#i have no more words i used them all writing this

[proxycrit]

Decided to write some oneshots! Less focus on Zelda and Link, and more on FAMILIAR FAMILIAR’s building blocks.

(Mineru and Naborus’s slow dance are interrupted by the horrors of war.)

(Fic under cut)

——— The First Act (Naborus)

Mineru seems to be actively trying to woo Naborus, and to her disgust, it works.

The zonai woman seems to haunt her steps, with a sly smile and cheeky wink. She slips next to Naborus during morning drills with foods meant to entice, and into evening bouts of paperwork with her little machines, fiddling and tinkering and always ready to help. Even her haughty hat she faffs around with is all but seared into the back of Naborus’s eyelids every time she closes them.

“You do understand,” she tried once, and only once, “that I am a gerudo chief and you are the last of the zonai, serving under the hylian empire.” She enunciates these hylian words as clear as she can, careful with this new language she forced herself to learn within four grueling months.

“Of course,” Mineru responded back in a heavily accented Gerudo. “But I still want to try.”

Naborus has always had a soft spot for fools. She doesn’t bring up their allegiances again, but Mineru redoubles her efforts. Naborus doesn’t explicitly accept them, but she doesn’t refute them either. She even finds herself automatically bringing two mugs of heavily steeped tea to her study one night. Mineru was waiting for her, eyes bright and ears perked.

It’s Ganondorf that ultimately cuts through the stalemate.

“You like her,” he accuses.

“I tolerate her,” Naborus grumbles. “She’s at most a desert lizard I water from time to time, so she doesn’t die.”

Ganondorf gives her a truly bombastic side eye. Naborus doesn’t mention his strange dance around Rauru, even though she’s tempted to point out his hypocrisy. Her soft spot for fools is a weakness.

“She’s working for the princess,” he warns. “We need time to ratify the treaty, and she’s a distraction.”

“She’s a guest,” Naborus responds, temper flaring. “And I don’t see you crunching the paper recently, little brother.”

They glare at each other, bristling like desert cats, before ganondorf’s shoulders slump. He’s been sleeping less and less lately. The dark circles under his eyes have been becoming more and more difficult to hide.

“It’s not safe,” he repeats helplessly. “There’s always a cost, with the hylians. You know this.”

“I know this,” Naborus responds wearily. “But Princess Sonia is different from her mother. Not because of any legends,” she adds, before her brother can protest, “but because she’s reaching out first. The zora and rito are perfectly happy. We have to trust the same amnesty will be given to us.”

“It’s different,” Ganondorf spits, “when their legends don’t constantly paint us as thieves and war mongers.” And Sonia, despite her stature, is part of that legend. That damned sword speaks to it.

The hylians want the great gerudo burial site. They want it for the precious minerals crystallizing deep under the sands, that glow green from the dead. They need it, for the war against the rising tide of undead monsters that threaten them all— gerudo, hylian, all the races of hyrule really. It already took most the zonai.

Naborus knows, deep down, she can not let the gerudo be the next.

But it hurts, to see their culture be trodden underfoot for this. And it hurts more, to hear Ganondorf’s urgent whispers that the Hylians will not stop.

Mineru and Rauru are the last of their kind. Surely there must be other zonai, hidden in pockets deep below or up in the sky, but the zonai (the only zonai) Naborus knows are her two guests. They don’t remember their mother tongue. They were raised by the Goron and Zora and eat hylian food and wear hylian clothes and practice hylian alchemy.

For all intents and purposes, they are hylian. They are what will lay in store for the gerudo, either it be through ganondorf’s terror of a slow cultural death, or naborus’s terror of a steady massacre.

And then Ganondorf finds those ruins, and it all goes to shit.

And then he tries to kill Sonia. Tries to infect Rauru with that malice. Becomes unknowable to her, and calls her traitor, as if he didn’t throw everything away for their shared dream.

Five days later, she arranges for a meeting.

Six days later, Sonia and Rauru show up at her doorstep.

“You can have the burial grounds,” Naborus says, and finds the dull ember of delight in Rauru’s flinch. Good. See him remember his own damned past, and let him know of his crime. Mockingly, she inclines her head to Princess Sonia. “At your behest, your highness.”

Sonia looks back. Implacable. Stone. She’s four heads shorter than Naborus, and yet her presence is crushing. Is this who you love, Naborus wanted to ask Mineru. Is this who you serve?

The rest of the negotiations is a blur. Rito will come help gerudo civilians escape the bombed remains of her city. Her people will find shelter along the coast, if they so wish. All Sonia needs is the Zonaite, and willing hands to take up arms and fight.

Fight who, she does not specify. But judging from her gaze flickering to the empty spot next to Naborus, it’s not difficult to infer.

When Mineru hesitates in front of Naborus’s door later that night, Naborus finally snaps. That dull apathy and shock suddenly becomes a monsoon of rage and betrayal, and she grabs the mug and throws it as hard as she can at the wall, an animal scream rising in her chest.

Mineru flinches back, ears pressed against her head. Naborus sinks, gasping for air, and curls into a wretched ball on the floor. Thin hands carefully encircle against her, and she leans into mineru’s chest, and weeps for her stupid baby brother, for her foolish naive self, for hoping for a beautiful future.

Tomorrow, the gerudo will have the war Ganondorf predicted. Tomorrow, Naborus will bow in front of the Hylian regency.

Mineru mumbles something into her hair, that she is unable to catch. But the zonai’s grip is tight, and she hums a song slow and low.

“What is that?” Naborus croaks, head still pillowed in Mineru’s arms.

There’s a shift of muscle under Naborus as Mineru readjusts herself into a more comfortable position, and then— “my mother taught me this.”

“Ah? I thought gorons are all men?”

Mineru laughs. “In hylian, yes they are called men. But no, I’m talking about my birth mother.”

“Oh,” and because Naborus has little filter, “what’s her name?”

Mineru went silent at that. Naborus feels a rush of self hatred. She shouldn’t have asked. She presumes much from somebody who isn’t even her citizen.

“I don’t remember,” Mineru says. She smiles at Naborus, eyes half squinted. “I just called her Mah. Zonai baby teeth give us terrible lisps, and young children don’t really know their parents as people, per say. Just protectors.”

“I’m sorry,” Naborus says. She wants Mineru to hum that song again, but doesn’t know how to ask.

“It’s okay,” Mineru says. “I don’t remember her. Its hard to miss what you don’t really know.”

“No,” Naborus protests. “It’s not okay at all. You shouldn’t have to-“ she back pedals, looks for anything to say at all, and settles on squeezing Mineru’s waist. “You deserve more than just a song.”

Mineru starts to hum again. Seeing Naborus unwilling to continue, the zonai sighs, cutting into the wound if the situation.

“You did the right thing.”

“Did I?”

“You want to save lives. There is no shame in that.”

“And what of the children who won’t remember their mother’s names?” Naborus asks, hurting. What of her people’s history?

“They’ll be alive to wonder, won’t they?”

Mineru’s voice sounded flat and far away.

And Naborus has nothing to say to that.

(Mineru tells herself this is for the best, and that she and Rauru turned out perfectly fine.

It’s a lie she’s grown comfortable with.)

———— The Second Act (Mineru)

When Ganondorf cuts her throat, she can’t bring herself to be surprised.

Scared? Yeah. But surprised? Not really.

She took his sister from him. She represents hylian royalty. She’s collateral to Rauru. A sort of message, if you will.

You took my sister. I will take yours.

Fucking idiot. Naborus will never forgive him now, and neither would Rauru. He has single handedly severed any remaining goodwill, any chance of recollection, with this stunt, and the worst part is he probably did it on purpose.

Ganondorf looks different. His eyes are tired. The infection from his arm has spread to under his jaw. Baby Dragneel’s been practicing magic, she sees. He reaches down and gently plucks the secret stone from Mineru’s neck, and suddenly it’s worse.

She’s never going to be able to tell Naborus her secret. She’s never going to be able to give that stone to her beloved. She-

A scream splits the night air. It can’t be from her, because all her air is being stolen from her throat before it can reach her tongue, which tastes like iron. It can’t be from Ganondorf, who’s mouth is clenched shut, secret stone (alchemist’s stone) shining in his hand.

Ganondorf is blasted back by a wave of light.

The world is greying. Mineru feels the burn of Sonia’s time magic entrap her, freeze her. It hurts. It hurts more then her throat. Everything is tinged yellow and Mineru can’t move, and this must be what death is— caught between a peaceful slumber and agonizing living. She’s suffocating slowly. She’s scared.

Rauru’s face comes in focus. His hands are shaking. She can feel him pressing desperately against her as in the distance, Sonia, still clad in her white dress, chases the shadows away.

Mineru’s eyes slip close.

When she wakes up, she is surprised she’s not dead. She tries to say something, but the searing pain stops her, and her muffled jerk causes the lump at her feet to quiver. Rauru looks up, eyes bloodshot.

“Mimi?” He asks, voice hoarse. Mineru tries to say something, but the pain flares and she settles for a thumbs up. Rauru’s eyes start watering, and he presses his face into her hands.

“Mimi,” he whispers, and mineru pets his ears, like they were children again. She didn’t mean to scare him. She waits for him to collect himself, and takes the chance to look around the room.

It’s a nice room. The architecture is distinctly zoran, with luminous stones embedded into the walls for light and kelp thread curtains for privacy. It smells like fragrant lotus root and medicinal herbs. There’s a small study in the corner, filled with papers and a single potted specimen of a sundelion.

Rauru’s study, she realizes with a rush of fondness. This must be his room, when he was apprenticing under that Zoran healer.

“I…”

Her attention snaps back to her brother. At her attentive look, he quails. It’s not right. Rauru rarely quails, and mostly preens, like a peacock. At her impatient look, he closes his eyes, and Mineru’s stomach sinks.

“Ruta’s afraid there might be complications,” Rauru continues in a rush. “You’ll be on observation for possible lung clots and brain damage and infection.”

Mineru breathes.

“We couldn’t save your throat,” Rauru confesses, looking small. “Ruta cleared up your lungs and I managed to stabilize you, but. We couldn’t, your.”

That’s okay, she wants to say. I’m alive. That’s more than I expected.

But she can’t say that.

With her nonanswer, Rauru bows his head. Mineru grabs on to his hand before he can flee, and squeezes.

After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezes back.

Mineru doesn’t take her new found muteness well. She struggles with hylian sign, and finds a near apoplectic rage in being unable to quickly explain her thoughts.

Writing isn’t the same, she wrote in harsh angry scratches with her chalkboard she’s taken to carrying around.

Naborus, bless her, has fashioned a straw for her with glass when they meet up for tea. Mineru used to haunt Naborus, enraptured by this woman and her no nonsense attitude and her unexplainable kindness. Now Naborus haunts her with bedding and sustenance.

They should be on the battlefield. The malice has overtaken another settlement, Mineru heard. But when she dug, she was sent away.

“More pillows?” Naborus asks, and Mineru holds up two thumbs for an aggressive agreement.

Can you get me construct f12, she writes when Naborus comes back wielding two cream pillows. Twinges, can fix, she slashes quickly at Naborus’s frown.

“You’re working?”

No time, Mineru scribbles. And at Naborus’s hesitant glance, she adds: bored.

“You should be resting.”

Can’t.

She will have nightmares again. Rauru promises the sundelion specimens he’s working on will stop the malice from taking hold, but she still dreams of that red pulsating mass, infecting her, burrowing into her.

She underlines Can’t twice, and hopes Naborus will get it.

Naborus drags a hand down her face, and exhales roughly. “Shit. Okay. I’ll go get your construct, but if you need any help at all you tell me, alright?”

At Mineru’s flat glare, she grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll get you a bell.”

The two sit in companionable silence after that. The construct mineru chose is a small, light weight thing. She is considering adding some sort of projectile weapon when she hears the low rhythmic hum of a song.

Oh, Mineru thinks. This is the song my mother taught me, and I taught you. Oh, Mineru thinks after suddenly overwhelmed with the realization— she will never sing her mother’s song again. She will never be able to join the chorus that was her last, remaining link. She will never-

Mineru wipes her eyes angrily. She can learn how to play a harmonica. Or a flute. The option isn't actually gone, just changed. She should just be glad she’s alive.

Doesn’t stop the tears, though.

When Naborus quietly holds her arms out, Mineru doesn’t fight the pull and slumps into her friend’s arms, and tries not to think of how Ganondorf stole not only her project’s notes, but her history from her too.

He’s Naborus’s brother.

She hates him more, for it.

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[jamminvroomvroom]

get to work.

LN x leclerc!reader

a sequel of sorts to as sick as it sounds, i loved you first - part 1 - part 2

in which lando starts the life with you that he’s always wanted

hi! me again - obsessed with these two soooo much so best believe i had to write (and will continue to write) more for them! thank you so much for continuing to read my work, ilysm and also huuuuuge shoutout to my brainrot bestie @lavenderlando because i truly could not do any of this without her xoxox lemme know what you think, likes and reblogs are aaaalways so so appreciated!

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!!! this one is kinda filthy hehe. smut, fluff, highkey breeding kink, brief switch!lando and switch!r, unprotected p in v, general sex acts in silly places, charles still having it out for lando lmao, mentions of pregnancy/family planning

7.2k words

you stare up at him, breathless, awestruck, leaning further into his touch. he’s swaying you gently to the music, ignorant to all the eyes of your nearest and dearest family and friends. fairy lights cast a warm hue over his face, leaving him golden and sparkling, gleaming with his love for you.

lando’s still pristine, suit unwrinkled, dress shirt crisp, tie straight, not yet wrecked by the party that will undoubtedly overflow all around you both as the night progresses. your dress flows out around you, fanning out in intricate layers of sharp white lace. your newly acquired wedding bands feel foreign on your fingers, but perfect nonetheless. you’re more used to it than him, though, having hauled around the giant rock of an engagement ring he’d presented you with just a few months before.

martin had been called on to be a groomsman, but he’d vouched for the DJ who’s inviting the rest of the party to join you and your husband on the dance floor. people swirl all around you, blowing kisses, squeezing your arms affectionately, but lando can’t keep his eyes off of you.

your husband.

your husband your husband your husband.

it felt just as delicious to think of him with that title as it is to say it. you say it anyway.

“my husband.” you hum, content, pressing your head to his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“my wife.” he coos down at you, pressing a lasting kiss to your hairline, cautious not to mess up your carefully crafted hair.

but it’s your wedding night, and you want to kiss him properly! you figure you’ve earned the right to kiss him anywhere, anytime, whenever, so you tilt your head back and drop his hands, pulling him down. his hands find your cheeks, cupping them ever so softly as your lips meet, loving and tender. you smile into it, and he mirrors you.

“can’t wait for everything.” you sigh, blissed out from the adoration rolling off of him in waves.

“everything?” he laughs, forehead resting on yours.

“life, with you. always.”

“i’ll give you everything you want, baby.” he promises.

you wholeheartedly believe him.

-

“better make this quick, norris.” you giggle, backing up towards the marble counter.

lando stalks towards you, grinning hungrily, and hoists you up onto the sink top, making sure not to damage your dress - not that it would be the first time he’d ruined a white dress of yours. wasn’t that how you’d both ended up here, anyway?

“sue me for wanting to fuck my wife, norris.” he mocks, mouthing at the skin of your neck. you flush. mrs norris.

“no marks.” you breathe, trying to convey a tone of warning, but it comes out needy and weak, and would have fallen on deaf ears regardless.

“but you’re all mine now, honey. forever.” lando murmurs against your jaw, and your head falls back to let him run ruin across your delicate skin. “want everyone to know it.”

you don’t protest again, spreading your legs as he ruches the material of your dress so that it bunches around your hips. his hand skates below the material, blindly feeling the satin and lace of your panties. he groans as he traces over a damp patch, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder.

“soaked for me, baby. been wanting me? just had to ask.” he rambles, tugging your underwear to the side. “can have my cock whenever you want it, you know? it’s all yours.”

lando smears your wetness around with a swipe of his thumb, switching rapidly between messy circles around your clit and teasing dips into your cunt, shallow enough to make you squirm for more.

“just fuck me.” you pant, rutting your hips into his hand.

“the mouth on you, baby. filthy.” he scolds teasingly, but adheres, belt clinking and slacks dropping just enough to free himself.

he drags your hips even closer to the edge of the counter and you feel the warmth of him, hot and throbbing, ghosting over the seam of your pussy. you feel the tip of him press firmly against where you’re leaking, and a roll of his hips sheathes him deep into you smoothly.

“shit, we don’t have a condom.” his eyes fly open, finding yours. you just smirk up at him.

an earnest and vulnerable conversation in the weeks leading up to your wedding had you deciding to abandon your birth control, but you’d been using condoms ever since, not wanting any accidents in the run up to your nuptials.

“you said you wanted to get to work once we got married.” you clench around him for dramatic affect. your desire for flair makes sweat bead in his hairline. “so get to work.” you bite your lip, gazing up at him through lustful, hooded eyes.

“you’re gonna kill me, i swear.” he growls, finding a wild rhythm that makes you writhe into him.

slaps of skin echo through the bathroom, whines and cries of satisfaction and his name bouncing between the cream walls. he can’t take his eyes off of you, beautiful and spent beneath him, rutting your hips to meet his.

“i love you, lando, love you like this, mon amour.” you whimper, clinging to him. his shirt hangs wrinkled, tie loose and brushing against the skin of your chest that your dress doesn’t cover.

“i love you, too, baby. so fucking perfect for me.” lando groans, pressing a messy, open mouthed kiss to your lips. it’s all tongue and teeth, raw desire as you lick into each other. “you want me to put a baby in you already, huh? ready for me to fuck you nice and full and we’ve only be married, what, six hours?” he taunts.

“i want it, please.” you beg, softening your eyes and pouting your lips.

“my wife is such a needy slut for me, yeah, baby? gonna make me a daddy?”

a few more thrusts, and you’re undone, coating him as he stutters, fills you up. you pant into the intimate space between you both, satiated as you giggle, kiss him. you rake your hands through his sweat slicked locks, holding him close.

“we better get back.” he whispers.

“you’re dripping down my thigh.” you deadpan and he cackles, neck flexing as it does. you lick your lips subconsciously, anxious to mark the taut, tanned skin up when you have him all to yourself again.

“don’t worry, honey, i’ll clean it all up later.” he winks, and you slap his shoulder.

and when you’re curled into his side, cry laughing at max’s speech, recounting the unhinged DM you’d sent him once upon a time in qatar, you work overtime to keep your thighs clenched tight.

-

it’s 3am when you finally reach the villa, tucked away somewhere in sardinia, secluded and gorgeous. you creep around exploring while he drops your bags in the master suite, finding yourself on the back deck. from there, you can see the garden, green and ornate, bursting with flowers in shades of pinks and white. then, there’s the sea, waves crashing softly onto the white sand of your private beach. the privacy stretches on for miles in both directions, faint lights far away down the coastline.

you sigh, content, tears pricking your eyes. lando had picked this out, just for you, and his choices made it clear just how well he knows you. that’s how he finds you, wiping a stray tear, and he wraps you in his arms, his head perching on your shoulder. he breathes you in, and you feel him smile against the skin of your neck. open mouthed kisses are dotted over your shoulder and you relax fully into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“it’s so gorgeous, amour. thank you so much.” you whisper, turning your head and awaiting a kiss that quickly comes.

“don’t thank me, baby. this is the least you deserve.” he murmurs, resuming a soft suckle at your neck. you roll your eyes at his generosity. he’s so selfless sometimes that he forgets that he deserves this every bit as much as he thinks you do.

“can we go down to the shore? i’m too excited to sleep.” you giggle, and he hums into the hickey he’s leaving.

“course, honey. we have plenty of time to sleep.”

the plan was, after all, to eat, sleep, fuck, repeat. and swim, of course.

you walk down to the water hand in hand, taking your time through the gardens. he picks you a flower, tucks it sweetly behind your ear.

you ditch your shoes, sighing as your feet sink into the cool sand, damp from the push and pull of the waves. the stars are out, clear as day, and you play dot to dot, pointing out constellations to lando.

“do you have any idea how happy i am?” lando asks when you’re both sat in the sand. he pulls you into his side, your head tucking below his chin.

“if you’re as happy as i am then i’d guess pretty fucking happy.” you reply.

“the wedding was… god. i was kinda nervous about the whole event but as soon as i saw you walking down that aisle…” he trails off, scoffing in disbelief. “you’re a fucking angel.”

“i wasn’t even sure that charles was gonna let me go, you know?” you chuckle, gazing up into his watery eyes.

“i did have to pry him off.” lando laughs along with you, shaking his head.

“and then his speech.” you slap a hand over your mouth, stifling laughter. lando throws his head back in faux agony.

the speech in question had started with “to my sweet, dear baby sister and… lando”, and had ended with “and if you choose, for whatever reason, to make her unhappy, they will never find your body.”

