" Charles asked the nurse who smiled at him, taking the clipboard from him, looking it over.

"Let me just check if you didn’t forget anything and then we-…" she began.

"No. I want to see her. Now." his voice louder than intended.

"No, of course not, Mr. Leclerc, follow me…" the nurse got up from her seat and gestured for Charles to follow her, down the hall.

"Thank you-… I didn’t want to get loud and be rude. I was just-… I’m just scared and frustrated… I shouldn’t have let it out at you…" he stammered but the nurse just smiled at him.

"It’s okay, it’s your first child, that’s normal." she patted his arm and stopped in front of a door, knocking gently "Dr. Richefort? I have Mr. Leclerc here, little Ava’s dad, can we-"

"Of course, of course, come on in, Mr. Leclerc!" an older man waved Charles inside and he hastily walked in, his eyes immediately on Ava in a little bassinet on the table, the other nurse holding out a teddy bear to her "Everything is alright with your little one. Just a little fever and stuffed nose, nothing out of the ordinary, that happens sometimes."

"She’s okay?" the young father whispered, his eyes rooted on his daughters face "Nothing serious?"

"Nothing serious. Nothing a warm bath in a little steamy bathroom can’t cure. Close all windows and doors, start the shower with hot water and let some steam build in the room, that’s perfect for her nose and lungs. I gave her some syrup to calm her down and reduce the fever, I wrote that one up for you to get as well as something for her stuffed nose." Dr. Richefort said and he was relieved, cupping Ava’s cheek who was smiling lazily, playing with the doctor’s stethoscope now.

"I can take her home?" Charles asked, looking up.

"Of course, I don’t see any reason why not. Just get her medicine and give her something of the syrup before bed and she should be perfectly fine in one or two days. You’re good to go." the doctor nodded to the nurse who grabbed Ava’s onesie from a stool helping Charles getting her ready.

His eyes didn’t leave Ava’s face for one second, his heart racing. As soon as his little one was safely in her stroller and the Doctor handed him the prescription for the pharmacy, the nurse showed him the way outside.

"Can I ask you something?" Charles had to know "Why did you call the CPS?"

"CPS? They were here?" she stopped, looking at him "Why?" she seemed genuinely confused opening the door for Charles and the stroller.

"Yeah… they said it’s mandatory, after all I wasn’t with Ava for her last check-ups and that because my mum was taking care more of her than I am…" he almost whispered and the blonde woman thought for a moment before she sighed, shaking her head.

"Angelique… the head nurse. She’s one of the older nurses here. Very settled in her way of thinking and how families are supposed to look like. Single parents? God no! Worse, a single father? Who works? I bet it was her. She’s the one who does the administrative stuff like that… I’m very sorry that she called them…"

"The older nurse who opened the doors when I arrived?"

"I didn’t see, but yeah, that could be…"

"Am I on their watchlist now?" Charles asked when they entered the foyer of the hospital "Now that they looked into my-no Ava’s file?"

"I wish I could say no… but the truth is, now that you got their attention, they will have an eye on you… I’m sorry. I’ve seen you with your little girl and I think you’re doing a good job…" she said genuinely and Charles mustered a tiny smile.

"Thanks… have a nice day." he walked out of the door, waving the nurse goodbye.

As soon as Charles was outside he put on his shades and a baseball cap, hoping that no one would recognise him. He made a mental note to call his lawyer later on, not sure if she could do anything about the CPS and also the fact that he was here today. Ava was sleeping in her stroller and he decided a nice little walk would do them some good. Some fresh air. He also knew that Ava slept the best in her stroller, the slightly bumpy sidewalks rocking her gently in her stroller, making it perfect for a nice long slumber. Like that he could also stop at the little pharmacy that was far off the usual busy streets of Monaco, getting Ava’s medicine.