“don’t think he’s ever gonna like me.” lando shrugs, tightening his arm around you, like someone might come and take you away.

“oh, shut up, he likes you! he just… likes to torture you more.” you grin cheekily up at him, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss you urgently.

“you are so beautiful.” he mumbles against your lips. “‘m so fucking in love with you.”

“je t’aime pour toujours.” you coo, licking into his mouth. i love you forever.

something urgent and guttural sounds from deep within him and you smooth your hands through his hair. he pulls away breathless, something wild in his eyes.

“we never talked about what happened in the bathroom.” lando rasps, eyes darkening.

“we got to work.” you smirk, echoing your previous words.

“but last time we spoke about it, you weren’t one hundred percent sure about the timing.” lando furrows his eyebrows, searching your face. your smirk relaxes into a smile, genuine with excitement.

“as soon as we said our vows, i knew i was ready. those things you said about family, about us having our own family… god, lando i would have let you have me right there at the alter.”

you are the light of my life. you make me happier than i ever thought i could be, and i will spend every day trying to make you feel the same way. from the moment i saw you, i was yours and i’ll stay yours until my last breath. my greatest joy so far is getting you call you my wife, and i can’t wait to call you the mother of my children. there’s no one else on this earth that i’d want to live my life with, raise a family with, come home to. you make me whole, baby.

safe to say, you’d said your own vows through a chorus of sobs.

“are you sure you’re ready?” lando whispers.

“i want a family with you, amour. let’s make one.” you raise an eyebrow, an invitation.

“i say we start right here.” lando beams, lunging towards you.

you fall back into the sand, laughing against his lips as he kisses you deeply, mouthing down your jaw. he wastes very little time, pulling at the strap of your camisole, licking over your bare flesh as he drags it down your arm.

“here? in the sand?”

“i said what i said.”

he peels off your top, nips at your bare chest as he pushes your sweats down, just enough to get his hand beneath your panties. you gasp wetly, eyes fluttering shut as he teases your folds with his fingers. he moans into the skin of your breast, hardening at the pooling wetness he’s discovered. a few calculated swipes of his fingers and he’s sinking them deep, your sweat pants restricting his movements. he adapts, rutting his fingers into you in a slow grind, thumb bumping your clit. your nipples peak, the ocean breeze and the cold sand under your back causing you to arch violently into him.

“you’re so wet for me, baby.” lando pants, before he closes his lips around your breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple. you’re sensitive, clenching around his fingers.

“want you inside of me.” you whine, bucking your hips to meet each grind of his digits.

“i am.” he flashes you a devilish grin, punctuating his words with a harder thrust.

“lando!” you growl, warning him.

“anything for my wife.”

he pulls his fingers out of you, the sound of the action obscene, and makes a show of sucking them clean while he strips himself bare. you huff, wriggling your sweats off so that you’re naked too, your thighs falling open on cue. he settles between them, brushing your hair out of your face as he settles on top of you.

you can feel him, throbbing and hot between your legs, small drops of him hitting your bare cunt. you keen into him, rolling your hips up to meet his.

“now, baby, please.” you beg.

“never get used to this, you know?” landos chest heaves as he pushes into you. “always feels as good as the first time.”

he sinks all the way in, taking note of every minuscule movement of your face. his breathing stutters at the warmth and wetness that envelops him whole, his tummy tight. you’re no better, lip caught between your teeth as you watch him hungrily.

“you remember our first time, baby? how good we were together, even then?” lando rasps, pulling out of you the tiniest bit, just to slam his hips right back against yours. it makes electricity shoot up your spine to the top of your head, leaving you hot all over.

“of course, amour, i think about it all the time.” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he sets his pace, slow yet so deliciously brutal.

“did you think then that we’d be doing this forever? that you’d be all mine, begging me to get you pregnant?” he teases, fingers digging into the plush of your hips.

“i used to think about it then, if we’d make it. knew we would. wanted you forever from the very first time.” you choke out, meaning it. “‘m so fucking happy lando.” you gasp, grabbing at every part of him that you can.

your hands smooth over his bronze skin, bound to get even richer from all of the sun kisses the rest of your honeymoon would bring. you zone out, honing in on the sound of the waves dancing against the shoreline, eyes staring up at the moon just behind his head. you can’t believe that you’re his, here, that this is real life and that you share a last name with a man that glows like the sun. a head of chocolate frosted curls obscures your vision, and you realise that you’re crying.

“baby? you with me?” lando draws you back to him, hips still.

“i’m here, ‘m sorry, it’s perfect. you’re so perfect.”

you pull him down, so desperate to taste him, moans muffled. your tears trail down his cheeks as well, so close and intertwined. he’s gentler now, pawing at your sides attentively, pulling your body along with his.

“gonna give you everything you want, pretty girl. my beautiful, beautiful girl.” lando coos.

“come with me.” you plead, nerve endings set alight by the overstimulating way his cock drags against your walls.

“you gonna take it all for me, mama?” and your vision goes white. he’s evil for that, playing you like a fool, but it makes you quiver around him, thighs shaking where they’re locked around his waist.

you chant his name, blasphemy, and words of absolute adoration as you let go, coating him in waves of your very own creation. he tries his best to ride through it, but one look at your twisted face, of your quaking body, and he’s dumb with pleasure, crashing down on top of you like a heated blanket.

the sun rises in the east when he carries you to bed, your eyes drooping as you loop your arms around his neck.

“get some sleep for me, angel. we have a baby to make.”

-

“do you ever wonder about trying new things?” lando asks, hand linked loosely with yours.

sea water rushes over your feet up to your ankles, the sun warming the skin of your backs as you stroll lazily along the coastline. it’s been three days of nothing but each other, a big, peaceful house and endless sunshine.

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“lando, for the fourteenth fucking time, i promise i’ll play tarkov with you when we get home, but it’s just not really my thing-“ you whine, but his louder than life laugh cuts you off, slicing through the serenity of the beach.

“not what i meant, baby.” he chuckles, utterly fond of the way your face wrinkles with confusion.

“what, then?”

“in the bedroom.” lando smirks, and your eyes go wide.

“like… like what?” you squeak, slightly lost.

your sex life was nothing short of adventurous, to say the least.

“like maybe…” he hums teasingly. “you take control?” lando raises his eyebrows suggestively, and you feel yourself flush.

“me? i thought you liked taking charge?”

lando stops, pulling you into his body. water splatters higher up your legs, cooling you down the slightest amount. his hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head up to look at him.

“i love watching you.” he states simply. “and i wanna watch you push yourself.”

“okay.” you inhale shakily. “okay.” you repeat with more conviction. an idea pops into your head. you can’t resist the smirk that pulls at the corner of your lips, and lando grins at the glimmer in your eyes.

“go back to the house. wait for me in our room.”

“naked?” he quips cheekily.

“what do you think?” you tease. lando kisses you quickly, but you push him back. “go.” you command.

he turns to walk away, repeatedly turning back to you, as if he wants to make sure he hasn’t imagined your entire existence. you just turn your back, staring out to sea. the sky is awash with streaks of purple and orange, and you feel your skin prickle with excitement. you take your time walking back, actively trying to slow yourself down. when you reach the door to the master suite, your breath hitches in your throat.

your husband looks fucking ethereal, stretched out across the off-white linen on the king sized mattress. he’s elongated by the way his head is thrown back, bathed in the lamp light as his muscles flex, taut from the way he’s gripping himself, working himself from base to tip. a faint sheen of sweat coats his bronzer-still skin and your mouth runs dry.

“couldn’t wait?” you rasp, low and dangerous. his eyes flutter open, and the bastard has the audacity to beam at you.

“took too long.” he shrugs, resuming without a care in the world. you hear him pant, teeth gritted from the pleasure.

“hands off, lando.” you slowly undress, untying your sarong and letting it flutter to the floor. your bikini quickly follows, landing in a colourful heap on the floor. you stalk towards him and watch him swallow hard when you perch on your knees at the end of the bed. “you asked for this, amour, and you couldn’t even wait to enjoy it properly.”

you’re pouting at him, feigning sadness. he picks up on it, eyes locked on you, trailing shamelessly over your breasts.

“was thinking about how pretty you looked out there.” lando rasps, fisting the duvet beneath him. you tilt your head to the side, raking your eyes over his frame.

“bad boys don’t get the real thing.”

you smooth your hand up his thigh towards his hipbone, and you notice the way he twitches, cock stood tall and waiting. he’s leaking, desperate and aching, but he plays along, needy for it. you grin lazily, wriggling up the bed until you’re close enough, throwing your leg over one of his until you’re straddling his thigh, the skin warm against your bare cunt.

“baby…” he breathes, bringing up a hand to graze your thigh, but you bat it away.

“no touching.” you scold. “i’m gonna take what i want and,” you pause, thoughtfully. “then, maybe, i’ll give you something.”

lando pouts up at you, slowly retreating his hand until it’s back at his side. his jaw is tight as he fights to keep his mouth shut, trying to be content with just watching. after all, you are quite the sight.

you roll your hips experimentally, gasping at the way your clit grazes his skin. your head falls back, out of it as you find a rhythm that works. you drag yourself backwards and forwards, panting as you go, your wetness smearing across his flexed thigh.

“it’s so good, lando,” you moan. “wish you could touch me, but you don’t behave.” you tut, smirking down at him.

“i’ll be good, baby.” he chokes, and your eyes fly open. you rake you eyes over the shape of him, the tense dips of each of his abs, the way his hip bone pulses, leading all the way down to where he’s throbbing.

“looks painful.” you bite your lip. “want me to help?”

“please.” he coos, reaching out for you again before he thinks better of it, twisting his fingers back into the sheets until his knuckles are white.

you grip the base of his cock, loose at first, squeezing tight a few times. his mouth falls open, a deep, unhinged groan rumbling through his chest. you almost lose yourself in how gorgeous he looks but you remain focused, fucking your hand up and down on him a few times, experimenting.

“you gotta wait, amour.” you warn, thumbing at the tip, smearing beads of pre cum over the head. lando whines, squeezing his eyes shut, teeth gritting so hard that his jawline pops, defining it even more than usual. you grin. he’s wrapped so tight around your finger.

“don’t tease me.” he begs, bucking his hips into your hand.

“but you gotta keep it all in for me, amour. save it all so you can fill me up whenever i want.” your voice drips all over him like honey, making him shiver violently.

“you can’t just say that-“

“i can, lando. i can,” you giggle, evil. “and you’re gonna take it.” it’s a promise and a threat and he’s seconds away from blowing his load all over you.

“jesus, i’ve created a fucking monster.” lando hisses, gasping with every slow rub of your hands over his cock.

“and now you’re gonna deal with the consequences, sweetheart.” you purr. “you wanna fuck me?”

his eyes shoot wide open, and he nods desperately, his gaze boyish and needy.

“so wet for you, lando, think i’ll just sink right…” you trail off, manoeuvring yourself so that you’re hovering over his length, red and swollen. “down.” you moan, filling yourself up with ease.

lando cries out, a broken man of his own design, and you pant, rocking yourself backwards and forward as you adjust to the intrusion.

“we feel so good together.” you breathe, peering down at where he’s splitting you open.

“so good.” lando affirms. “can i touch you?” he whines, the veins in his arms protruding through his skin. they remind you how powerful he is, how easily he could flip you over and pound into you like a madman, but he’s letting you destroy him and he’s loving every second. you clamp down around him at the thought, a gush of your slick dripping down around him.

“touch me.” you comply, and he springs from the mattress, sitting unsupported in the middle of the bed as his hands snake around your waist. you anchor him though, holding him close as he holds you tight against him, rutting up into you so deliciously that you cry out his name wetly, face buried in his hair. “so good for me.” you whisper.

your hands cup his face, pulling back from his frizzy curls enough to press your lips to his, swallowing each-others moans.

“gonna come, baby.” lando mumbles into your lips, eyes glazed over with panic, scared you’re gonna deny him.

“that’s okay, amour, you saved it all for me.” you kiss the words against the corner of his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as your own orgasm tightens your belly to the point of no return. “good boy, lando, fill me up now, sweetheart.”

the grunt he lets out heightens into a whine, lost to the crook of your neck as he releases, grinding into you as he lets go. it sends a rush of heat up your spine, a flame to gunpowder, and you thrash in his arms, meeting your own end seconds later.

you come down in his embrace, pulling away to meet his wide eyes, awestruck and glossy.

“thank you, baby.” he mutters, hugging you tight for just a moment, before rolling you onto your back.

“love you.” you whisper, confused as to where he’s going when he starts to move down the bed.

you don’t have to wonder for long, watching as he settles his head against your thigh, licking his lips as he finds his release dripping out of you. two fingers run through your folds, teasing each and every overstimulated nerve. your teeth sink into your bottom lip right when his fingers sink into your cunt. lando’s in a daze, watching the way everything seeps out of you.

“keep it in for me.” lando slurs, transfixed on every clench of your spent cunt around his thick fingers. your eyes roll back in your head.

-

you roll over in the bed, the sunlight streaming through the linen curtains rousing you from your slumber. you push your hair from your face, reaching blindly for your husband but your hand lands on cold sheets, thudding dully against the mattress. you wrinkle your nose, sitting up and scanning the bedroom. you don’t find him, confused. he never wakes up first. your feet meet the cool tiles of the floor and you pad into the en-suite to freshen up, pulling a loose robe on before you make your way downstairs. you can smell eggs, toast and something floral, and you grin giddily, already anticipating what awaits.

you find lando in the middle of the kitchen, sleepy eyed and smiling at you like you’re the centre of the universe, sent to earth just for him. he’s surrounded, surrounded, by flowers, all kinds of varieties, and they flood the space, every surface covered by bouquets and arrangements. behind him, nestled amongst the sea of pinks, yellow and whites, the table is laid out with a delicious spread, and you feel a pang of hunger at the sight of fresh pastries and juices.

“mon dieu.” you sigh dreamily, grazing a hand over flower petals as you make your way through the jungle towards lando. “all of this for me? how the fuck did you manage this?” you swoon, wrapping your arms around his neck. he leans down, kisses you sweet and slow.

“rumour has it, there are no flowers left on the island.” he chuckles into your neck, and you giggle, leaning up to kiss him again.

“you’re insane.” you reply, awestruck. how did you get so lucky?

“ready for the day?” lando asks, toying with the ends of your hair.

“as long as i get to eat my body weight in sfogliatella first.” you tell him, eyeing the table behind him hungrily.

-

droplets of water sparkle in the sunlight, dripping slowly down his lean back, flexing with every shake of his head.

lando had crawled out the pool, and right between your legs, where he now resides, mouthing at the crotch of your bikini bottoms. he snaps the band of them against your waist, and you arch further into him every time his nose bumps your clothed clit.

“you’re being mean.” you whine, head falling back against the sun lounger. your book has fallen to the stone paved floor, your place surely lost, but you couldn’t care less. every time you pick the damn thing up, your husband has found a new, unique, way to entice you out of actually reading it, usually with his tongue.

“you want my mouth, baby? just say please.” he smirks up at you, wet curls falling over his eyes. water droplets drip over your thighs, cold against your warm skin and you shiver.

“please.” you growl, not really meaning it, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“polite.” lando tuts, but he relents, twisting the ties that hold the bottoms together until they come undone. he tugs the material away, throws it blindly, and the quiet splash that sounds from behind him tells you both that they’d landed in the pool. he looks up at you, sheepish, and you glare at him.

“make it up to me.” you mutter, bucking your hips into his face.

lando complies, closing his mouth over your clit, sucking softly at the bud. you’re throbbing for him, writhing in the heat of the sun at his electric touch.

two fingers slither between your folds, and he groans into your cunt at the slickness that he finds there, laving his tongue through your slit to savour your taste before his fingers sink inside of you. as he builds a rhythm, fingertips bumping that special spot, you cry out, melting completely into the lounger.

“can feel us from earlier,” lando slurs, lips bumping your clit as he speaks. you shiver, the wet squelch between you quivering thighs leaving you utterly breathless. “so good for me, keeping it all in.”

you let go a few seconds later, grinning languidly as you watch him lick his fingers clean through your sunglasses. he kisses you cheekily, leaving you with your taste on your tongue, and he throws himself back into the pool.

“get my bikini bottoms!” you call, flustered by the way the low sun hits him, paints his golden and shiny.

“but i prefer the view without them.” he winks, but dives under the water to retrieve them nonetheless.

-

“‘m so, so in love with you.” lando rasps into your ear, mouthing at the skin of your flushed cheeks.

you’re chest to chest, eyes locked as he grinds into you, deeper and deeper somehow with every thrust. he leaves you dizzy, tingling and weightless with every stroke, hips brushing yours.

“lando,” you sigh dreamily, threading your fingers through his curls. they’re loosening from the humidity, the heat burning between you both, no longer perfectly coiled like they had been during your dinner date.

lando had hired out a small italian restaurant overlooking the sea, soft fairy lights strung over your heads as you’d sipped wine, hands loosely clasped together. he’d toyed with your wedding band the whole time, eyes rarely leaving yours. it was a perfect end to a perfect honeymoon, and as he’d driven you back to your villa, the tension had simmered.

he had you on your back quickly, but he was careful with you, lazily revealing more and more skin as he slowly undressed you. he’d tried to slide between your thighs, eyes lit up with longing, but you’d refused him. you needed him against you, buried so deep, intertwined. lando hadn’t fought you much, pouting at the deprivation of getting a taste, but when he’d slid his cock through your folds, easy because of your glistening slick, his eyes had rolled back and he’d gotten over the disappointment.

“you’re so perfect.” you pant, leaning up to kiss him. it’s sweet, full of passion, leaves you wanting. “i love you.” you whisper when he pulls away, his forehead resting intimately against yours. warm breaths mingle, rapid and needy from the intensity of it all.

when you fall apart under him, a string of jumbled french rolls off of your tongue, your eyes squeezed shut at the pure inferno of ecstasy that washes over you. you’re both damp with sweat, his curls falling in a mess over his forehead, framing pretty eyes that roll back in his head when he burrows deep and reaches his own release.

once you’re untangled, you lay facing each other and his fingertips ghost over the curve of your bare waist. you watch one another, utterly content with the silence, bathing in the warmth of the bedside lamp and the pale moonlight that filters in through the open balcony doors. the cool nighttime breeze grazes over your naked bodies, pulling you out of the unrelenting heat of the moment and into something serene, peaceful.

“i can’t wait to spend my life with you.” lando whispers, his words soft in the quiet of the room. you let them wash over you, tuned in to the waves rippling against the shore in the distance. you grin coyly back at him, grabbing the hand that he’s stroking you with. you pull it to your lips, kiss it sweetly.

you fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you, your back to his chest, loose curls tickling the skin of your neck. one of his hands rests gently over your lower belly, covered with one of yours.

your bags wait by the door, packed and ready to go home, where the rest of your life with him begins.

-

“i like this colour better, i think.” you muse, flicking between paint swatches. violet white and apple moon have caught your attention, but you wonder if a colder undertone would work best. you’ve taken on the task of redoing a guest room, a little end of summer project.

lando wrinkles his nose and you roll your eyes playfully.

you’re lounged across your sofa, the sun slowly dipping behind the horizon and you watch it through the open balcony doors. the room is tinged orange, glowing, painting your husband angelic.

“don’t you think something… warmer would work better?” he asks, leaning closer to have another look.

“not everyone loves fluorescent yellow.” you tease, and he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“okay, not that.” he laughs. “what about,” he scans the other swatches on the coffee table, reaching for one. “this one?”

he hands you honey beam, and you toy with the small card.

“i think it’s too pink.” you say.

“it’s cute! i just think we should paint it something soft, just in case…” he trails off, leaning forward and immersing himself in the samples. you lean in, too, chasing him. he has this small smile on his lips, lost in thought.

“hey, ‘in case’ what?” you ask.

lando turns to you, just stares for a second. the low sun makes your eyes sparkle, and he melts.

“in case we get pregnant.” he says quietly.

“oh.” you coo, grinning up at him. “i suppose you have a point.”

“yeah?” he breathes, excited in a way you can only compare to a sweet, innocent puppy.

“yeah.”

“like, baby, i love your eye for design but i don’t want our baby to grow up in a a pretentious, grey, prison-“ lando teases you, and you shut him up by wrestling him back onto the sofa.

“ve te faire foutre.” you scold, kissing over his cheeks.

“i love you and i love our house.” lando murmurs sincerely.

the paint swatches are forgotten as you laugh together and kiss him sweetly into the sofa.

-

lando relaxes into the seat, waiting for the plane to take off. oscar sits across from him, already falling asleep, hoodie pulled tight around his head. charles and alexandra are supposed to be joining them on the flight back to nice. he wonders where they are - he wants nothing more than to get home, curl into his wife’s side. lando snaps a picture of his dozing teammate, smirking at the screen, but before he can upload it to his instagram story, your contact photo fills the screen. he accepts the facetime, beaming as your tired eyes meet his through the screen.

“hey baby.” lando coos, sticking his tongue out at you.

“mon amour,” you greet, grinning at him lazily. “have you taken off yet?” you ask softly. you’re on your side in bed, blankets cocooning you, and lando aches to be there with you.

“soon, waiting for your brother and alex.” lando rolls his eyes jokingly, and you tut.

“i’ll tell them off.” you frown, unserious.

“god, don’t do that! i’m already terrified of that man.” lando shivers, and your laugh fills his ears, warms the blood flowing through his cheeks. “are you okay, though, baby? you look tired.”

“yeah, think it’s just sugar crash,” you half shrug. “i’ve been really tired for the last few days, it’s nothing.”

“sugar?” lando’s eyebrows furrow. you’re not one for sugary things, supplementing it with your body weight in snacks. you’re a savoury girl, through and through.

“yeah, i’m all kinder-d out.” you giggle, sheepish. his eyes go wide.

“my kinder?” lando gasps, feigning hurt. he sees it, then, the pile of wrappers on the nightstand behind you.

“whoops? don’t even know what came over me, but your entire stash is gone.”

“how am i ever gonna forgive you for this?” lando shakes his head, smirking at the screen.

“just get more on the way back? please?” you plead, giving him the eyes that he’d die for.

“course, baby.” he promises, but he’s mulling it all over in his head. “you’re not getting sick, are you?”

cravings. overly tired. all you had to say next was that you were nauseous and he’d be buying a crib. he kept his mouth shut, though, because it clearly hasn’t dawned on you yet.

“not sure, i’ve been fine mostly.” you shrug again, and lando can’t help but smile like a fool. “what?” you ask, noticing his untamed expression.

“nothing, i just love you. okay, baby, i’m gonna call charles and see where he is. i’ll be home in a few hours.”

“don’t forget my kinder!” you call, blowing him a kiss. “have a good flight, amour, i love you.”

lando can’t quieten his mind, too overwhelmed with the possibility that you’re about to expand your family, something he’s imagined since before he’d even proposed.

when charles steps onto the small plane, met with the sight of his brother in law grinning like an idiot at absolutely nothing, he wonders, yet again, what kind of joke god was playing on him.

-

you hear the front door open, the soft thud of bags dropping to the floor, and you spring from the mattress. you ignore the way your tummy turns uncomfortably, and speed down the hallway to meet him.

“hey baby.” lando murmurs, holding you tight when you jump into his arms. you never get used to him being gone.

“missed you.” you whisper, breathing in the familiar scent of him, warm and spicy, and even better than usual. “i’m so proud of you.”

lando was leading the championship, but he couldn’t get too comfortable. charles and lewis were looming in the near distance, and oscar was creeping towards the party at a rate of knots. but lando was on a streak of race wins, and he couldn’t deny that your praise made him giddy. after all, these days it was all for you.

“yeah?” lando asks, pressing his forehead against yours. you hum in agreement, leaning in for a kiss. it’s sweet, tender, silent confirmation of just how much you’ve missed one another.

“did you pick up my chocolate?” you pout, fingers intertwined as you walk to the sofa. you drop down, curling up and lando sits next to you.

“i did, and i also got you something else.” lando smiles coyly, unzipping his bag. your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

first, he hands you the kinder chocolate. then, he hands you a pregnancy test.

seeing the two items together makes it dawn on you, and you slap your hands over your face.

“mon dieu!” you gasp. “how did i not realise?” when you lower your hands, lando sees how your eyes glimmer with tears, your lips stretched into a nervous smile.

“so i’m not crazy for thinking it, right?” lando laughs, cupping your cheeks with warm, shaking hands.

“you’re not. should i take it now?”

“i might die if you don’t.” lando’s dead serious, the tension between you palpable.

you stand from the sofa, speed towards the bathroom, and lando watches you go. he sighs, rubbing his eyes, overcome with jitters and excitement.

time seems to stand still as he waits, eyes locked on the door that you’d gone through, waiting for any movement. five minutes must have passed, but if you’d told him it had been five years, he would have believed it. the door handle makes him jump to his feet, and he walks towards you tentatively. your expression is unreadable and he wants to scream.

“so? are you- are we?” lando pleads, only a few steps away from you now.

your neutral expression morphs into one of pure joy, the tears you’d been holding back streaming in a free-for-all.

“all that work we put in must have paid off.” you whisper, and lando surges towards you. your feet leave the ground, held so tight as he spins you around.

“we’re having a baby?” lando breathes, placing you back on the ground carefully.

“you’re gonna be a dad.” you manage through tears.

“my god,” his voice is laced with disbelief, utterly enamoured with you. “i can’t even believe it.” his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you feel his wet, hot tears pooling there.

“i’m pregnant.” you say it slowly, tasting it on your tongue, feeling the weight of it. your husband clings to you, and your hands rake through his hair, soothing him with your dull nails across his scalp, as you ground yourself in the ecstasy of the moment.

“we did it!” lando cheers, flushed red, his watery eyes shining like the sun hitting the sea. you’re shaking, fingertips grazing your sweatshirt covered belly. his fingers lace with yours, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric.

“we did.” your voice wobbles, cheeks aching from your unshakable smile. “what the hell do we do now?”

“we plan a really elaborate hiding spot so that charles never finds me. you and the baby can visit.” lando replies earnestly, bursting into giggles when you swat his arm.

he pulls you into a kiss, so slow and gentle that the whole house melts away around you; all that’s left is you and him, and something so beautiful that you’ve created together.

“thank you.” lando mumbles against your lips.

“i’m just glad you convinced me not to paint the spare room grey.”

-

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[captain-bubble-wrap]

HELP ME PLEASE

Your quinn is literally my favorite!!!!!!!!!!! Can you write him and reader!girlfriend on the phone after the stars game? Your sweet/sad quinn is the best!!!!!!!!!

Oh, you're WAY TO KIND TO ME...! 🥹🥹 Let's see what I can do!

All you had texted was, "I love you."

Incoming Call: Quinny

Quinn's broken voice in that post-game interview had killed you. The way he had looked down before answering about how he was feeling, his thoughts on Millsy's trade, and how he was handling the noise of the dressing room as the team's captain -- it was obvious how much it all was affecting him. Unfortunately, you were twenty-two-hundred miles away, and you felt powerless to help him in any form.

"Hey, baby," you said upon answering the call.

Quinn's voice was low, and it was obvious he was beyond exhausted, body and mind, "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Your stomach tightened like you were about to receive some bad news. You hadn't heard him sound this way before and given how the day had gone, you knew it wasn't going to be a butterfly-inducing conversation.

"Let me get somewhere a little quieter. I need to hear your voice."

To you, he sounded desperate -- like he was at his breaking point. While you waited for him to walk to wherever he needed to be, you couldn't help but worry about him -- about what had caused him pain during the game, how losing JT and the others was weighing on him, and the stress of the upcoming tournament that was just four games away. You couldn't get the sad look of his face out of your mind. When was the last time he had actually had a good day, that he was happy without nagging stresses?

"Hey Mike, I'm gonna step out for a few minutes," Quinn said, obviously not talking to you. You couldn't hear the other man's reply but it must have been favourable as Quinn would finally start his conversation with you just a few seconds afterwards.

He sighed heavily, "I wish you were here. I-- I feel like everything is out of control and I don't know what to do."

The sound of wind was intertwined with his words. You wondered if he had stepped outside the arena to talk to you, somewhere to speak without listening ears.

"I wish I was there, too," you confessed, a pain growing in your heart. "You're trying to carry too much, baby."

"I have no choice, though."

You knew where he was coming from. The title of Captain meant you wore several hats, and sometimes more than one at a time. You knew he had all of them on at once. This season hadn't been easy, and something had you believing it wasn't going to get any better.

"I know," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he breathed out, feeling guilty for calling you when he was feeling like he was. "I'm sorry to put this on you. I just don't know what to do. Everyone is looking to me for answers and insight, but I don't have any. I don't know how to fix the team, I'm carrying as much as I can every night. I'm asked about what's going on behind closed doors and the temperature of the room and I'm over it. It's like the media just wants to keep stirring the pot instead of letting us just work it out. Now I'm being asked about if the team rebuilds what that means for my future in Vancouver. I-- I just-- I can't-- handle everything right now." Your heart was breaking hearing him on the brink of tears. His voice was cracking and shaky. "I need you."

"I wish I was there, sweetheart. I'd do anything I could to help you."

"I love you," his voice at a whisper.

"I love you, too, Quinn."

The first whimper made you cover your mouth to keep yourself from doing the same. Quinn rarely cried, at least not when you were around. To hear him finally drop that ultra-reserved demeanour of his was crushing.

"Oh honey, you'll be okay," you tried to reassure him, but they were words without certainty, you knew that. "You're doing the best you can, and you need to realise that you need to put yourself first sometimes. You're pushing yourself too much. It's not on you to solely fix the team, Quinn, though I know you're trying. I've never seen you this way before, and I'm scared it's going to break you."

He was silent on the other end, aside from his muffled cries. You didn't need him to say anything, though hearing his voice would have made you feel better, which made you remember what he had said to you earlier: "I need to hear your voice."

Maybe he just needed you to talk to him.

"One day at a time, baby, please. Be happy where you are, and what you have. You're doing all you can, and I need you to know that it's okay to struggle, but it's also okay to be content with how things are. You know there are things out of your control, and you just have to let them work themselves out sometimes. You'll drive yourself crazy trying to put bandaids on everything. I don't want to lose you down that rabbit hole." You'd pause before adding one more thing, "I just want you to be okay."

Quietly you'd sit there and wait for a sign from him, or whatever it might be. A long moment of silence would follow your words, making you pull the phone away from your ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"I miss you," he choked out, breaking the painful silence between the two of you.

"I miss you more, Quinn. I wish you were here."

"Me, too," he said, sharply inhaling, like he was trying to push those emotions back down and get over it. "Thank you for picking up everything -- the call, the pieces...me. I'd be so lost without you."

You'd shake your head, "You never have to thank me, baby. I just want to help you."

"I appreciate that," he sniffled. "I just wish I knew where to start."

"With yourself, Quinn," you said bluntly. "How are you feeling? I saw you take the stick to the head early."

It took him a few seconds to respond but you didn't mind, "I don't know, honestly. Between my hand and whatever is wrong with my leg, everything hurts. I'm tired. I'm drained. I wish I was home with you."

Everything he said carried so much weight and his emotions were so painfully honestly.

That was just Quinn.

He always spoke from his heart; wearing his heart on his sleeve every waking moment of his life. However this had a different air about it -- a nakedness. He was free to share his deepest fears with you, those raw feelings were bleeding from him with no hindrance. You appreciated that he felt so comfortable to open up like he was, and the fact that he was away from you, as well. Quinn didn't give the hint that he shared stuff like this with the guys on the team -- not like he did with you. You were different. He loved you -- you occupied a special piece of his heart like no on else did. That meant something special to him.

"You'll be home soon, baby. Just a little longer, okay?"

Through Quinn's end of line, someone was calling out to him, "C'mon Quinn-- the boy's are packing up, let's go."

You frowned hearing the empty orders, but you knew Quinn would have to end the call with you and head to the airport. There was always a sense of urgency after their games, especially the away ones.

"Yeah-- I'll be right there," he muttered, his voice dropping off at the end while he pretended to have himself together. "I'll call you when we get back to Vancouver."

"Be careful."

"I will," he paused. "Thanks, babe. For all that you do for me."

"Happy to help, Quinny. I love you."

For the first time, you heard his little giggle, "I love you, too."

[bananayuyu]

just friends (1)

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?

warnings: MDNI, smut, blurred lines around consent, non-negotiated stuff, face slapping, choking, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral (f receiving), masturbation

a/n: should I write more for them? I'm kinda invested now, and I have thoughts. lmk <33

read it on ao3

Soft, hazy light floated in through the window, the slowly falling snow coating the sky and buildings outside. Downtown the streets were empty, only a handful of cars driving their way through the grey streets, not a face or head to be found anywhere in the cold, dry air.

In the short few moments of waking you were completely disoriented, used to the bright hot sun waking you sharply in the early afternoon, your morning. The gentle light reminded you of night, of those long summer days when you tucked into bed just as the sun was rising. It was a comforting light, but one that made you sleepy, and the air was colder than it should have been in the desert, this late January day.

You closed your eyes, pushing back under the covers, shifting over to San's side of the bed and wiggling your way under his arm. A groan followed; he hated being bothered when he was trying to get his all important rest, and you knew that, but the air was too damn cold in his room, and you couldn't stand it.

"Baby," he whispered, moving his head to kiss you on the cheek, before gently trying to extract your limbs from his body. You whined; the loss of contact made you shiver, and your naked body felt exposed even under his thick comforter, your feet so cold you were sure you could barely feel them. "Don't do that," he sighed, but you whined again, wrapping yourself around him a second time. "Baby, seriously-" he was cut off by you climbing over him, legs straddling his hips as you rested your head next to his on his pillow.

"It's cold," you sniffled, making it almost sound like you were crying, and fuck did that do things to him, things he couldn't explain. Already he could feel his cock twitch; your naked body wrapped around his, plush thighs pushing down on the sides of his hips and abdomen, your hot breath on his ear. It couldn't have been more than a few hours ago since you were in this exact position, screaming and crying his name as you came undone, and he couldn't stop replaying it, especially as you wiggled around on top of him, your thigh crazing his cock more than once and only adding to his arousal.

"Baby, I need sleep," he chided, trying to do what he knew he should, trying to be responsible. But he could never be responsible when it came to you; that was the problem. You drove him insane, had him wrapped around you so tightly, it would take the strength of a thousand men to pull him free.

"But I'm cold," you whined, snuggling more. You were still barely awake; last night had been a particularly crazy shift at the bar, and after pulling apart five fighting girls and dancing an extra two numbers to cover for your sick coworker, your body was grasping for every bit of rest it could find.

"You're pissing me off," he grunted below you, hands holding your hips firmly in place so you'd stop moving, stop making his body react in ways he so badly wished he could control.

"Ow," you dramatically whined, pretending those hands gripping into you felt anything but delicious and tantalizing. Heat was shooting through you now, his low, angry voice in your ear, and without even noticing your mind had already slipped into it's lustful, edgy space, one that it always seemed to drift to when he was around.

"So fucking dramatic," he sighed, still holding your hips hard, trying desperately to stop you. But your body had a mind of its own, and even if you'd wanted to stop it you wouldn't have been able. Your hips ground down onto his, as much as they could with him limiting you, and you felt the hard length of his cock under your right thigh, shifting yourself slightly to rub it up and down the length of your slit.

Immediately you both groan, the feeling electric. The room was still so dim, both of you still so sleepy, but your bodies woke themselves up; there was nothing either of you could do to stop it.

"Stop it," San growled in your ear, but you couldn't. It felt too fucking good when the tip of his now rock hard length hit your clit. His hands shifted up to your waist, trying what he could to limit you there. But it only freed up your hips more, and immediately you pushed them down even harder, nearly accidentally slipping him inside you.

"I said, stop," he spat, grabbing your hips again and lifting them off him slightly, making your movements awkward. You kept grinding, trying to find some friction somewhere, whining at the lack of it.

"Baby," he said again, trying to get your attention. "Are you not fucking listening??"

"Mmghfm," you mumbled beside him, pushing yourself up by your arms a bit to try to get leverage for your hips. You wanted to push them down again, hump the length of his cock till you couldn't move. But San had other plans, his anger boiling up so quickly he had little time to think. As your face rose above his he took his right hand from your hip, reaching up and slapping you hard, all breath leaving your lungs in shock. Grabbing your neck with the same hand, he moved you face to face with him, staring deep into your eyes and squeezing down ever so slightly.

"I said stop, did you not fucking hear me?!" he spat, an almost crazed expression on his face. You gulped; you'd never seen him quite like this, and he'd never done that before, that being physically striking you. You wondered for a moment in the haze of your head if it was okay, what was happening; but all the same you felt your pussy clench hard, the ghost of an orgasm washing over your core even if nothing was touching you down there.

"Are you trying to fucking piss me off?!" he continued, your blank expression giving him nothing. It was so unclear to him sometimes what the hell you wanted; him, not him, nothing at all, everything? He could only give you so much, and he knew deep down it was never enough for you. But sometimes you stared at him so blank, like now, as if you didn't have a care in the world. As if none of it mattered, not him, not life, nothing. His grip on your neck wouldn't cease; he couldn't find it in himself to let up, because last night he'd specifically asked to be left alone, desperately needing the rest that you'd been so selfishly stealing from him all month.

"Sannie, please-" you tried to grab at his hand on your neck, but it only made him squeeze harder, your head feeling light in an instant. "San, san-" you were pleading now, tears actually brimming in your eye, genuine panicked tears that did nothing to make him feel bad for you. They only shot right down to his cock, already hard and leaking, and he lost his head completely, giving in entirely to the feelings inside.

He flipped you over in an instant; the comforter was nearly thrown off the bed, still draped over only half of your joined bodies, the cold making goose bumps rise on your arms, your nipples peaked sharply. His hand was still on your throat, and now he held you down onto his pillow, lining himself up as fast as he could and slamming into you hard, making you call out in shock and pain and pleasure.

He'd had it with you, with always doing what you wanted, always waiting around for when you wanted it. He was taking what he wanted now; using you just for his own pleasure, in a way he knew he'd completely regret later, a way that was unfair, disrespectful, unkind. He knew it, even then as he slammed into you stroke after stroke, the lewd noises of skin slapping filling his room, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt too good, too powerful. He felt like he was taking something that was his to take, that he'd been holding back from for an eternity. He was surprised he'd managed to wait this long.

And how was he supposed to hate himself for doing this when the look on your face screamed pure bliss? You were so wet, your cunt flushed and ready for him, and even though your moans sounded twinged with fear, he knew you were fucking loving this. He was hitting your cervix repeatedly, and your legs were shaking uncontrollably as you came, the feeling barely reaching your head with the lack of oxygen. You body had never felt better; writhing and struggling against him was getting you nowhere, of course, but you'd always seemed to fall easily into fighting with him. You'd never done it in this way, so physically, but it felt right all the same.

You came two times in quick succession; as he flipped you over he saw a wet patch on his sheets, a dark chuckle exiting his mouth. He shoved your face down into his pillow, pulling your ass up towards him. The bun you'd put your hair in last night hung slightly to the side, messed up by your night of sleep, smalls strands escaping and hanging messily around your neck and cheeks. He grabbed onto it, fingers lacing through your hair as he slammed back into you again, your moans even more desperate and pathetic as you tried to make sense of it all.

It only took a few hard strokes for you to come again, the angle so deep you felt like you were being ripped open from inside. Trembling and spasming around him, San felt fucking amazing, dropping your head to place both hands on your hips and fucking you harder than he ever had, his head thrown back in disbelief and pleasure.

He came hard, the feeling shuddering through him, the muscles of his stomach clenching hard. There were tears and snot covering your face, now cum dripping out of your cunt as he pulled out, letting your body slump hard against the bed. He quickly pulled the covers over you both, collapsing beside you, your bodies sticky with sweat and already shivering. But despite the frigid air, the sex had taken it out of you; you both fell into a deep slumber within minutes.

When you woke again, it was to San's hand running through your hair.

"Hey, it's 4:30," he whispered, but there was urgency to his tone, because he knew just how bad this was.

It took you a moment to wake up, yawning and stretching in the warmth of his bed, stickiness still clinging to your skin. "What do you mean, 4:30?" you asked, the light in the room even dimmer than it was the last time you woke.

"4:30pm," he sighed, holding his phone screen to you.

"Fuck, fuck," you muttered, jumping up, nearly sprinting to his bathroom to relieve your screaming bladder. You were supposed to be to work in fifteen minutes, which you knew was not going to happen; still, you were determined not to be too late. You could text your boss any number of excuses, and were sure she'd forgive you. You were one of her more reliable employees, and she'd let this shit slide with you before. But you'd tried not to make a habit of it, even if sometimes you got caught up in the things in life that really made your heart happy. Your art, your friends, the boy you were fucking. Your work was chaotic; never the same day to day, and the rest of your life had to follow suit. It was just a part of this work, this life you'd chosen for yourself. You wouldn't give it up for anything.

With a quick swipe of a damp towel you washed your crotch, wiping free as much of the remnants of your frenzied fuck earlier as you could. You didn't have time to think of it now, frantically pulling out your hair tie and brushing your hair with your fingers, splashing water in your face to freshen up. You'd have to slap on some makeup at work today, which should be fine if everyone else showed up for their shifts on time. There was always some performer or server running in late, always someone in the dressing room begging to borrow makeup or bobby pins or hair spray. You tried not to let that be you, but shit happened. For some god forsaken reason you'd slept in so late, and it pissed you off even if you tried to not care.