Charles decided to make a little stop at the harbour, enjoying the sun, calming down his nerves. His mind was racing. The fact that someone called the CPS on him was bad enough, but to think that because of that, all the hard work to keep Ava safe and a secret were for nothing was worse. He tried his best to be at home with her as much as he could. Took it upon him to travel in between races back home where he usually would just straight fly to the next race. Even if it was only for a couple of hours, he didn’t miss a single chance to see her if possible. Was it ideal? No. He knew that. He felt it. He missed her. Every single minute he was gone, he missed her like crazy. But he couldn’t ask his mother to travel with him around the world so Ava could come with him. His mother had her own life and it wasn’t fair to ask that of her. She probably would agree, she would sacrifice everything for her children and now granddaughter. Charles leaned back, sighing.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he mumbled when Ava stirred in her stroller, waking up crying "Hey, baby girl, it’s alright… all good…" he gently picked her up and held her close to his chest, rocking her slowly "It’s all good my little princess…"

But it wasn’t. Ava’s cries were getting louder, making Charles trying desperately to calm her down. He looked up in the sky once, sending a prayer out for anyone to help him.

"It’s the sunglasses, you know?" a gentle voice commented, making Charles flinch, he didn’t notice that someone was sitting on one of the other benches.

"Sorry?" he asked confused.

"Lose the sunglasses, yeah and maybe the cap too…" a pretty girl replied, her eyes shining "She wants to see you, but she can’t…" her beautiful smile almost made Charles heart skip a beat.

"Umm-… just… just take off the sunglasses and the cap? It’s that easy?" he cocked and eyebrow but did as told after he looked around for a moment, making sure that no one else was around.

"I mean, it could be… it’s worth a try, now she can look at her dad, sees that you’re looking at her too… that you’re here for her." the girl explained and Charles nodded slowly, looking down at Ava.

"I’m here, Ava. It’s all good…" he smiled at his daughter, kissing her forehead, when she seemed to calm down a little.

"Or she’s just hungry or needs new nappies…" the girl continued and Charles looked at her.

"So you’re just throwing out some guesses? You’re not some kind of a baby guru?" he chuckled a little and the girl shook her head "What a shame, I could’ve used one…" he mumbled and she looked at him "Sorry… it’s- it’s been a short night. And a way too long day…"

"No need to apologise. I know how you feel…"

"You have one as well?" the young man looked at her with big eyes, sounding surprised "Sorry! I shouldn’t have said it like that… it’s just you look quiet young? I mean not that it’s bad to be a young mother! It’s great, like you know… I think I better just shut up…" he groaned, shaking his head and the girl had to stifle a laugh.

"I mean I am young. But not too young… but no, I don’t have one… I worked with some tho…" she replied.

"You worked with babies?"

"I‘m a paediatric nurse…"

"Padric what?" Charles was confused, tilting his head a little.

"Paediatric nurse… kids… I was trained especially for kids and did some hours on the new born ward…" she explained.

"Oh! Wow! You’re more than qualified to give some advice then…" he looked at her "You’re here on vacation?"

"No… I moved here actually… just a couple of weeks ago, still trying to get used to everything…" the girl replied and he nodded.

"Don’t worry, not all Monegasques are as lost as me and need help from a pretty stranger…" Charles said and then blushed, the moment he realised what he just had said out loud.

"Oh- umm… it’s alright… don’t worry…" the girls cheeks were turning red.

"I- I should go… I have to put her down soon…" Charles carefully laid his daughter in the stroller next to them and put his cap and sunglasses back on "Thanks for umm- for the help…"

"Sure. If she’s still a little grumpy later on, you should try a warm bath…" the pretty girl got up as well "Umm-… bye."

"Yeah-… umm bye…" Charles turned around and pushed the stroller in front of him before he stopped again, turning a little "Oh and welcome to Monaco."

"Thanks." she smiled back at him, making Charles heart definitely skip a beat.

"I’m Charles, by the way. Maybe I’ll see you around some time, Monaco is almost like a little village." he chuckled and she nodded, turning around, walking away "Well now I need to see her again…" he mumbled, cooing at Ava "She didn’t tell me her name."

"Charles?"

"Hmm?" he blinked looking at his mother "What?"

"What happened then?" she asked and he was confused for a moment, the smile of the pretty stranger in the back of his mind "You left the hospital and then? Did you hear from the CPS again?"

"No. Not yet… I mean it’s just 2 days ago, no? I didn’t give them any reason…" Charles sighed.