Busting out of the bathroom you ran over to your bag, flipping through to check that you still had your makeup, wallet, keys. You grabbed for the clothes you had set out for yourself yesterday, slipping on the loose sweats and one of San's hoodies, not even bothering with a bra or underwear. You hoped the clothes would stop your shivering, but the room was shockingly cold still, and seemed only to be getting colder.

"Do you have any long socks I can borrow?" you asked San, picking up your head and finally actually looking at him, his face a confusing mixture of concerned and distant. He reached into his dresser and tossed you some, black and thick and definitely too big. But you'd need them today for your short walk, if the temperature inside was any indication. You snatched your phone off his bedside table now, pulling up the chat with your boss, shooting off a quick and uninspired text. I'm running a few minutes late today, I needed some extra rest after last night.

No problem, I'm sure everyone's running late cause of the snow. See you soon, she responded.

"Snow..?" you asked to the room, almost forgetting where you were.

"Yeah," San sighed, staring past you out the window, his 10th floor apartment giving a stunning view of the frigid city outside.

"Fuck," you muttered, shaking your head. You were planning on walking the only five blocks to the bar, like you always did. It never saved any time to get an uber or take the subway.

"Do you have to go?" he asked.

"Um, of course," you replied, looking in his direction with furrowed brows.

"The weather is awful, can't you just stay home for a night? Do they really need you...?" he drifted off, running a hand through his hair and sighing hard.

It was he, now, who must have wanted to piss you off.

"Just cause I don't work a 9 to 5, 100k salaried job, doesn't mean I'm not important at work," you snapped, moving to your bag again to put your phone inside, zipping the top closed.

"I didn't say-"

"I know, but I know what you're thinking. But the thing is, on days with shitty weather more people come into the bars and clubs and shit. So I'm very much needed tonight. Especially with Tina still sick. I have to go," you bit out, a deep sigh of your own escaping you.

"You're gonna freeze out there," he mumbled, eyes tracing the shape of you.

"I'll be fine," you sighed, shaking your head, but you feared it yourself. It was only five blocks, but you had no coat with you, no gloves or hat or scarf. And your trusty sneakers might not fare so well in this weather; you'd never tried wearing them in snow, because it hadn't snowed on a day you worked in years.

"I-" San started, hands resting on his hips. You noticed now, finally, as you set your packed bag by the door to his living room, that he was still naked.

"You're gonna freeze in here if you don't put on some clothes," you said, looking at him confused.

"Y/n, we need to talk," he sighed, turning around to face you head on, his beautiful body lit in shadows by the faint light of the room.

"That sounds serious," you joked, looking down to your bag again. "But I gotta go, I'm sorry." You grabbed it, slipping it over your shoulder, turning towards his bedroom door to open it.

"No, please, baby, I need say this now," he replied, walking behind you to hold the door closed, caging you in with his body.

"San, what?" you huffed, frustration bubbling in your throat.

"Was what just happened, you know, okay?" He stumbled over his words slightly, hot breath coming out of his mouth and fanning past your ear.

"Yes? What- why are you asking me that?" you replied, turning around to face him with a bewildered look.

"I just, I fucking slapped you and chocked you and- we've never talked about it, I-"

"It was fine," you muttered, turning yourself around again to exit.

"No, don't give me that," he responded, hand back on the door to keep you from leaving.

"Stop, let me go," you spat, trying to push against him.

"Y/n," he growled, his own frustration clear in his tone.

"I'm gonna be late," you replied, still not looking at him.

"It was fine?? Fine?? That's what you're fucking saying to me?!" he nearly yelled, smacking his hand against the door harder than he intended. You jumped, a visceral reaction; you bumped right into the hard wall of his body, nearly causing him to fall.

"Will you stop acting like a fucking man?!" you yelled back, stepping away from him and the door, catching your balance against the wall a few feet away.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he sighed, shaking his head, looking at you with upturned eyebrows.

"Get a hold of yourself," you said, softer, looking him up and down. "And put on some damn clothes, it's freezing."

You stayed put as he did, pulling on an outfit almost exactly matching yours, sweats and a hoodie. The air was tense between you now, not that it hadn't been almost the entire time you'd known him. But you'd never seen him lose control of his composure quite like this. You weren't scared, because with him you couldn't be; you were pretty sure you'd never be truly mad at him, even if he treated you in ways that made him deserve it. But he really never did, that's why you trusted him; you didn't know it on the surface, nor even three of four layers down, but buried deep within the depths of yourself there was a part of you that had marked him as safe, as good.

If you'd ever take the time to sit down and talk to that part, maybe you'd understand yourself better, the changes in you the past year. But instead you continued to throw yourself into your creative work, as you always did, cause it always worked for you before.

"How are you not shivering in here?" you finally asked, biting at a hangnail on your middle finger. Your whole interaction with him had left you a shaking mess, and you felt like you couldn't move from your spot, eyes glued to him and his every movement.

"I don't run cold, like you," he responded, moving to his closet without looking at you. Out of it he pulled a large navy blue jacket you'd never seen; a true winter coat, you realized. It was long enough to probably reach down to your ankles if you wore it, puffy and thick, clearly very warm. He then reached into a shelf in the closet, pulling down a pair of gloves and a black beanie, turning around to walk back to you.

"Come here, let me put these on you," he said, throwing the jacket and gloves on his bed, pulling the beanie over your messy hair.

"I can do it," you grumbled quietly, reaching for he gloves, but he grabbed the jacket, holding it out for you to slip into. Then he squatted all the way to the floor in front of you, zipping up the coat from the bottom, careful at the top not to snag any of your hair in the zipper.

"Thanks," you said. It was flat, and so was your expression, but he knew he was doing the right thing. There was no way you would let him walk you to work; he'd tried convincing you of that many times, only causing argument after argument.

"Are you coming back here tonight?" he asked, standing back and crossing his arms, as you picked up your bag again and moved towards his door.

"No, I'm going and staying at Tina's, we've got so much editing to do," you responded, finally opening the door and stepping into his living room; he followed you quickly, catching up to you.

"Isn't she sick?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we've got to get our current manuscript turned in by Tuesday morning. We have no choice," you answered, walking towards his front door.

"Wait, just give me a minute," he said as you reach for the door knob, hand outstretched in his comically big gloves.

"San-"

"I hate when you don't answer me straight," he says, interrupting you.

"Huh?" you ask, giving him a look of genuine confusion.

"Are you mad at me because of what I did? How rough I was?"

"Do I look mad?" you responded, head turning to the side.

"I hate when you do that," he sighs, shaking his head.

"Do what?" you snap, frustration boiling up again.

"Avoid my questions, give me vague answers," he says, hands on hips.

"I'm running late for work, god, I'm in a fucking rush! Why the fuck is that hard to understand?!" you scream, hand back on his doorknob in an instant.

"That's not why you're avoiding my questions, and you fucking know it," he replies, walking over to his kitchen. Out of his pantry he grabs chocolate coconut granola bar, your favorite flavor, stalking back to you as you open the door.

"Take this," he says, holding it out to you as you face him, your body halfway into the hall.

"They have food where I work, you know," you drawl, a scowl on your face.

"Not food that you like," he sighs, putting the bar in your pocket himself.

As he stands back up in front of you his face is hard, eyes unreadable and shiny, his hair sticking up lopsided. His hoodie is dwarfing his wide frame, his sweats hanging loose on the lower half of his legs. He looks uncertain, maybe almost scared, nothing like the sharp, glasses-wearing, utterly confident man who'd walked into your bar a year ago, his suit fitted and smooth and his smile easy.

"What if this isn't enough for me?" he said, his hands coming to rest in his pockets.

"Sannie..." trailed off, the urgency of needing to leave still tugging at you.

"I hate when it's like this," he says, sighing.

"Me too," you squeak, tears threatening to come. Your period must be due to arrive any minute, if you're crying that fucking easily. He walks forward, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and hugging you tight, before turning you around and beckoning you forward, the rest of your day ahead of you.

"Hey girl, you good?" Sasha asked as you passed by the dressing room, nearly running to put your bag in your locker.

"Yeah, one sec!" you called to her, clumsily undoing your lock, shoving your bag inside. You ripped off your giant puffy coat, hanging it on the hook, desperately flinging off the rest of your clothes and grabbing your dressing gown. Then you unzipped your bag, grabbing your makeup, and rushed back to the dressing room out of breath.

"Did anyone call out?" you asked as soon as your reentered, sitting down next to your favorite coworker, her wig and eye makeup already set.

"No, everyone else is already here, surprisingly," she drawled, leaning closer to the mirror to start her lip liner. "Why are you late, miss thing?"

"I slept till like 4:30, accidentally," you replied, hastily zipping open your makeup bag and grabbing what you'd need for the night. You were covering Tina's number first, a circus inspired routine to Britney Spear's song, and your costume would do most of the work for you. All you needed was lashes, some bright lipstick, and powder, so that the floodlights didn't wash you out completely.

"That's not like you," Sasha said, switching to the other side of her lips, her hand working quickly and methodically to create the perfect line.

"Yeah, I don't know," you replied, with a deep sigh. You couldn't find your lash glue anywhere, and it was stressing you out more than it should have, seeing as there were probably hundreds of tubes of it in the very room in which you sat.

"You okay?" she asked, clicking open her lipstick and screwing it up.

"Just stressed, I hate being late," you said, finally finding the glue at the bottom corner of your bag.

"Julie moved Tina's number, so you're not on until after Jax," she replied, turning her head in every direction to check her finished face.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, your normal tone slipping into flatness again, as you shakily put glue onto the lashes you'd use for tonight.

"Girl, seriously, you good?" Sasha asked, turning to face you entirely.

"I think so," you replied, never able to keep things from her.

"Is it that man you're seeing?" she asked, making you roll your eyes and audibly scoff, sighing deeply.

"How fucking typical of me," you responded, shaking your head.

"What did he do?" she asked you, chin coming to rest on her hand.

"Nothing, just, he's the reason I'm late, that I overslept," you said, and suddenly the memory of everything that had happened just hours before wouldn't leave you. It especially wouldn't leave your body, the memory of your limbs and muscles of your core replaying it for you, as if that was something you needed right now.

"Well, well, well, I hope the sex is good still, at least," Sasha replied, with a brief chuckle. "It's still that same guy, right, the businessman?"

"He's in tech, Sash," you said, leaning forward yourself to place your lashes carefully.

"Oh, boo, they all look the same. Coming in here in those ridiculous suits. I always wonder how much they cost, probably more than my entire wardrobe," she laughed, shaking her head.

"I know, it's ridiculous," you sighed, but just then a bit of guilt ran through you as you thought of San's apartment, and of the trip you took to wine country in the fall, of all the fancy outings and luxuries you've been able to experience on his dime.

"He isn't hurting you or anything, is he honey? I know you said you fight a lot, but it hasn't turned physical, right?" she asked now, and immediately you could tell she read something was off in your last response. She really had a way of doing that, not just with you but with everyone, and it could feel really damn exposing.

"No, no, nothing like that. Things were just weird earlier," you sighed, not wanting to elaborate. "We bicker a lot but like, in a fun way. Earlier it was, I don't know, just fucking weird. I don't know why it's stressing me out, we're just friends."

"Friendships can be the messiest of all relationships, don't you think?" Sasha responded, and you looked over to her, only one lash on. She was just a few years older than you, but sometimes you felt like she was your fairy godmother, or a beautiful genie who'd escaped into the world. She was too wise for you; in comparison to her you were a little larvae, still barely developed at all. "You tell me if anything really bad happens, okay hon? I can't have anyone mistreating you," she said, standing from her stool and wrapping her dress around herself, tying the tassels on the side.

"You know I would, I couldn't keep it from you if I tried," you said, leaning towards the mirror to do your other lash.

"Okay, good. I'll have to leave you soon, I think," she replied, sighing and leaning down to place an air kiss by your cheek.

"Okay, break a leg," you responded, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Sasha, Bibi is almost done!" comes a call from down the hall, and soon Ilya, the stage manager, was sticking his head through the open door, beckoning her.

"Yes, darling, I'm coming," she said, sauntering out of the room, leaving you alone in the tiny room, with nothing but your reflection for company.

Tina's number went well, just as it had last night; it was more dance focused than any of your recent acts, but you enjoyed the opportunity to move your body more. It had been dance, first, that attracted you to the stage, and though you'd found so many other avenues to express yourself creatively over the years, you missed it. You wrote so much now; songs for others, for yourself, and of course the musical you and Tina had been slaving over for six months, desperately hoping that this could be the thing to finally break you into the world of show business.

The walk to Tina's apartment was easy, too, just as your walk earlier had been. The streets were cold and the snow was still falling, but the breeze was blowing everything sideways, and if you stuck to the right side of the buildings you barely felt it at all. It was now almost one in the morning, the downtown streets still empty, but the restaurants and bars were bustling with activity. You stalked up to Tina's building, a huge, grey, nondescript mass of concrete, and buzzed your way up. Her key sat on your chain right next to yours; a bright green sticker stuck to it so you could tell them apart.

When you entered she was laying flat on the couch, her laptop perched in front of her face, the only light in the room.

"Hey," she mumbled when she saw you, your makeup still on, hair in a rough bun again, San's jacket dwarfing you entirely.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you asked, taking the two steps it took to reach her. The place was tiny, and she shared it with her girlfriend Maya, who had the beginnings of what might be a hoarding habit. There wasn't an inch of free space, save for some of the floor. Even that had stacks of books on it, boxes of half finished art projects, and more plants than one could count.

"Fucking terrible," she muttered, and you went to turn on the one lamp by their tiny kitchen so you could get a good look at her.

"Oh gosh, you look miserable," you said as you sat down next to her, her cheeks flushed so red, her eyes glossy with past tears.

"I keep throwing up," she said, staring over at the glass of water on the coffee table beside her. "I can barely keep down water."

"You said you just had a little cold," you scolded, placing your hand on her forehead, her skin fiery under your palm.

"I didn't want y'all to worry," she said, voice small.

"Is Maya sick too?" you asked.

"Yeah, but not quite as bad as me. She hasn't puked yet," Tina replied.

"You definitely have a fever, it feels bad," you said, taking your hand to feel her neck and chest too. "You should go to urgent care if you can't keep anything down."

"You know I'm not gonna fucking do that unless I'm literally dying," she replied, eyeing you.

"I know it's expensive, but it's your health, Titi," you said.

"I'm not going," she said, her words final.

"Have you been taking Tylenol? Or Ibuprofen? Drinking fluids, eating well, resting?" you asked.

"I'm trying. We ran outta Tylenol earlier today."

"I'll go get you some more," you sighed, opening your phone. "The Walgreens at the corner just closed, shit. It says they open at 6am tomorrow, I'll go get you some as soon as I wake up."

"Thank you honey," she responded, tears welling in her eyes.

"You gonna be okay?" you asked, looking down at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I just need to get some sleep. Maya was sleeping so soundly, I didn't wanna wake her. That's why I came out here. I'll go though, I need the rest," she replied, closing her laptop and placing on the coffee table, sitting herself up. Her face scrunched up in pain, her right hand rubbing at her left shoulder, and you knew she was feeling the aches of a fever.

"I'm worried about you, has it been this bad since Thursday?" you asked as she stood, shakily.

"I'm fine, it's only been the last two days. Don't waste your energy worrying, it'll be okay," she said, crossing the room towards her bedroom. "Goodnight," she said as she turned her head to you, before carefully opening the door knob to avoid any creaking.

"Feel better," you said, and she nodded at you, disappearing into the other room.

"Hey, you okay?" your twin answered, dozens of voices muffled and choppy coming through in the background.

"Yeah, sorry, I know you're at work, do you have like two minutes?" you responded, sighing in the darkness of Tina's living room. It was now almost two a.m., but you were pretty sure Micah was working nights this weekend, and you'd be able to catch her. Thankfully, you were right.

"I'm supposed to go take a break soon anyway, so yeah, lemme get out of here," she responded, the sounds of the hospital echoing and changing as she began walking down the hall to the break room.

"Okay," you said, waiting for the noice to die down. Then, once it did, "It's my friend Tina, she's really sick and I just don't know how serious it is. She said she hasn't been able to keep any food down all day, and she's been sick since Thursday."

"She got the flu?" your sister asked through the phone.

"I don't know, it's something. She had a bad fever when I got home, she just went to bed. She looked so bad though, and was hobbling around like an old lady. She was in so much pain."

"How bad's her fever?" she asked you.

"I don't know, we didn't test it," you sighed, knowing what was coming.

"Y/n...."

"I know, sorry, it was dumb for me to even call. I just wasn't sure what to do, it freaked me out..."

The line hung quiet for a moment, but you could hear her breathing, and it sounded almost labored.

"Does she have a thermometer?" she asked, and you stumbled up to the bathroom, combing through their drawers as quietly as you could.

"It doesn't look like it," you sighed, turning off the light as you exited.

"Well go get one tomorrow, and take her temp, and if it's ever 103 or above, take her to urgent care. Or if she can't keep down food again for another day. Try to get fluids in her, if you can. Water, broth, gatorade, tea, whatever she'll take. Of course do Tylenol, or Ibuprofen, or both if she needs it. If her fever isn't too bad, she should be okay, she just needs to rest," she said, the string of sentences coming out fast in a single breath.

"Okay, thank you," you answered her, sighing again. "Don't let me keep you, I know you're busy," you added, not wanting to add any more irritation to her day if you already had. You sometimes found it hard to know what exactly it was about you that irked her, but you always knew there was something. Even if she never said it, even if she always said she loved you, you felt the deep simmer of some other feeling coming from her, ever since you left home. Maybe it was the fact that you called so infrequently now, having done so since you moved for college. When you did call it was almost always something like this. But you couldn't help it; she was the only person you felt sure would always answer you, no matter what was going on between you two. Because that's how she was, that's how she'd always been. She was way more dependable than you, and everyone in your life had shoved that down your throat since you could remember.

"It's okay, tonight's not too crazy thankfully," she responded, her tone neutral. "I've been meaning to call you cause there's something I want to discuss, but I don't think we have the time right now. And I'm assuming you want to get to bed soon," she finished.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I should," you replied.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Well, Monday probably, I gotta catch up on sleep," she said.

"Yeah that's fine, I'll probably just be at home writing," you answered her, sucking in a breath.

"Okay, call me again if your friend gets worse. Or honestly, just take her to urgent care if it seems that bad. Don't chance it with health stuff," she replied, sounding more like your mother than someone your exact same age.

"Okay, I will. Thank you. Love you," you signed off.

"Love you too," she said, and you pulled your phone from your ear, ending the call.

You fell asleep fast and deep on Tina and Maya's couch; you were so used to it by now, over here at least once or twice every week, and the low hum of the refrigerator just feet from you had become a comforting source of consistent noice, drowning out the occasional chaos that accompanied this part of town. You resolved to get medicine for your friends tomorrow, try to make them some food, and then head home to work on the manuscript yourself. Tina was obviously in no place to help you, and if you holed up in your room and really focused, you should be able to finish the editing, no problem. Though you felt uneasy, you fell asleep fast, wrapped up in all three blankets you found draped over the back of the couch.

Early in the morning you were woken by the bang of a door; Tina was running out of her room, stumbling to the bathroom, doubled over the toilet and retching up every little bit of water she'd managed to get down the previous night. The room was so dark; their apartment only had one small window in the kitchen, and they liked to cover it in a little curtain to black out the room at night. Your head ached from the sounds, your body wracked with exhaustion. You grabbed your phone from the table beside you to check the time, squinting painfully at your screen, reading 6:59. It had been a long, long time since you'd been up at this hour, and every time it happened now your body screamed at you. You had your routine down perfectly; asleep by four or five in the morning, awake by noon or one in the afternoon. Last night you'd had little to do, without Tina to keep you awake, so you'd fallen asleep a bit earlier than usual. But still, that had only been a few hours ago. And you were someone who needed eight or nine hours a night, it was non negotiable.

Another painful wretch came from the bathroom; you tried to sit yourself up, your limbs feeling like lead. "Tina, is that you?" you called out, and got a groan in response, and then another empty, painful sounding sound.

"You okay?" you asked, stumbling over in her direction, almost no light to help guide your way.

"I don't know," she murmured, her voice thin and weak, her entire upper body draped over the seat of the toilet.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," you said, rubbing her back with your hand, kneeling down next to her.

"You shouldn't be here, I'm gonna get you sick," she squeaked, another heave making her body jerk.

"Don't think about that Titi, I'm here to help you. You're both sick, that fucking sucks," you said, hand still moving over the thin material of her shirt.

Just then you heard a door creak open again, followed by soft footsteps and a deep yawn.

"What's going on?" Maya asked as she entered the bathroom too, the three of you now taking up nearly all of the available space.

"She's still puking," you said, looking up at her, her curly hair flying in every direction, illuminated by their tiny night light.

"Fuck, babe, maybe you should go to the hospital," she said, a hand rubbing over her cheek.

"I don't wanna," Tina squeaked again, breathing slow and steady next to you, her grip on the toilet still severe.

"Tina," Maya said, but she knew as well as you there was no convincing her.

"I'm feeling a little better, I think the wave of nausea has passed," she said beside you, her voice sounding a little stronger.

"How are you doing?" you asked Maya, turning to face her more.

"I actually feel okay, just tired. I haven't gotten this puking at all, for some reason," she said, yawning again. "But I'm fucking wrecked, I feel like I could sleep another eight hours," she said, moving around you to reach down to her girlfriend.

"You should, y'all need rest," you said, giving them space. "I'll go get you guys some more meds and stuff, you both try to get more sleep."

"You don't have to, I know you must be exhausted," she responded, her kind eyes coming up to meet yours.

"Yeah, but I'm not sick like y'all. I'll be fine," you said, stepping out of the bathroom as Tina finally stood, Maya helping her walk to the sink.

"I need to brush my teeth," Tina mumbled, making a disgusted face as the taste of her own mouth, quickly pulling out her toothbrush. In another few moments you helped them both to their room, again feeling over your friend's forehead to see how she was faring. It felt better, a bit, but still warm. But you were so exhausted, your mind still nowhere to be found, and it was hard to feel anything. You left their room, closing the door carefully, and made your way back to the couch. You opened the tiny window in the kitchen; the light was soft, just like yesterday, bits of snow still falling through the sky. Their apartment was on the third floor, and closer to the ground you could see the snow collecting in the gutters, on the dead patches of grass, on the tops of the awnings lining the street.

You tried to pull on your shoes, zip up your coat, get yourself ready to face the air. But with the weather and your lack of sleep you just couldn't muster the courage, even as you knew your close friend was suffering so badly, and wouldn't accept any help unless you all but shoved it down her throat. The idea sprung in your mind, and you pushed it away at first; no way should you ask him for such a big favor, even if you could be pretty sure he was awake. Even if he was the only person you knew in this city who was guaranteed to be awake right now. You'd left his apartment in such a strange place only fifteen hours ago, and since then ignored the one text he'd sent. Please be careful, it's probably icy out there.

You hadn't meant to ignore him, but you were always off your phone during work. He knew that. And when you'd arrived here last night, things had been hectic. Tina was sick, and you were exhausted. Surely he'd understand? Of course he would. He always did. And as you shivered in your sweats and hoodie, in his hoodie, you thought, fuck it.

The call rang and rang, and when he didn't answer you quickly ended it, smacking your phone onto the stack of books beside you. Something like anger lanced through you, followed by hot, sickly shame, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach and making you feel nauseous. You didn't know why you'd expected him to answer, and now you knew you'd have to be a fucking big girl and go get the damn medicine yourself. You felt ridiculous for having called him; even more so for feeling angry at him not picking up. He didn't owe you anything, especially after last night, and besides, you always went days without seeing him or talking to him, anyway. Tears of frustration threatened to come, and you made a mental note to pick up some pads at the store too. You'd definitely be needing those soon.

But as you stood you saw your phone lighting up again; he was calling back, only a minute later, and you snatched it up to your ear after hitting answer.

"Hey," you said, voice groggy and whiny coming through the phone.

"You okay?" he asked, his own voice low and grumbly.

"Yeah, sorry, I don't want to bug you, but Tina is like really sick and she's run out of all her Tylenol and stuff, and I know the Walgreens that's just down the corner at 4th should have it, I just don't know if I can make it down there right now. I'm fucking dead." The words spilled out of you, a deluge of exhaustion and worry and desperation.

"You want me to go get some for you?" he asked, sighing in clear annoyance, even if he was trying to cover it up.

"Maybe," you answered, an almost whine, pushing the palm of your hand into your right eye socket, trying to alleviate some of the pain you felt there.

"What else do you need?" he asked, and you heard the beep of his tea kettle through the phone.

"Uh, a thermometer, if they have it, and something for her stomach too maybe, cause she keeps throwing up. And she needs fluids, so like gatorade, or something, whatever they have," you answer, trying desperately to remember every little thing your sister had told you last night.

"Okay, I can be there in probably like twenty minutes, that okay?" he asked.

"Okay," you sighed through he phone, a tiny bit of relief hitting your system.

"No thank you?" he asked, chuckling, but it stabbed right through your heart.

"San-" you started, taking a deep breath. You weren't going to let something so little trip you over the edge into arguing. "Yes, sorry, thank you. I really appreciate it. I'm just really worried about Ti, but she won't go to urgent care you know, cause she doesn't have insurance, and I'm just so out of it, and it's snowing-"

"Baby, I know. I'll be there soon," he said, cutting you off.

"Sorry," you said, taking in a breath to keep yourself from rambling again.

"See you soon," he said, before ending the call, your phone still stuck to your ear when he did.

When he arrived it was with more than you had requested. A huge bottle of Tylenol, Ibuprofen, Aleve and Motrin were in the bag, along with anti-nausea meds, gatorade, vitamin water, saltines, two different kinds of thermometers, and some plain applesauce. You sat in a stunned silence looking at it all, still barely awake on the couch. After letting him in you'd collapsed back on it, nearly passing out as he rubbed soft circles on the small of your back. You didn't know how much time passed; but then Maya had woken, opening the door, and the two of you shot apart quickly, like two opposing ends of a magnet.

She was eternally grateful for the care package he'd brought, and assured you that she was feeling much better, and could take care of Tina just fine. She beckoned you to leave; she too was worried you had already caught something from them, and told you to go home and rest, get some more sleep, and again thanked you for coming over. As you and San left she was brewing some coffee, and the familiar smell of your friends' apartment was back to normal, making it easier for you to leave.

As you walked the hall to the elevator you noticed his gaze; taking in the dirty carpet, and the bullet hole in the side of the mirror. Yes, you'd had to tell him, someone did shoot their gun into the side of the elevator on New Year's. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you could see the shock and worry and confusion written all over it, just in the tiny twitches of his eyebrows and crinkles by his eyes. Again, it almost made you feel sick; you'd seen the look he'd given your friend's living room when he'd first walked in, staring from wall to wall as if he couldn't believe how small it was. Their whole place was probably the size of his bedroom alone; he was rich, how rich you didn't know, but he had a giant apartment and nice clothes, friends with big houses and not a care in the world about money.

That was not you, nor your friends. You weren't broke by any means, and certainly knew many people who had it worse. But you all skated by with just slightly more than you needed, trying to save the little extra that you did have. You never knew if you were a novelty to San, because of it; maybe he'd never really known a girl like you, who didn't have all that he had, who got by with just enough and the support of her community, not a huge paycheck or rich parents to fall back on. And maybe if you were honest with yourself, he was the novelty, to you. You'd never known anyone like him, growing up in a town so small it had only one high school. Maybe you were using him for the awe of it all, the chance to see how the other half lived, see into this life everyone seemingly dreamed about. It certainly wasn't what you wanted, but you couldn't deny there were pros. It just made something in you feel so strange, that he obviously felt uncomfortable in that apartment building you'd just exited, the building you felt more at home in than almost anywhere else.

"Woah, hey," he said, as you tripped hard over a crack in the sidewalk, running into him and nearly pitching forward right onto your face. He grabbed you, helping you stand up, and stopped in his tracks, turning towards you.

"Sorry, I'm so fucking exhausted. I need sleep," you said, bags under your eyes proving your point, the gentle snow still falling around you.

"Come to mine, it's closer," he said, and your eyes blinked at him, wide and unsure. His place was technically closer, you thought, from the exact intersection you stood at. Closer by one block. Was this an excuse, a way of trying to get more time with you? You couldn't be sure, staring up at his chin, stubble peaking through.

"Really?" you asked, eyes big and pleading. When he nodded, you continued. "Will you carry me?"

"On my back I will," he said, sighing and shaking his head, almost regretting what he'd just said.

As he walked the blocks to his building the air was surprisingly cold, the two of you clinging to each other for any amount of warmth you could find. You were silent; your breaths were visible in the air, the snow fall less but the temperature more severe it seemed, today. Your head bobbed against his shoulder, arms wrapped round him tightly, and with your legs you could feel the strength of his lungs, expanding his ribcage in and out, in and out, the strength of his body never ceasing to amaze you.

"Will you put me to sleep, when we get home?" you said in his ear, and it might have sounded perfectly innocent to anyone passing by. But San knew what you meant by that, a chuckle escaping him.

"Sure, dear," he responded, and you chuckled too, high-pitched, his grip on your legs tightening. He was supposed to be mad at you, or at least, pressing you to talk to him again about what had happened. He rationalized that it wasn't the right time; you truly did need more sleep, and maybe once you woke rested this afternoon, he could start that conversation. Maybe he'd even have that other conversation with you, the one he knew should have happened a full ten months ago. But as he thought about those serious exchanges he couldn't get the image of what he was about to do to you out of his mind, and even in the frigid air he felt a tightening in his pants, hoping his arousal wasn't too fucking obvious to anyone walking by.

You didn't even notice the freudian slip you'd had, and neither really had he, for it happened so often between you two nowadays. Home. When we get home. That place was a home to you, just like Tina's and Maya's, just like your own little room. San had taken notice when it first started happening, the little mentions making his heart flutter and jump, his gaze soften as he looked at you. You'd never balked afterwards, never gave any indication that you hadn't meant to say things you said.

Home. We. I'd love to. Don't stop. I need you. I want you. Please, Sannie, please.

In his mind, it was all falling into place; he'd played the long game, dated the girl who said we're just friends, and made it a year. She loved him, she obviously did, but she wasn't one who would say something like that so easily. And he was okay with that; he could wait, this last year had proved it. You were slipping now, though; your hard exterior was melting away, the distance you kept between you two shrinking and shrinking more. The bickering had only increased with that, but what couple didn't fight? He was obsessed, he had known that just a month in with you, and there was nothing in the world that could get him to leave, even when his friends and brother mocked him for sticking with you without a label. You're being played, bro. He'd heard it a million times. But they'd never known what it was to be buried inside you, what your skin smelled like, the sounds you made when you trembled and whined. They didn't know how magical you were on that stage, how the room lit up in wonder, how every pair of eyes turned to you and couldn't turn away. They'd never heard you talk about Rocky Horror, or your favorite manga, or all of the productions you'd been in since the age of five; they'd never watched you dance, heard you sing, read the beautiful poetry you'd whip up in minutes. They didn't understand how motivated you were, how brilliant, how utterly perfect for him.

And you had little idea about any of this, too; you were just twenty-three, just a girl in a big city, just someone too passionate about art to do anything else with your time. You didn't see it for yourself, that big successful future. But you kept trying. It didn't even feel like trying; it was just what you wanted, to perform for a crowd of people for work, to spend your free time wrestling your creative energy into stories and songs you actually liked. There wasn't any space for a partner, in all that. You'd told him that. But you'd also started spending the night after your hookups, started calling him for help sometimes. You went on a weekend trip, together. Just friends. It was getting harder to defend it anymore; but the thing was, none of your other friends pressed you. It was your business, your messy, immature business. They trusted you, with just about everything, because they could. You were a good friend, always there to help, always there to listen and soothe, to distract them when they needed it. None of them worried for a second that your thing with San was spinning recklessly out of control.

You were silent the rest of the way to San's place, taking in your surroundings through hooded eyes, your body slack against his. His building had an actual lobby, and he nodded to the man behind the counter, the man who recognized you without a second glance. Couches, tan with maroon pillows, surrounded a large low table, and behind it sat a coffee bar, a large bookshelf stocked with books and games, and the door to the gym. The elevator was sleek an unstained, not a scratch in sight; certainly no bullet holes. The carpet on his floor was short, black, and perfectly maintained, soft enough you could probably comfortably sleep on it. It was such a change, just five blocks south and three blocks west, this strange city you called home a mixture of literally everything.

It didn't take long when you got home for him to undress you; it was comfortable now that he'd run the heater for a bit, and though there was still a slight chill in the air, you didn't notice it with his hands all over you. His lips found yours, kissing you sweetly, gently, waiting for your body to open up to him. A swipe of his tongue made you moan, jaw falling slack, and he moved in to kiss you deeply, still gentle in his approach. He worked down to your neck, chest, and then nipples, sucking them softly, humming at the feeling. Your moans and whines were pathetic with sleepiness, your arms barely even skating through his hair or holding onto his shoulders. Stood in the comfortable air of his room you nearly fell back, San's arms coming around your back to help you down gently, laying you flat on his navy-blue comforter.

You spread your legs for him immediately; his kisses started at your knee, coming closer and closer to your aching core, his hands wrapped around your perfect thighs. This tongue found your slit, the taste sweet and intoxicating as always, and he swiped it up slowly, carefully brushing over your sensitive button and making you jerk and moan. Your thighs came up beside his head as he started working you, licking slow half circles over your clit, your back arching off his bed. You didn't understand; this had never felt good with anyone else, but when San went down on you your whole body gave in, and you had the quietest, sweetest orgasms, ones that always sent you into a perfect slumber. He continued his careful motion; it was just the thing that felt good to you, licking slightly over the hood of your sensitive spot, the stimulation not too much, but not too little either.

It took quite a few minutes, but soon he'd worked you up enough that your thighs started shaking, opening up now to push your center into his face, relishing the friction. Now he could slide his fingers in, put two inside your soaked cunt and curl them up and back, the two points of stimulation just what you needed. You started trembling almost immediately; it wasn't much longer till he felt the walls of your pussy clenching down on him, watched your stomach clench and release in ecstasy. You didn't come hard, certainly not as hard as you did last night. But it was long, your body riding out every bit of it, his fingers and tongue working you with perfect consistency. You shook and shook in front of him, moans weak and needy, your eyes closed and body already succumbing to sleep. He slowed his movements as you did, helping you ride out the last of it, then pulling himself out and off of you when you made that sound that meant enough.

You curled up on your side immediately, San scooping you up to place you more comfortably, tugging back his blanket. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow, before he tucked the comforter up to your chin and placed a kiss on your temple. You wouldn't remember any of this when you woke in a few hours, but you'd be damn thankful for the rest, your next few hours of sleep guaranteed to be deep.

And as San stood he couldn't think for a second about those serious, responsible conversations. They left his mind completely as he walked to his bathroom, turning on his shower. They were no where to be found as he wrapped a hand around his aching length, and finally gave himself some relief, some pleasure. All he could think about was the taste of you, the feeling of your thighs crushing his head, the huge ego boost he got every time he made you come like that. You'd let it slip several months ago that no one had ever come closer to doing what he'd done a hundred times; he felt like a fucking god now, each time your sweet tangy cunt was in his mouth, making him forget everything. He rubbed himself fast; he came hard, pent up and needy, frustration making his nervous system taught and sensitive. Cum coated the side of his hand and part of the wall in front of him, and he shuddered at just how intense it was; it was then that it all came crashing down, the conversations, the feelings, the way you'd talked to him last night. He finished washing his hair, his body; stepping out of the shower he felt shaky, satisfied, and totally unable to think straight.

He had to do it, he had to. Even if you'd try everything you could to reject the conversation. How could you not see how perfect he was, too?

[ssa-danhotchner]

The thread that binds us | Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: after years of friendship, missed chances, and unspoken feelings, Aaron Hotchner and the reader drift apart. Life takes them in different directions—promises left unfulfilled, words left unsaid.

cw: fem reader, non BAU reader, mention of Haley's death, emotional angst, missed chances, grief

wc: 9.6k

note: the years are not exact

english isn't my first language so please be kind! i recently watched Love, Rosie so I have to write this

You met Aaron Hotchner in high school—though “met” wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like fate threw you together in the most chaotic way possible.

The first day of junior year, you showed up late to homeroom, and the only seat left was next to him. He had his arms crossed, his black hoodie pulled over his head, and a bored expression on his face. He looked like the kind of guy who never broke rules and always finished his homework on time.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath as you slid into the chair.

He glanced sideways at you, arching an eyebrow. “Something wrong with sitting here?”

“Not yet,” you said with a smirk, pulling out your notebook.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t until later that day in chemistry class that you found out how insufferable—and surprisingly fun—Aaron Hotchner could be.

“Do you even know how to hold a pipette?” you asked as you watched him fumble with the equipment.

“Do you?” he shot back, his dark eyes narrowing playfully.

“Yes, actually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m brilliant.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re so brilliant you couldn’t even find your way to homeroom on time.”

“Touché,” you muttered, grabbing the pipette from him. “Move over. Let me save you from yourself.”

He grinned then, wide and genuine, and it was the first time you realized Aaron Hotchner wasn’t as stoic as he seemed. In fact, he could be downright charming when he let his guard down.

𐙚

1984

You became friends after that, though it wasn’t immediate. Aaron wasn’t the type to let people in easily, but once he did, he was loyal to a fault.

By senior year, you were inseparable. People joked that you were attached at the hip, though neither of you ever corrected them. You weren’t dating—everyone assumed you were, but it wasn’t like that. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“What are you doing after graduation?” Aaron asked one day as you sat in your usual spot on the bleachers, watching the soccer team practice.

“I don’t know,” you said, kicking at a loose piece of gravel. “College, I guess. You?”

“Probably the same,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “My dad wants me to go to law school eventually.”

“Of course he does. You’ve got ‘future lawyer’ written all over you.”

“And what do you have written all over you?” he asked, glancing at you with a smirk.

“Trouble,” you said, grinning.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, laughing softly.

𐙚

Aaron had been thinking about asking you to prom for weeks.

It wasn’t that he assumed you’d say yes, but the idea of going with anyone else just didn’t make sense. You were his best friend. His person. The one who understood him better than anyone.

But there was this nagging doubt in the back of his mind—this quiet voice that whispered, Why would she want to go with you?

You were effortlessly charming, the kind of person who could light up a room just by walking into it. Meanwhile, Aaron was… well, Aaron. Reserved. Cautious. Always too serious for his own good.

So he hesitated.

And then, one afternoon, he found himself in the hallway with Haley Brooks—the golden girl of your high school, the one everyone adored. She was kind, beautiful, and, most importantly, she was interested in him.

He should’ve walked away. He should’ve told her he already had someone in mind.

But when she smiled at him and casually mentioned how she still didn’t have a date for prom, something inside him wavered.

He thought about how easy it would be.

How no one would question why Aaron Hotchner, the quiet, studious overachiever, was taking Haley Brooks to prom.

How maybe, just maybe, if he asked you and you said no, it wouldn’t hurt as much if he had never asked at all.

So instead of finding you after school like he had planned, he looked at Haley and said, “Do you want to go with me?”

𐙚

You smiled when Aaron and Haley arrived at prom together.

At least, you hoped it looked like a smile.

You had spent weeks waiting for him to ask you, certain that he would. Certain that, after all these years, it just made sense.

But he never did.

And when you saw him standing beside Haley in his perfectly pressed suit, his hand resting carefully at her waist, you understood why.

So you smiled. You laughed. You pretended it didn’t sting.

But when a slow song came on, and he met your eyes across the dance floor, something inside you twisted painfully.

Because for a brief moment, you saw it—hesitation. Regret.

And then, before either of you could move, Haley took his hand, pulling him toward the dance floor.

So you turned away, forcing yourself to do the same.

Later that night, when the party had begun to slow and most of the crowd had thinned, you felt a familiar presence behind you.

You turned, and there he was.

Aaron.

He looked unsure, like he was still trying to convince himself to be here.

“Dance with me?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You hesitated. “What about Haley?”

“She won’t mind,” he said quickly. “It’s just one dance.”

Just one dance.

So you let him take your hand, let him pull you onto the dance floor as another slow song started. His hands found your waist, your arms looped around his shoulders, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed.

Like it was still just the two of you, the way it had always been.

You swayed in silence, and then—so softly it almost didn’t feel real—Aaron leaned in.

Your breath hitched.

And then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was hesitant, searching—like he was afraid of what it meant but couldn’t stop himself, either.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, your heart hammering against your ribs. You had imagined this moment so many times, but nothing had ever felt quite like this.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away.

His eyes were wide, his breathing unsteady, and for a moment, you thought he was about to say something that would change everything.

But then his face shuttered.

“I—” He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “That was a mistake.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Aaron must have seen something in your face because he immediately backpedaled. “I mean—I just—” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your stomach twisted, and you forced yourself to nod. “Right. Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The song was still playing, but neither of you were dancing anymore.

You should’ve said something. Told him he was wrong. That it wasn’t a mistake, that it meant something.