"You must’ve been scared, after they jumped at you like that?" Pascale patted his arm and he sighed.

"Yeah… it was scary… but yeah I mean, it’s like this. I can’t change it, not now at least, I’m leaving for Spa in an hour…"

"The most important thing is that Ava is healthy. She’s all good, you took care of her just like a good dad would. The rest we’ll figure out." Charles’ mother smiled at him and he nodded slowly "Okay, there is something else? Since I’m back your thoughts seem to drift away every now and then? And you have this smile on your face? What happened? You’re going from worried to happy and dreamy in a heartbeat?"

"Hmm? What?" Charles looked at her, scratching his beard.

"You don’t even listen to me? What happened?" Pascale cocked an eyebrow and he averted his gaze immediately, looking at Ava "You can’t even look me in the eyes?"

"I don’t know what you mean…" he replied, a soft smile on his lips, when he thought back to the girl from the harbour "I’m just happy that Ava is all good… and now I should check that I packed everything…"

"No, I know you… there’s something else… it’s almost like…" Pascale began, when Joris plopped down next to her on the sofa.

"It’s almost like he has a crush on someone. I know that smile, almost a little dumb... and the fact he can’t look us in the eyes when we ask him what’s going on? How he changes the topic? Charles met someone…" he chuckled and his best friend groaned, although he began to blush slightly "And now look at his face! He’s blushing!"

"You really met someone! And that someone must’ve left quite the impression on you… I mean, look at you!" Pascale grinned, although she was a little disappointed that she couldn’t introduce Lauren earlier to her son "Who is she? Where did you meet her?"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. I met her once. After the hospital, I don’t know her name, or anything. She helped me with Ava. She was amazing. But that’s it. I don’t have a crush. Or anything like that, okay?" Charles said but his mother and best friend just exchanged glances and he knew that he shouldn’t have said anything "Can we please leave it be? I have one last race before the summer break. Let me focus on that and then after you can annoy me again?"

"Oh you can bet on it…" Joris laughed and Pascale nodded.

"I can’t wait to hear more of it…" she added.

"Alright, now let me enjoy the last minutes with my little princess before we have to leave."

Lauren swiped the floor clean, when the phone rang and Pascale answered the call, smiling while speaking in a soft voice. The young girl continued with cleaning the mirrors and wiped the console tables underneath, storing away the cleaning utilities as soon as she was done.

"La porte de derrière est ouverte... D’accord."

Lauren thought for a moment, trying to translate what Pascale had said.

"The backdoor is open." Pascale said, looking at the young girl "You tilt your head and poke out your tongue, when you’re trying to translate what was said…"

"Oh…" how embarrassing.

"You’ll finally meet one of my sons, Charles is coming over. " her voice was always filled with love and pride as soon as she mentioned one of her sons, it made Lauren’s heart swell, hearing her talk so fondly and adoringly of her sons.

But at the same time it also stung a little, making her miss her mother even more.

"Charles? He’s the youngest?"

"Middle."

"Oh, okay." Lauren nodded, storing away some bottles, when a breathtakingly handsome young man, stepped out of the hallway, a young man Lauren knew from somewhere.

"Charles, come in, come in. I want you to meet Lauren-…" Pascale switched to English, making her son cock an eyebrow.

"Your new assistant you can’t stop talking about?" he chuckled and Pascale nodded, he then followed his mothers look and as soon as his eyes landed on Lauren his whole face lit up, something his mother noticed, making her grin "It’s you! The girl from the park!"

"You two know ea-… wait? The girl from the park? OH! The girl from the park!" Pascale made big eyes, a big smile spreading on her face.

Charles blushed immediately, but he wasn’t alone, Laurens eyes widened and her cheeks were turning red, he was talking about her?

Chapter 10 - I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! Life was messy, hectic and really a lot these last weeks and I didn’t want to post something only okayish. It finally happened. Lauren and Charles officially met ♥️ now the real party starts hehehe

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

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Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@glitterquadricorn @lottalove4evelyn @janeh22 @itsjustkhaos @mariclerc @fangirlforever2000

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