But instead, you nodded again and forced a smile. “It’s fine, Aaron.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else—like he was desperate to—but instead, he just exhaled and gave you the smallest, saddest smile.

And that was that.

Neither of you brought it up again.

𐙚

You and Aaron didn’t fall apart after that night.

You still spent the summer together before college, still stayed up late talking, still laughed until your stomachs hurt.

And if sometimes his eyes lingered on you a little too long, or if you caught yourself remembering the feeling of his lips on yours—you both pretended it never happened.

Because that’s what Aaron wanted.

And if he could pretend, then so could you.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

It hadn’t been a mistake.

It had been a choice.

And maybe, one day, he would finally be brave enough to make a different one.

𐙚

The summer after graduation felt like borrowed time.

You and Aaron knew things were changing—college, distance, new experiences—but neither of you talked about it. Instead, you spent every moment together, stretching out the days like they could last forever.

Late-night drives with the windows down, the radio playing softly in the background. Sneaking into your old high school football field, lying on the grass, talking about nothing and everything. Silent moments where you’d catch him looking at you, like he was memorizing your face, just in case.

But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, August crept closer.

“I don’t get why you’re going all the way to New York,” Aaron said one evening, his voice unusually tense. You were sitting on the swings at the park, your feet dragging in the dirt.

“Because I need to,” you said simply, staring up at the sky. “And you’re staying here because you need to.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “We’ll still talk all the time.”

You nodded, but a part of you didn’t believe it.

It wasn’t like you wanted to drift apart, but life had a way of pulling people in different directions.

𐙚

At first, you kept your promise.

You called constantly—late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours, emails filled with inside jokes and stories about your new lives. You told Aaron about your classes, your new favorite coffee shop, the people you met. He told you about his professors, how law school wasn’t as bad as he expected, how his dad was already making plans for his future.

But as the months passed, the calls grew less frequent.

“I miss you,” you admitted one night, your voice quieter than usual.

“I miss you too,” he said, but he sounded tired, distracted.

And then, one day, he didn’t pick up.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He got busy. You got busy. Weeks turned into months. You’d pick up your phone to text him, only to hesitate, wondering if he’d even have time to respond.

Slowly, the spaces between your conversations stretched wider, until one day, you realized you hadn’t spoken in over a year.

𐙚

1995

You weren’t expecting an invitation to Aaron’s wedding.

By that point, it had been years since you’d last spoken. Life had pulled you in opposite directions—him with law school and the FBI, you with your career and a life far from Virginia. But one day, an envelope appeared in your mailbox, his name scrawled neatly across the back.

Opening it, you found an invitation to his wedding with Haley.

It felt like someone had punched the air out of your lungs.

The last time you’d seen Aaron, there had been something unspoken lingering between you, something you had buried deep because you didn’t know what to do with it. But now, seeing his name next to hers, reality hit you like a freight train.

He had moved on. He was happy.

And you? You weren’t sure what you felt.

A week later, your phone rang.

“Y/N,” Aaron’s familiar voice came through the line.

“Aaron,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hey.”

“Did you get the invitation?” he asked.

“I did,” you said softly. “I was… surprised.”

“I know,” he admitted, his tone hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come. But it wouldn’t feel right without you there.”

Your chest tightened.

“Of course I’ll come,” you said, even though part of you wanted to say no.

There was a pause, and then he cleared his throat. “There’s, uh, something else. Haley and I were talking… and I was wondering if you’d say a few words at the reception. You’ve known me the longest out of anyone, and—”

“Aaron,” you interrupted gently, your heart aching. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said firmly. “It would mean a lot to me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

𐙚

The day of the wedding came faster than you expected.

You arrived at the church early, trying to keep your emotions in check as you took your seat near the front. The ceremony was beautiful—Haley looked radiant, Aaron impossibly handsome in his tux. Watching them exchange vows was bittersweet; you were happy for him, truly, but it was impossible to ignore the pang of longing deep in your chest.

At the reception, you did your best to blend into the background, sipping champagne and avoiding the dance floor. But when Aaron called your name, motioning for you to come up and speak, there was no hiding.

You took a deep breath, standing up and walking to the microphone. The room was quiet, all eyes on you, but your focus was solely on him.

“Hi, everyone,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Y/n. Aaron and I have been friends since high school, and I’m honored to be here today to celebrate this incredible milestone in his life.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the small, encouraging smile he gave you.

“I could stand here and talk for hours about the kind of person Aaron is. How he’s always been the smartest guy in the room, how he has this way of making everyone feel safe, of making them laugh even when he pretends he’s the serious one. He’s someone who gives all of himself to the people he loves.”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of the microphone stand.

“But what I really want to say is this: Aaron, no matter where life takes you, no matter where you are or who you’re with, you’ll always have a piece of my heart. I’ll always love you.”

The room was quiet for a beat before polite applause broke out. Everyone took your words as the sentiment of a lifelong friend, but when your eyes met Aaron’s, you knew he didn’t.

His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, maybe even regret.

He didn’t say anything, though.

Later, as the night wound down, you found yourself alone on the balcony, staring out at the stars. You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Aaron standing there, his jacket off, his tie loosened.

He stepped beside you, resting his hands on the railing. The soft hum of music and laughter filtered through the open door, but out here, it was quiet—just the two of you and the weight of everything unspoken.

“You always did sneak away at parties,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth.

You smiled faintly. “Some things never change.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the kind that felt more like a conversation than anything you could put into words. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the slight slouch of his shoulders, the loosened tie, the way his fingers curled against the railing like he was anchoring himself.

“I meant what I said in there,” you said softly, breaking the stillness.

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might say something. But instead, he exhaled slowly, looking down at his hands.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “Aaron…”

He turned to you then, his dark eyes meeting yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw it—something raw and vulnerable, something that felt like an echo of the feelings you had buried long ago.

And just like that, it was gone.

Because Aaron already knew what you were about to say.

And he wanted—God, he wanted—to tell you he felt the same way. That there had been nights when he couldn’t sleep, thinking about the way you’d looked at him during your prom dance. That there had been moments when he’d almost picked up the phone, only to stop himself because he was afraid of what it would mean. That even now, standing beside you on his wedding night, part of him wished things had been different.

But he couldn’t.

Not now. Not tonight.

So instead, he reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than they should have.

“You always know what to say,” he said quietly, his lips twitching into a small, bittersweet smile.

You searched his face, hoping—praying—for something more. But he stepped back, the space between you suddenly feeling too wide and too small all at once.

“Come back inside,” he said, his voice soft. “They’ll miss you.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

But as he walked back inside, you stayed behind, gripping the railing as your breath hitched in your throat.

Aaron had stopped at the doorway, his hand on the frame. For one fleeting second, he turned back to look at you, something heavy and unspoken in his eyes.

But he didn’t say it.

Because he knew that if he did, it would change everything.

And he couldn’t let himself do that.

So, with one final glance, he disappeared back into the glow of the reception, back to Haley, back to the life he had chosen.

You stayed on the balcony a little while longer, staring up at the stars, letting the weight of the moment settle over you.

Aaron loved you. You knew that now.

But sometimes, love wasn’t enough to rewrite the story.

And so, you turned and walked back inside, letting the door close behind you.

𐙚

2008

The coffee shop hadn’t changed.

It still smelled of roasted beans and cinnamon, the same tiny bell chimed above the door when someone walked in, and the old barista at the counter still greeted customers with a warm, knowing smile. It was one of those places that seemed untouched by time, as if the world could shift and change outside, but inside, everything remained the same.

You hadn’t been here in years. Not since before Aaron’s wedding.

And yet, as you stepped inside, the familiarity wrapped around you like an old memory.

You had been back in D.C. for a few days, just for work. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than a quick trip—a conference, a few meetings, and then back home. But something about the city had drawn you in, pulling at the threads of a past you thought you had let go of.

And apparently, fate wasn’t done with you yet.

Because there, sitting in the farthest corner of the café, was him.

Aaron Hotchner.

He looked different. Older, in a way that had nothing to do with age. His hair was shorter than you remembered, the sharp angles of his face even more defined. He looked good—too good—but there was something behind his eyes, a tiredness that hadn’t been there before.

You hesitated, debating whether or not to turn around and leave before he could see you. But it was too late.

Aaron looked up just as you took a step back, and the second his gaze locked onto yours, time seemed to slow.

His expression shifted from surprise to something softer, something almost unreadable. And then, before you could make a decision, he smiled—just a little, just enough to make your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You took a breath and walked toward him.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, your voice lighter than you felt.

Aaron’s lips twitched, like he was suppressing a real smile. “I was starting to think you disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

You chuckled as you slid into the chair across from him. “I could say the same about you.”

There was a beat of silence. Not an awkward one, just a quiet moment of taking each other in.

“How long has it been?” he asked finally.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Since your wedding.”

His expression flickered for a moment, but he covered it quickly, nodding. “Yeah. A long time.”

Another pause.

You weren’t sure how to bring it up—how to ask him how he was doing without bringing up her. The last time you had seen him, he had been standing at the altar, his hands in Haley’s as he vowed forever. And you had smiled, clapped along with everyone else, and then walked away, knowing deep down that something between you and Aaron had closed that day.

But now? Now, he was sitting here, alone.

“You look good,” you said instead. “Tired, but good.”

Aaron huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a nice way of saying I look like hell.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He took a sip of his coffee, watching you over the rim of his cup before setting it down. And then, just like that, his expression shifted again—more serious, more raw.

“I’m divorced.”

The words came so suddenly that it took you a moment to register them.

You blinked. “Oh.”

Aaron let out a breath, as if finally saying it aloud was both a relief and a weight at the same time. “It’s been over a half year now.”

Half year. And you had no idea.

You swallowed, trying to push past the sudden rush of emotions you couldn’t quite name. “I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It was… inevitable.” He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “We tried. For a long time. But in the end, it just wasn’t working anymore.”

You wanted to ask what had happened. If it had been something specific, or if it had just been one of those things that slowly fell apart over time. But the way he was looking at you—calm, but tired—told you that he had already accepted it.

And maybe that was the hardest part.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, playing with the edge of your sleeve. “I mean… I know it’s not easy.”

Aaron nodded, his gaze dropping to his coffee. “No, it’s not. But it was the right thing.” He exhaled softly, then looked up at you again. “Enough about me. What about you? How’s life?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you weren’t sure what to say. Your life had been full—work, travel, relationships that never seemed to stick—but sitting here with him, all of that seemed distant. Like another version of yourself had lived it.

“I’m good,” you said finally. “Busy, mostly. Traveling a lot for work.”

Aaron smirked. “Still running away from D.C.?”

You rolled your eyes. “I prefer the term ‘exploring my options.’”

That made him chuckle, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like you were still the same two people who had spent their high school years hiding out on rooftops and sneaking off to coffee shops to escape reality.

But things had changed.

He wasn’t the same boy you had fallen for all those years ago. And you weren’t the same girl who had spent too many nights wondering if he ever saw you the way you saw him.

Yet, somehow, the thread between you had never truly broken.

Aaron’s expression softened again, and before you could say anything else, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he turned it toward you, showing you a picture.

A little boy with light hair and bright, curious eyes stared back at you, his smile so familiar it made your chest tighten.

“Is this…?”

“Jack,” Aaron said, and there was something different in his voice now. Something lighter. “He’s four now.”

You felt a smile pull at your lips as you studied the picture. “He’s adorable.”

Aaron chuckled, putting his phone away. “He’s amazing. Smart, stubborn, way too independent for his own good.” He shook his head fondly. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You watched him for a moment, the way his entire demeanor had changed. Even after everything—the divorce, the exhaustion written in the lines of his face—there was no mistaking the love he had for his son. It was in every word, in every expression.

And something about that made your heart ache even more.

“You’d love him,” Aaron added after a pause, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

You met his gaze, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m sure I would.”

Neither of you said anything after that. You just sat there, in a coffee shop that had stayed the same, even when everything else had changed.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end of the story after all.

𐙚

The few days in D.C. passed too quickly.

You and Aaron spent what little time you could together—coffee in the mornings, long conversations that stretched into the evening. It was strange how easily you fell back into each other’s rhythm, like time had never separated you at all.

But reality had a way of creeping back in.

The night before you left, you sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the city lights glowing softly in the distance. Aaron had insisted on walking with you one last time, hands shoved in his pockets, his face unreadable.

“So,” he said after a long silence. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, staring out at the reflecting pool.

Neither of you said what you were really thinking. That it wasn’t fair. That fate had brought you back together only to pull you apart again.

Aaron shifted beside you. “I should’ve called you years ago.”

You turned to him, surprised. His gaze was distant, his jaw tight.

“I thought about it,” he admitted, finally looking at you. “So many times. But I kept telling myself it had been too long. That maybe you’d moved on.”

Your heart ached at the confession.

“I would’ve answered,” you said softly.

His lips pressed together, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to.

Instead, he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip was warm, solid, grounding.

Maybe, in another lifetime, this moment would’ve been different. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to say goodbye again.

𐙚

The night air was crisp as you stood outside your hotel, your bag resting at your feet. Aaron stood beside you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the city lights casting a soft glow on his face.

“I feel like I should say something profound,” you said, offering a small, wry smile.

Aaron huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to.”

But there was something in his expression—something unreadable, something hesitant.

You exhaled, rubbing your hands together for warmth. “This was nice. Seeing you again.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

A beat of silence.

The car that would take you to the airport pulled up to the curb, but neither of you moved.

You looked up at him, and suddenly, the weight of it all settled in your chest. The fact that, after years apart, you had found each other again—only for you to leave. Again.

His gaze softened, and you could feel it—that pull, the invisible string that had always been there between you, stretching taut.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, he was closer. The warmth of his body cut through the cold night air, and your breath hitched as his hand barely, barely brushed against yours.

It would be so easy.

So easy to close the space, to lean in, to finally let go of all the years of missed chances and unspoken words.

Your heart pounded as you tilted your chin up ever so slightly, eyes flickering to his lips.

And for a moment, you thought—

But then, just as quickly as the moment came, Aaron took a step back.

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I should let you go,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

The door to the car opened, and you forced yourself to move, to pick up your bag and step away from him.

As you slid into the seat, you risked one last glance at him.

He was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you go.

And then the door closed, and you were gone.

𐙚

2009

It was late. Too late for a casual call.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up in the darkness of your hotel room. You were half-asleep, groggy as you reached for it, your brain sluggishly registering the name on the screen.

Aaron.

A strange feeling settled in your stomach as you sat up, clearing your throat before answering.

“Aaron?”

At first, there was nothing. Just silence and the sound of breathing—uneven, shaky.

You frowned, fully awake now. “Aaron? Are you okay?”

Then, finally, his voice. But it was different. Not the steady, composed Aaron Hotchner you had always known. This voice was hollow, cracked at the edges, barely above a whisper.

“She’s gone.”

Two words.

And yet, they carried a weight that nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

Your grip on the phone tightened. “What?”

Aaron inhaled sharply, but it sounded ragged. “Haley,” he murmured. “She’s… she’s gone.”

It hit you like a punch to the chest.

Haley.

You closed your eyes, your heart aching in a way you hadn’t expected. No matter what had happened between them—no matter the divorce, the years, the distance—she had been a part of his life, the mother of his child. And now, she was gone.

“Oh, Aaron…”

He didn’t say anything. And that silence—his silence—was almost worse than if he had broken down.

You could hear it in the way he was breathing, though. The way he was holding himself together by a thread.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he admitted after a long moment, his voice barely there.

Your heart clenched.

“Aaron,” you said softly, leaning forward, as if that would somehow bring you closer to him. “Where are you?”

“Home.” Another pause. Then, quieter, “Jack is asleep.”

You shut your eyes. The thought of Jack—so small, so young—losing his mother made your chest tighten painfully.

“I’m coming,” you said without hesitation, already pushing the blankets off, already reaching for your suitcase.

Aaron exhaled, and you swore you heard the slightest waver in it.

“Okay,” he murmured.

That was it.

No protest. No telling you that you didn’t have to.

Just okay.

Because right now, he didn’t need distance. He didn’t need space.

He needed you.

And you would be there. Always.

𐙚

The flight to D.C. felt like the longest of your life.

You barely remembered packing. Barely remembered booking the ticket, rushing through the airport, or the restless way your fingers twisted in your lap during the flight. All you could think about was him.

The man who had always been steady, composed, unshakable. The man who, even in his darkest moments, never allowed himself to break.

But tonight, he had called you.

And that told you everything you needed to know.

By the time you arrived at his apartment, it was past midnight. The cab ride had been quiet, the city lights casting long shadows over the streets. When you stepped out in front of the building, you hesitated for just a moment, your heart pounding.

Then you walked inside.

The hallway leading to his door felt endless, every step heavier than the last. When you finally reached it, you took a deep breath and knocked softly.

It only took a few seconds for the door to open.

And the second you saw him, everything inside you shattered.

Aaron looked wrecked.

His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened and off-center, like he had pulled at it absentmindedly. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them. He looked like a man who had lost something he couldn’t fathom living without.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without thinking, without hesitation, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Aaron didn’t move at first. He just stood there, stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. Like he had forgotten what it meant to be held.

But then, slowly—so slowly—his arms came around you, his grip tightening as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

And that’s when you felt it.

The way his body shook against yours. The way his fingers curled into your jacket like he needed something to hold onto. The way his breath came out in a harsh, uneven exhale against your shoulder.

It was the closest thing to breaking you had ever seen from him.

And it crushed you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your throat tight, your eyes burning.

Aaron didn’t answer. He just held you tighter.

You stayed like that for a long time, standing in the doorway, wrapped in grief and something else—something unspoken, something that had always been there between you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searched yours, something vulnerable in them that you had never seen before.

Then, in a voice so raw it barely sounded like him, he said, “She told me to take care of him.”

You swallowed, your heart aching. “Jack?”

Aaron nodded, blinking rapidly, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “She made me promise.” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists like he was trying to pull himself back together. “But I don’t—”

He stopped, exhaling sharply. Then, softer, more broken, “I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not alone.”

Aaron’s gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable in his eyes.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise, Aaron. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, he just looked at you.

And then, finally—finally—he nodded.

And in that moment, something between you shifted.

Maybe it was the grief. Maybe it was the years of missed chances and unspoken words. Or maybe, it was just the simple fact that, no matter how much time passed, you would always find your way back to each other.

Even in the darkest of nights.

Even when the world felt unbearably heavy.

You would always be his person.

And deep down, you knew—he would always be yours.

𐙚

The first week after the funeral, you woke up to the sound of movement.

You rubbed your eyes, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the apartment. It took you a moment to register where you were—on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket from last night.

Then you heard it again. The soft rustling of fabric, the quiet click of a belt buckle.

You sat up immediately, pushing the blanket off as you spotted Aaron standing near the kitchen, already dressed in his suit.

Your stomach dropped.

“You’re going in?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep but laced with disbelief.

Aaron barely glanced at you as he adjusted his tie. “There’s a case.”

You stared at him. “Aaron, no. You just—”

“I can’t sit here,” he interrupted, his voice steady but hollow. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips together tightly before exhaling. “I need to work.”

Your heart clenched.

He was doing what he always did—burying himself in the job, using it as a shield, as something to focus on so he wouldn’t have to sit still and feel.

You stood, walking toward him. “You need more time,” you said softly.

Aaron finally looked at you then, and for the first time since the funeral, there was something sharp in his gaze. Not anger—just exhaustion, frustration.

“I don’t have time,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Jack needs stability. He needs normalcy. And if I don’t go back, if I don’t move, then—” He cut himself off again, clenching his jaw.

You swallowed hard, reaching out to touch his arm. “He needs you, Aaron. And you’re not ready—”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said quietly.

The weight in his voice made your chest ache.

You wanted to fight him on this. Wanted to tell him that he was being reckless, that he wasn’t a machine, that he needed to grieve before he shattered under the weight of it all.

But you knew Aaron.

You knew that if you pushed too hard, he’d only dig his heels in deeper.

So instead, you took a breath and shifted the conversation. “What about Jack?”

Aaron hesitated. “Jessica can take him for the day,” he said, but it sounded like an afterthought.

You shook your head. “No. Let me stay with him.”

Aaron blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you said gently, giving him a look. “But I want to. He knows me. He’s comfortable with me. Let me be here for him while you—” You sighed, not wanting to finish that sentence.

While you run from your grief.

Aaron was quiet for a long time. His gaze flickered between you and Jack’s bedroom door, the weight of the decision settling over him.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“Okay.”

You let out a quiet breath, relieved that he wasn’t arguing. “Okay,” you echoed.

Aaron glanced at his watch, then back at you. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost hesitant.

Then, before you could say anything else, he reached out, squeezing your hand briefly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

𐙚

Jack woke up about an hour later, padding out of his room in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.

When he saw you in the kitchen, his tiny brows furrowed. “Where’s Daddy?”

You crouched down to his level, keeping your voice soft. “He had to go to work for a little bit.”

Jack’s lip wobbled slightly, but he didn’t cry. “He was sad yesterday.”

Your heart squeezed.

“I know, buddy,” you murmured, brushing some of his messy hair back. “But he loves you so much. And he’s going to be home soon.”

Jack hesitated, then looked up at you. “Will you stay?”

You smiled gently. “Of course. We’re gonna have a fun day together, okay?”

Jack seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding. Then, in a small voice, he said, “Can we have pancakes?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Absolutely.”

Jack’s face brightened, and for the first time since you arrived, you saw a glimpse of something lighter in his expression.

And in that moment, you knew—no matter what happened, no matter how much Aaron tried to push forward too soon—you’d be here.

For Jack.

For Aaron.

For both of them.

Always.

𐙚

A month passed in the blink of an eye

The apartment was quiet.

Jack had fallen asleep hours ago, curled up in bed after insisting you read him his favorite book one last time before you left.

Now, it was just you and Aaron, sitting on the couch in the dim glow of the living room lamp, nursing cups of tea that had long gone cold.

Neither of you had said much for a while, just sitting in comfortable silence, knowing this was the last night before things changed again.

Aaron sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s going to be strange without you here.”

You smiled slightly. “You’ll manage.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Somehow.”

A beat of silence.

Then, without really thinking, you murmured, “I’m leaving my job.”

Aaron’s head turned sharply, his brows furrowing. “What?”

You let out a breath, staring down at your mug. “It’s… it became too much,” you admitted. “The hours, the pressure, the constant stress. I used to love it, but now it just feels like I’m running on empty all the time.”

Aaron was quiet, watching you carefully.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t want my entire life to be about work anymore. I want something simpler. Something where I don’t wake up every morning feeling like I can’t breathe.”

Aaron’s gaze softened, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I get that.”

You looked at him, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Because he did get it.

Maybe better than anyone.

You smiled weakly. “I think I’m going to find something small. Something normal. Maybe work in a bookstore or a little office job—something where I can actually live my life instead of just surviving it.”

Aaron nodded slowly, considering your words. “That sounds… nice.”

You huffed a laugh. “You sound surprised.”

His lips twitched. “No. Just… I don’t think I’ve ever thought about what a normal life would look like.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You ever think about leaving the BAU?”

Aaron hesitated, looking down at his hands. “Sometimes.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

He exhaled. “I love what I do. But… I don’t know. Lately, I’ve started wondering if it’s sustainable. If it’s fair to Jack.”

You nodded, understanding.

Maybe neither of you had ever really stopped long enough to think about what else life could be.

You bit your lip, then nudged his arm lightly. “Maybe we should both find some sleepy little town and open a coffee shop.”

Aaron chuckled. “I’d be terrible at that.”

You smirked. “You’d be the serious owner who glares at customers for taking too long to order, and I’d be the one making sure we don’t get bad Yelp reviews.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a solid business model.”

You grinned, but then, after a moment, the smile faded, replaced by something softer. “I mean it, though. You deserve something easier, Aaron.”

His gaze flickered to yours, something unreadable in his expression.

“You do too,” he murmured.

A beat of silence.

Then, before the moment could stretch too long, you sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Well, first things first—I need to figure out what I’m doing next.”

Aaron nodded, but his gaze lingered on you, like he was committing this moment to memory.

Like maybe, for the first time, he was realizing that you wouldn’t always be here.

That tomorrow, you were leaving.

And neither of you knew when you’d be back.

𐙚

The next morning came too quickly.

You woke up before your alarm, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest before you even opened your eyes.

By the time you stepped out of your room, your suitcase already packed and waiting by the door, Aaron was in the kitchen making coffee. Jack sat at the table in his pajamas, sleepily pushing around pieces of cereal in his bowl.

Aaron glanced up when he saw you, his expression unreadable. “Morning.”

You forced a smile. “Morning.”

Jack perked up at your voice, but as soon as he remembered what today was, his little face fell. “You’re leaving.”

Your heart clenched.

You walked over, crouching down beside his chair. “I am, buddy,” you said softly. “But I’m going to come visit. And you can call me whenever you want, okay?”

Jack hesitated, then wrapped his arms around your neck in a tight hug.

You held him close, closing your eyes for a moment, soaking in the warmth of him. “I love you, kiddo,” you murmured.

“Love you too,” he whispered back.

When he finally pulled away, he wiped at his eyes but nodded, like he was trying to be brave. “Okay.”

You gave him one last squeeze before standing up, turning to Aaron.

He was watching you carefully, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug.

“Your flight’s soon,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Aaron cleared his throat. “I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron—”

“It’s not up for debate,” he said, giving you a look. “Let’s go.”

You sighed, but you didn’t argue.

Jack waved from the door as you left, and you swore you saw his lip wobble, but he stayed put—just like you’d promised, he was strong.

𐙚

The drive to the airport was quiet.

Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

Neither of you seemed to know what to say.

When Aaron finally pulled up to the drop-off curb, he put the car in park and exhaled slowly. “You’ll text me when you land?”

You smiled faintly. “Of course.”

He nodded, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before finally turning to you. “You sure about leaving your job?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “I think so.”

Aaron studied you, then—before you could react—reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

The touch was so gentle, so unexpected, that you froze.

His hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled away, clearing his throat.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured.

Your chest ached. “You will too.”

Aaron exhaled, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “Thank you. For everything.”

You swallowed hard. “You don’t have to thank me, Aaron.”

His jaw tightened, like there was something else he wanted to say.

Something he wouldn’t say.

Instead, he nodded once, his hand twitching slightly like he was debating whether to reach for you again. But he didn’t.

So you did.

You leaned in, wrapping your arms around him.

For a second, Aaron hesitated.

Then he let out a quiet breath and pulled you in, holding you tighter than he probably meant to.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

And for just a moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But then—too soon—it had to.

You pulled back, forcing a small smile. “I’ll see you, okay?”

Aaron nodded, but there was something in his eyes that made it hard to walk away.

Still, you grabbed your suitcase and turned toward the airport entrance.

But just before you stepped inside, you glanced over your shoulder—

And there he was, still sitting in the car, watching you.

Like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Like maybe, deep down—

He never would be.

𐙚

2011

The bullpen was quiet. Most of the team had already gone home for the night, leaving only the faint hum of computers and the distant murmur of voices from other departments. The dim glow of Aaron Hotchner’s desk lamp illuminated the stacks of paperwork in front of him, but he wasn’t reading them.

His eyes were on the framed picture beside his computer.

It was a simple photo, but one that had somehow found a permanent place in his office. You and Jack, at the park. You were laughing, your head tilted back slightly as Jack clung to your side, his small arms wrapped around yours. It had been taken nearly two years ago, back when you had been staying in D.C. after Haley’s death—back when you had been his anchor without even realizing it.

His fingers traced the edge of the frame absentmindedly.

How had two years passed?

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought about you. In fact, that was the problem. He had never stopped thinking about you. It was in the quiet moments, in the spaces between work and home, in the memories that resurfaced when he least expected them.

He thought about you when Jack asked about you.

He thought about you when he reached for his phone late at night, only to stop himself before dialing your number.

He thought about you when he walked past the coffee shop you had loved in D.C., the one where you had made him take a break from his endless case files just to sit with you and drink overpriced lattes.

He thought about you, and every time he convinced himself to push it aside, it always crept back in.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. He was being ridiculous. He had no right to feel this way after all this time.

And yet, the ache in his chest told him otherwise.

The knock on his office door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hotch?”

David Rossi.

Aaron straightened slightly, clearing his throat as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah?”

Rossi stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him. His eyes flickered to the framed picture on the desk before settling on Aaron.

“You’re thinking about her again,” Rossi stated, not even posing it as a question.

Aaron’s jaw tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rossi scoffed, dropping into the chair across from him. “Please. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know when someone’s got something—or someone—on their mind.” He nodded toward the picture. “And you? You’ve been staring at that damn thing for the past twenty minutes.”

Aaron glanced at the photo again, feeling a tightness in his chest.

“I wasn’t—” He started to deny it, but Rossi’s knowing look stopped him.

“You miss her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Aaron inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together before finally exhaling. “…Yeah.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I do.”

Rossi leaned forward slightly. “Then what the hell are you still doing here?”

Aaron frowned. “What?”

Rossi sighed, shaking his head. “Hotch, you’re one of the smartest men I know, but when it comes to your own feelings, you are clueless.” He pointed at him. “She left, and you let her go. But if you think she’s just gone from your life, then you’re fooling yourself.”

Aaron looked away, running a hand through his hair. “She moved on. She’s in New York, she has her own life now. I can’t just show up and—”

Rossi interrupted. “Why not?”

Aaron looked back at him.

Rossi’s expression softened slightly. “Tell me something. If you called her right now—if you told her you wanted to see her—do you really think she’d say no?”

Aaron opened his mouth, then closed it.

Because the truth was—he didn’t know.

He had spent so long convincing himself that he had no right to ask for more, that he had never even considered the possibility that you might have been waiting for him to say something.

Rossi sighed again. “Look, kid. Life doesn’t wait for you to figure things out. It moves on, whether you’re ready or not. And if you sit here for another two years convincing yourself you missed your chance, you’re going to wake up one day and realize that she really is gone.”

Aaron swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the thought.

“She’s still out there, Hotch,” Rossi said, his voice quieter now. “And something tells me she hasn’t stopped thinking about you either.”

Aaron’s fingers tightened around the frame in his hands.

“Go to her,” Rossi said simply. “Before it’s too late.”

For a long moment, Aaron didn’t say anything.

Rossi didn’t push. He just stood up, clapped Aaron on the shoulder, and left the office.

Aaron remained still, staring down at the picture again.

Go to her.

Before it’s too late.

The words echoed in his mind long after Rossi was gone.

And for the first time in nearly two years, Aaron wondered if maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance.

𐙚

The streets of New York were loud, alive with their usual rhythm—cars honking, people moving past each other in hurried steps, conversations blending into the background hum of the city. But Aaron barely noticed any of it.

His heart was pounding, his palms slightly clammy despite the cold air.

He had spent the entire flight convincing himself he was making a mistake. That he had no right to do this. That you had probably moved on, that maybe you had someone else now, that showing up like this was selfish.

But then, he had thought about what Rossi had said.

Before it’s too late.

And now he was standing in front of your coffee shop, staring through the large glass windows, his breath fogging slightly against the cold air.

There you were.

Moving behind the counter, your face lit up in a laugh as you spoke to a customer. You looked happy. Comfortable. Like you belonged here.

For a moment, he thought about walking away.

But then, as if sensing him, you turned toward the window.

And your eyes met his.

Your laughter faded, your lips parting slightly in surprise.

Aaron felt frozen in place, his breath caught in his chest as he saw the realization dawn in your expression.

Then, slowly, you stepped out from behind the counter and made your way toward the door.

The bell above the entrance chimed softly as you pushed it open, stepping outside onto the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself against the cold.

“Aaron?” Your voice was breathless, as if you couldn’t quite believe he was standing in front of you.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, the city moving around you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

Aaron took a shaky breath. “I needed to see you.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “After almost two years?”

“I know,” he admitted. “I know it’s been too long. And I should have come sooner. I should have said something sooner.” His throat tightened as he looked at you. “But I was afraid.”

You exhaled softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what?”

His lips pressed together for a moment before he met your gaze again. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid that if I told you how I felt, I’d ruin everything.”

You stared at him, your breath catching. “Aaron…”

But he kept going, his voice raw, unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “Not after you left. Not after any of it. I tried. I told myself I had to let you go. That you had your own life now, and I had mine. But every time I thought I had moved on, I’d hear your voice in my head. I’d see something that reminded me of you, or Jack would ask about you, and it was like—” He let out a shaky breath. “It was like I was still reaching for something that was already gone.”

You swallowed, your eyes shining as you listened.

Aaron took a step closer, his voice lower now. “And then Rossi—he told me I needed to stop running from it. That I needed to come here before it was too late.” He exhaled, his eyes searching yours. “And he was right.”

You blinked up at him, your breath shallow.

Aaron hesitated for only a second before he took your hands in his, his grip warm, grounding.

“I love you,” he said, the words breaking free like a confession he had held back for too many years. “I’ve loved you for longer than I ever admitted to myself. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

For so long, you had wanted to hear those words. You had dreamed about this moment, imagined it in so many different ways. But now, standing here, with the weight of his confession settling between you, you realized something—

You had never imagined this.

The way his voice trembled with emotion. The way his eyes looked at you, full of something deep and unshakable. The way the city buzzed around you, but it felt like there was no one else in the world.

You felt tears welling in your eyes as you exhaled a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “You really came all this way… just to tell me that?”

Aaron smiled, just barely, but his voice was still raw with honesty. “Yeah. I did.”

Your lips parted slightly, your chest tightening with so much emotion you could barely breathe.

And then—

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You reached up, grabbing the collar of his coat, and pulled him down to you.

Aaron barely had time to react before your lips were on his, soft but urgent, years of unspoken words and unsaid feelings pouring into the kiss.

He inhaled sharply, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer, his body instinctively leaning into yours.

And then—

The memory hit.

The prom.

The slow song, the way your hands had rested on his shoulders, the warmth of his hands on your waist. The way the world had faded until it was just the two of you, swaying gently, the room spinning in a blur of lights.

And the kiss.

The way it had been tentative, hesitant, the taste of something new and terrifying. The way neither of you had spoken about it afterward, too afraid of what it might mean.

Now, years later, the kiss was no longer hesitant. It was deep, full, a promise of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, your forehead rested against his.

Aaron let out a soft, shaky laugh. “That was—”

“Long overdue?” you finished for him, smiling softly.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Yeah.”

You exhaled, your voice quieter now. “I waited for you, you know.”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “I know.” His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “And I’m so sorry I made you wait this long.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself feel the warmth of his touch, the way his breath mixed with yours in the cold air.

Then you looked at him again, your voice steady, certain.

“You’re here now.”

Aaron nodded, his lips curving into the softest smile. “I am.”

And this time, there was no doubt.

No hesitation.

No going back.

Just the two of you, standing in the middle of a busy New York street, finally getting it right.

Finally finding your way back to each other.

---

[yandere-wishes]

Okay just Tim’s cat!darling having absolute orange cat energy, like the most feral thing ever, like she has actually bitten him before and hissed at him, like she absolutely doesn’t like him

Or like one time Tim was tracking her after a heist they think she or Catwoman committed and she sees him spying through the window, it’s three in the morning and she got up to get fruit snacks and she gives him a back the hell off look before just going back to bed.

Like these videos are her

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJmwbL/

And just replace this one with her and Tim

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJnV4w/

OMG I did not know orange cat energy was a thing 🤣🤣I always thought stereotypical orange cat was just Garfield that's it lol!!

I can totally see reader getting more and more aggressive with Tim/Red Robin as time goes on. Sure she may still have a crush on him and thank him for her obsession with masked vigilantes and cat burglars.

But the more Tim forcefully steals kisses and hovers by her window at the most unholiest of hours. The more aggressive Reader becomes. She's not above just opening that window and trying to claw his eyes out!!

Worst is when she actually pieces together who he is, simply from the fact that he's liked all her videos and posts.

He's even left comments on her fics like 'Maybe Red Robin isn't that bad of a guy and he's just doing all these things 'cause he loves you.'

or

'my friend was saved by Red Robin once and they say he's absolutely the coolest and would be so gentle and kind to his lover.'

Reader has to bite herself to stop from writing the most graphic profanities in the reply!!

Your claws are raking over his muscles, digging into the curves and veins. Suffer, suffer, suffer. But the pain won't deter him, he still has your lips between his teeth, one hand wrapped around your neck while the other leaves bruises on your hips. Tim deepens the kiss swallowing your screams and pushing his bittersweet love down your throat.

Your knee finally finds an opening going to kick him in the stomach. But Tim only throws his head back and laughs, relishing in the pain. You scramble to crawl away, only for Tim to grab your leg and pull you back.

Your teeth are biting into his neck trying to bleed him, while he buries his face in your hair, high off your ethereal fragrance. In a swift motion, Tim straddles you using his knee to pin your hand to the hard ground. He picks up your other hand, admiring the glimmer of your claws under the moon's pale rays.

"You know kitty, it's not fair that you keep getting my blood under your claws." you stiffen, fear gleaming in your big doe eyes.

"I think it's time I get a taste of yours too, what do you say." "HELL NO" you scream, but it's too late, he drags your claws across your abdomen, moving his head to lick the stream of blood that blooms.

You utterly despise the all too pure look of satisfaction on his face. How your blood trickles from his lips. He offers you his golden boy smile and you wish you could impale yourself thoroughly.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Selina are watching from a higher rooftop. Having the most awkward and rage-filled conversation.

Batman: So, thinking of adopting any more kids? Catwoman: Only if your Robins stop driving them insane!!

Not to mention reader wakes up every day to a random present left in her room. How the hell does he keep getting in here?? Your mentor just paid for new locks and the best security system. Although you will admit you do kinda like the new perfume he got you and those strawberry chocolates were divine.

And ever since word got out that THE Tim Drake adopted son of Bruce Wayne, follows your accounts, your subscriber count has doubled! So maybe there are -unfortunately- some benefits to Tim's obsession with you. Even though you'll never admit it.

[monster-effer]

HIIII.. your write rlly good for autistic reader so i would like to request lads boys with an autistic reader that gets overstimulated and accidentally gets angry them? when i am overstimulated i get really angry so i feel bad,,, (hi fellow autistic gals)

Thank you so much 🥰 and yes I can!

In all of these headcanons, it is assumed that each love interest is aware that the reader is autistic and experiences overstimulation on occasion.

Sylus – temperature dysregulation (hot)

It was midsummer in Linkon and you feel like you are boiling in your flesh suit.

You have always had issues with temperature regulation. You get hot from the smallest amount of physical exertion, from eating warm foods, or being outside long enough when the sun is shining. And then you begin to sweat. Being hot and sweaty makes you irrationally angry, and you can’t help it.

Usually, you bring a portable fan and wear tank tops to avoid becoming a sweaty mess. In the summer even these things don’t save you. And today is one of those days.

You are out with Sylus at a summer market in Linkon city. He is wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, a tank top, shorts and sandals as you two peak at the stalls you pass by.

You were so hyped when you first got here because usually Sylus is sleeping during this time of day. But he was willing to sacrifice his sleeping schedule to see you smile.

You have been walking around for an hour, indulging in free samples being handed out and stopping at any stall that catches your eye.

But your blissful afternoon is interrupted by the all too familiar feeling of your body heating up past the point of comfort. You feel agitated and upset that you can’t just enjoy a day out without heating up and getting sweaty. And unfortunately your irritation leaks into your conversation with Sylus.

“Which booth would you like to check out next kitten?”

You let out an audible sigh before replying. “Why do I always have to choose?” you ask harsher than you would have liked.

Sylus pauses at your tone and takes in your body language. Your face looks flushed, you’re starting to fan yourself with your hands, and you have an adorable grumpy expression on your face. He knows what this means.

Instead of commenting he begins to steer you back towards the parking lot, so he can get you back home in a cool environment. He also makes sure to turn on your AC via the smart thermostat he installed in your apartment.

“The booths are that way you know,” you say quietly.

“I know sweetie, but right now I think it’s time for us to go home.”

Instead of acknowledging his response with an answer you focus on fanning yourself with your hands. And lifting your arms up so your armpits can get some air. You blessedly arrive at his motorcycle and after a quick ride you are home once again.

When you arrive back at your apartment you sigh in relief because the air conditioner is already on. Without saying a word, you head to your room and begin to strip down to your undies so you can cool down completely.

Sylus walks to your kitchen to get you a glass of water with ice in it, he’s very familiar with this routine. After giving you a few minutes alone, he brings you the glass of water with adoration in his eyes.

“…I’m sorry. I got so hot and it made me upset. You didn’t deserve me taking it out on you.”

Sylus leans towards you and gives you a smooch.

“I forgive you. Now, drink this glass of water and continue to cool down for me okay?”

Zayne – being tired + in pain

You are beyond tired, there is a large gash on your leg and you’re sitting in urgent care at Akso hospital. The mission you just completed was rough to say the least. As you sit in the waiting room marinating in your misery, you decide that you’ll request a vacation once you’re all patched up.

You can almost feel your social skills slip through your fingers. It’s taking more effort than usual to keep up the niceties when you interact with the hospital staff, but you manage to do it. Just barely.

And when you are finally ushered into a room, the bright fluorescent lights instantly give you a raging headache.

As you close your eyes and cradle your head in your hands you consider going home instead of waiting for the doctor to come in.

You hear the door open, someone walk in then the door close once again. But you don’t bother looking up.

“What damage has your body sustained this time?”

Zayne’s voice is usually very soothing to you. But today his voice feels as smooth as sandpaper on your nerves. You cannot take his teasing at this moment because way too much is going on. You are overwhelmed.

“It’s not like I seek out ways to get hurt you know,” you reply petulantly.

Before he can reply, you can’t stop yourself from continuing “Also who thought it was a good idea to install these blinding lights? My eyes feel like they’re going to explode.”

Zayne silently observes you as he lets you vent. He turns off the lights in the room and opens the curtains so now there is only soft light coming in from the setting sun.

He then turns to you and speaks in a hushed tone. “Is this natural lighting more tolerable? I had to open the curtains so I can inspect your wound.”

You nod your head.

“Let me clean up and cover your wound then I will grab some aspirin for your headache.”

With the threat of the overhead lights gone, you finally open your eyes and look towards Zayne. “Zayne, I’m sorry for snapping at you. Everything just felt like too much at once.”

Zayne lets a small smile reach his lips. “I can tell when you’re overstimulated my love. No need to be sorry for things that are outside of your control. You were my last patient for the day, let’s go home together.”

Rafayel – crowded places

You are attending one of Rafayel’s gallery shows near the beach.

You, for the most part, came to support your lovely boyfriend but you also came at the urging of Thomas because “If you don’t come, Rafayel will not show up.”

The gallery is more packed than usual, with the news of Rafayel making an appearance spreading like wildfire through the news.

Rafayel is currently occupied by conversation with someone interested in buying one of his paintings. You wander over to the refreshment table to grab another flute of champagne.

You feel antsy from the amount of people at this gallery showing. The sensation of being trapped is putting you on edge. As you chew on your bottle lip and take a sip of your drink, you contemplate making a quick exit and apologizing to Rafayel later.

As you scope out the exits, you hear his familiar voice behind you. “Where are you heading off to cutie?”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel like you are under attack. “Coming here was a mistake. I feel like I can’t breathe,” you say quickly. You avoid his gaze because you know your words hurt him.

Before he can reply you rush out of the gallery and make your way down towards the beach before plopping down on the sand. Your dress be damned.

Watching the waves lap against the sand helps center you. After a few minutes you hear the crunch of sand as someone approaches you. You know it’s Rafayel because he is the only person who sits so close to you, both of your knees touching.

Both of you are quiet for a beat because he speaks up. You tense as you ready yourself for the backlash of your harsh words. But you are surprised at what he says.

“It really hurts when you run away from me” Rafayel says in a soft tone.

You feel like a piece of shit because you know Rafayel has abandonment issues. And you unintentionally played into them this evening.

You feel even worse once you look in his direction and see his signature pout and puppy dogs in full effect.

“Rafayel I’m so sorry. I thought I could handle being around all those people but it become too much for me to handle.”

Hearing your sincere apology softens the blow of your actions. “I figured that’s what happened. We didn’t expect there to be such a large turnout for this showing.”

“You know I would never purposefully put you in a situation that causes you distress, right?”

“I know.”

You two sit in companionable silence after reconciling.

“Do you want to take a stroll along the beach with me?”

“Don’t you have to stay at the gallery showing?”

“Ehh, Thomas can take it from here,” he replies nonchalantly.

With that you two stand up and walk hand in hand along the sand.

Caleb –loud noises

You are enjoying the atmosphere at the Linkon New Year festival with Caleb.

You still can’t believe that he’s back in your life after believing that he was dead for a year straight.

You have exhausted yourself from trying to visit every booth.

Before you know it, it is nighttime, and everyone is walking towards the open lawn to watch the fireworks show.

You turn to Caleb to ask if he wants to leave when he interrupts you by speaking first. “Will you be okay with watching the fireworks show before we head home?”

You swallow your own question after seeing the smile on his face, you don’t have the strength to deny him anything. But you’re not sure if you can handle how loud things are going to get.

“Sure,” you say with a tight smile as you dig through your bag for your earplugs. Your heart drops when you recall that you changed bags this morning. You are now woefully without ear protection. You feel like crying but decide to push through, not wanting to disappoint Caleb.

The fireworks show starts off fairly tame. But the loud boom from each firework frays your nerves and fills you with anxiety and dread. You feel like a cornered animal in a cage.

Caleb suddenly gets close to your ear. “What’s the matter pipsqueak?” He shouts in an attempt to be heard over the continuous fireworks.

The volume of his voice makes you jump and shout back “Get away from me!” Before you take off running through the crowd, towards the parking lot. This moment reminds him of a time in your childhood when you reacted the same way. You were overwhelmed and he refused to leave you alone in this state.

Caleb extensive exercise regimen kicks in as he catches up to you in no time. You have shakily climbed into the passenger seat of your car.

When he gets into the driver’s seat, he turns towards you with concern furrowing his brow.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel okay now,” you reply quietly.

“Maybe we should look for some new earplugs for you. They didn’t seem to help much during the fireworks show.”

“I forgot to bring them with me today.”

“Ahh well that explains it. Why didn’t you mention it to me? We could have left early”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Caleb sighs and shakes his head in amusement. “You could never disappoint me princess. Let’s go home. I’ll make you some chamomile tea when we get there.”

You nod your head and buckle your seatbelt. The ride back to your apartment is filled with companionable silence. Nothing else needs to be said. Caleb accepts you for who you are, and he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

Xavier – lack of sleep

It took:

six fucking days

to track down and kill a wanderer that was causing havoc in remote town.

You learned during your investigation that this wanderer appears randomly, but always at night. You and Xavier have been taking turns patrolling.

You learned during your investigation that this wanderer appears randomly, but always at night. You and Xavier have been taking turns patrolling.

Your body, mind and soul are beyond exhausted. And you feel ready to take a week long nap in your bed.

As you finish compiling your report you are fighting to keep your eyes open. Once you send your report to Jenna you see Xavier approaching your desk from your peripheral vision.

“Hey, do you want to stop at the hot pot restaurant on the way home?”

The irritation you feel from lack of sleep reaches a boiling point. You don’t know what comes over you, but you just snap.

“Do you ever think of anything besides food? I am going home then straight to bed.”

Although it felt good to release that pressure and frustration. You regret directing it towards Xavier, especially when you look his way.

The soft and open expression you’ve grown accustomed to is gone and replaced with the blank and closed off one that he wore when you first met him. His tips are tensed in a straight line and his beautiful blue eyes are intently focused on you.

As you open your mouth to try to salvage things, Xavier interrupts you.

“Okay. How about I get us both home and while you sleep I’ll put some takeout in your fridge? When you wake up you won’t have to make anything,” he says in a monotone voice.

You feel tears pricking your eyes. Xavier is incredibly understanding even during the moments you misdirect your anger towards him.

“That sounds good. Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Like my love, my patience for you is limitless. Let’s leave, you need your rest.”

[wordsmeetwbb]

Not Just Friends

Word count: 1.8k

Content: fluff

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: I needed a break from writing smut so here's a little something about Paige and Azzi figuring out they're gay! Obviously we don't know how this happened (if it happened, but let's be honest. they play women's basketball. the odds are high.), but this is just my take on how I think those realizations would have gone. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!

________

Paige was 16 when she realized that what she felt for Azzi was more than just friendship. It was August, just over a year after they had met during USA basketball. They had settled into a routine over the summer. Although they were separated by half the country, they were closer than ever.

Every evening around eight o’clock, Paige Facetimed Azzi. More often than not, Azzi picked up on the first ring and they stayed on the call until one of them (Azzi) fell asleep. Paige missed Azzi with every fiber of her being, but she knew she was lucky to talk to Azzi as much as she did. She felt lucky that Azzi wanted to talk to her as much as she did.

On one of those Facetime calls, late into the night, Paige was yapping to Azzi while the brunette struggled to keep her eyes open. Really, it wasn’t Azzi’s fault. It was nearly two in the morning and Paige hadn’t stopped talking since midnight. She had tried to annoy Azzi into staying awake for a while, but then she felt bad and let the tired girl drift off, content to provide background noise with the endless amount of stories she wanted to tell Azzi.

“And then she like, she just fuckin’ chopped it! All of it! Like a foot of hair, Az. And I was like, ‘That’s crazy,’ and she was like ‘Not all of us have emotional attachments to our hair, Paige,’ but that’s not fair. I’m not emotionally attached, I’m just picky about my gameday hair, y’know?” Paige rambled to a mostly unconscious Azzi.

“Mhm,” Azzi mumbled. Through the screen, Paige could see the way the younger girl was nestled into the pile of blankets on her bed, clutching a unicorn stuffed animal. She smiled softly.

“Anyway, she tried to tell me I should cut my hair. And obviously, I said no, because how am I gonna do gameday braids with a fucking pixie cut, right? But she just wouldn’t let up so-” Paige cut herself off when she saw Azzi’s face relax. If she really thought about it, the reason she talked so much on these calls was because she knew Azzi fell asleep easier with background noise. And if she was extra motivated by the way the younger girl looked so peaceful in her sleep, well, that was her business and no one else’s.

Paige’s eyes traced every curve, line, and crease of Azzi’s face. Her skin glowed even in the dim room, the color darker than usual from the time she’d spent in the summer sun. Paige was confident that if she had any artistic ability whatsoever she’d be able to draw Azzi perfectly from memory. The way her eyelashes rested on her cheeks with her eyes closed, the light pink tint to her nose from a little too much time outside, the curve of her plump lips- Paige had it all memorized.

Paige hated ruining these soft moments where she just got to look at Azzi without the younger girl complaining about it, but as her eyes wandered around her face a thought popped into her head.

I’ve never looked at a guy like this. Paige paused, gaze stuck on Azzi’s perfectly curved eyebrows. What an odd thing to notice. A second thought. Paige wasn’t used to thinking during these Facetimes. She didn’t think she liked it, but the ideas seemed to have opened some kind of floodgates. More observations came pouring into her subconscious.

Her lips look so soft. I wonder what they feel like. Her eyes are such a pretty shade of brown, I wish I could see them right now. I’ve never felt like this about a friend.

Paige took a deep breath, startled by her train of thought. None of the thoughts surprised her. That was the whole problem. Azzi’s eyes were pretty, and her lips did look soft, and Paige did wonder what they felt like. She just hadn’t realized she thought any of those things.

Paige thought back to a few weeks ago when one of the girls on her team had been talking about her crush on some guy in the grade above them. The things her teammate had said about that guy had sounded a lot like everything Paige was thinking about Azzi.

Oh, Paige thought. I like Azzi.

It wasn’t anything revolutionary. Paige was pretty sure she had always liked Azzi. She just hadn’t known it. It wasn’t until nearly a year later when she and Azzi finally confessed their feelings to each other that Paige thought about what liking Azzi meant for herself.

“You never came out to me!” Azzi had exclaimed. Paige had frozen, staring at Azzi and really, truly not understanding.

“Come out to you?” she repeated. Azzi nodded, eyebrows drawing together.

“Yeah, like, are you bi? Lesbian? I came out to you months ago and I’ve been thinking you’re straight since we met, P,” she explained, looking at Paige like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Paige said dumbly. Azzi just stared at her. “Uh, I guess I didn’t really think about it. Like, the whole not being straight thing. I just know I like you,” Paige shrugged. Azzi had blushed, the color intoxicating on her skin.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pushing Paige’s shoulder gently. Paige just grinned.

“As long as I can be your idiot.”

________

Azzi learned she was gay at three in the morning on a Thursday when she was 16. It had, in a very cliche fashion, been a dream that sparked the realization.

She had woken up, breathing hard, the blankets feeling far too hot, with memories of soft lips on hers taking up far too much space in her mind. She threw the blankets off, sitting straight up in bed, and had a full-blown gay panic.

The longer she sat there, the more pieces of the dream came back to her. At first, it was just gentle lips on her own, and then soft blonde hair running through her fingers, and then it progressed to memories of warm pale skin under her hands. Azzi squeezed her eyes shut.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she demanded to her brain. The clock was creeping closer to four in the morning, she had to be up for school in two hours, and she was being terrorized by completely non-platonic thoughts of her best friend. Azzi flopped face-down onto her bed and let out a scream into her pillow, realizing too late that the rest of her household was still sleeping and might have heard it.

Feeling frustratingly awake and completely insane, Azzi grabbed her phone off her nightstand and navigated into a new Google tab. “What does a dream about kissing someone mean?” she searched first. The results were straightforward, bluntly informing Azzi that dreams of kissing someone usually meant that you had romantic feelings for that person. That brought up new questions.

“How to know if I like girls?” was her next search. It was a ridiculous idea to Azzi. She had had crushes on boys before. Hell, she’d dated a boy in middle school, and as much as that wasn’t a real relationship, it definitely proved that she liked guys. So why the hell was she having a dream about kissing her best friend who was a girl? It didn’t make any sense.

“Why do I want to kiss a girl if I like guys?” Azzi tried, hoping that somebody on Reddit had the same problem as she did. Shockingly, there was a result. That’s how Azzi Fudd learned about bisexuality, and suddenly things made a lot more sense.

She tried to bring it up to Paige on their nightly Facetime that day, but Paige was being frustratingly dense.

“Hey, Paige? Have you ever thought about, like, dating somebody?” Azzi started. Paige startled, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Uh, yeah. But not like, for real. Don’t really wanna date people because like, ew, right? Anyway, I was thinking that next year-” Azzi, feeling disproportionately upset, ended the call. Mere seconds later, her phone was ringing with another Facetime from Paige. She let it ring for a while, wanting Paige to know that she hung up on purpose. Finally, she clicked to accept the call.

“What the hell, Az? I was telling you a story,” Paige complained. Azzi glared at her.

“And I was trying to tell you something, too.” Paige looked confused.

“But you asked me a question.”

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a leading question, dumbass? I was using it as an intro to something,” Azzi grumbled. Paige had the decency to look at least a little bit sorry.

“That’s my bad, Az. It was just kind of a weird topic. Sorry, you can tell me whatever you were going to. I won’t even interrupt this time,” Paige apologized. Azzi swallowed, losing her nerve now that the moment had been drawn out so much.

“I just… uh. I wanted to tell you that I learned about something,” she said, mouth unbearably dry. Paige nodded, prompting her to go on. “You know that people can like guys and girls?” Azzi blurted out. Paige’s eyebrows shot up, surprise coloring her face, but she nodded slowly. Azzi could feel her hands shaking. She knew Paige was religious, but she was suddenly considering that this could end negatively. She didn’t give herself time to consider that outcome.

“I’m bisexual,” Azzi said quickly. She felt like her heart might beat right out of her chest. Paige looked at her for a moment, studying her through the phone. Azzi shifted uncomfortably. “Can you say something?” She asked, tone unsure. Paige cleared her throat, expression softening. Azzi felt her body relax immediately, just from noticing the change in Paige’s body language.

“You know I’m proud of you for telling me, right?” Paige asked. Azzi blinked. That was not the response she was expecting.

“You’re… proud of me?” she repeated. Paige nodded, the movement jerky through the screen. A smile spread across Azzi’s face.

“Thanks, Paige.” Paige just nodded again, a small smile on her face now.

So, from the time Azzi had the dream of kissing Paige (the first of many) to the time she came out to the blonde, her gay crisis lasted about 16 hours. When she thought about it later, years down the road, she thought it made complete sense. Azzi overthought every single thing in her life except Paige. Realizing she was bisexual was easy because it was Paige. The girl who talked her ear off on calls every night, who sent her iMessage games at ungodly hours, who always knew how to comfort her. Just Paige. Liking Paige made perfect sense.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Paint Me Red

Synopsis: You and Damian like horror movies for the same reason.

Pairing: Dark!Damian Wayne X Dark!AFAB!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ pwp; Kinda gore?; Cannibalism kink? Definitely hinted; Biting link; Blood kink; Fingering; Watching straight porn; Torture porn? It's all fake and no one’s suffering; Pain kink maybe; They are freaks and they are in love; Worshipping?; A hint of love-bombing? I repeat, they're freaks and they're in love, your honor; Mention of hipersexuality; Damian enjoys pain, gore and death, despite not killing anymore, Reader likes it too; Reader has long hair and is implied to be wearing a shirt or dress with straps and bare thighs; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 1,2k

Requested? No.

Extra notes: Inspired by the movie May and everyone who yaps about yandere!Damian being cannibal coded. I also love when someone writes Damian a little psycho, a little sadomasochist. And a Damian who worships his S/O is the best Damian!!! I recommend reading this while listening to Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. Not sure I like my writing here tho, especially the title, there were many good options that also seemed bad options

General masterlist

Damian was odd, you knew it from the start. Everyone who interacts with him knows it from the start.

That didn't stop you from being flustered when he confessed his — in his actual words — all consuming, undying love. You never thought anyone would actually use those words while declaring their feelings for someone, but as always with him, Damian was different.

And maybe you were different too.

You came back from your weekly date with him to the apartament you recently started sharing, despite being so young and having been dating for only a month when he asked. Your friends called it love-bombing. You had never heard of a more romantic term.

He took you to the bedroom as soon as you crossed the threshold, excited about a surprise he planned for you, but there was nothing different there, until he pulled his laptop out, fiddled with something, connected to the overhead projector you bought once on a whim, after watching a tiktok, only to realize it wasn't any better than just watching on your television or laptop. At least it wasn't as expensive as one would think.

Regardless, you still used it sometimes, even if for the sake of being spontaneous — and making your money worth it —, and your boyfriend was clearly looking for that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, and in less than a minute, Damian was sitting beside you, while a weird video started playing.

— I found it online, beloved. — Damian explained. — A short film, made by a group of independent artists, I think. — You nodded along, this level of cinephilia was not exactly your thing, but you did enjoy watching movies and leaving reviews on Letterboxd, if it caught Damian's interest, then it must be something.

— Yeah, very Texas Chainsaw Massacre. — You commented, not because it actually looked to be a horror movie, but more because of the quality of the camera, the eery atmosphere, and the scenario being filmed in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like an actually calm movie, but you knew something was up, there was only a young couple having a cute picnic.

Damian looked at you with wide, almost innocent eyes, boyish excitement coupled with some glint you couldn't identify.

— Exactly!

You felt some satisfaction and pride. You were the one who presented him with the classic slasher movies — one of your favorite genres — and were surprised by his eager acceptance of them, since a lot of them didn't have much quality. But he seemed interested in the death scenes and gore. Maybe it was the remnants of his childhood on him, but you didn't have that past and still related to him, much to his delight. He also commented about how unreal a lot of it was, from experience, no doubt.

It was almost cute. And hot.

Damian's hand laid on your thigh, while his thumb started rolling circles on your bare skin.

You let out a gasp when the girl in the movie, out of nowhere, bit hard on her boyfriend’s finger while he fed her a piece of pie with his hands. An exaggerated amount of blood started sliding down her lips and his hand, but he didn't scream, he just stared at her while she had mischief and desire in her eyes.

Damian's hand squeezed your flesh.

— How did you find this on YouTube? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow it there. — You wondered out loud, squeezing your thighs when the guy used his bloody hand to push the strap of her sundress down, revealing her supple breast. He leaned forward and peppered kisses down her chest, while pushing the other strap down, revealing her torso even more, until he bit her ribs’s flesh just as hard, face partially covered by her left tit.

Now, they were both smeared in lots of blood, from his hand travelling her body and the new wound.

— I did not mention YouTube. — He answered, and you hummed, paying extreme attention to the movie, intrigued, and half surprised to be turned on. But it was shallow, a thin layer of lust that went unnoticed by you, mistaken by intrigue and excitement.

You only noticed how hot you were, when Damian did the same thing to you. He slowly and deliberately got closer, pushed your hair back from your shoulder, and left wet, slow pecks down your neck, while pushing your straps down. You just stared at the images while he did his thing.

You were interrupted when he bit down on your shoulder, hard, leaving teeth marks, but not enough to bleed. You couldn't help the yelp of pain that escaped you by surprise, but didn't feel like reprimanding him when he soothed the feeling by still kissing you, and buried his hand between your legs, invading your underwear.

You opened your legs to give him more space, while your lips also parted to let out a deep breath, not out of nervousness, but anticipation. When you paid attention to the movie again, the guy was lying between the girl’s legs, leaving a nasty bite on her inner thigh. The blood dripped down and ruined her white underwear, but her boyfriend just started eating her out with the fabric still on the way.

Meanwhile, Damian played with your wet clit with his thumb while he inserted two fingers into your moist hole with ease, catching you both off guard with how wet you were with basically nothing. He had a hunch you would like his surprise, but not that much.

In need to let out some pent-up desire, he bit your flesh once more, this time above your breast. A low whimper of pain forced its way out of your throat. You looked down and noticed Damian's full-on boner.

You reached and pressed your hand against him, making him hiss and finally stop lapping at your skin, to look at you with desire. You kept eye-contact while rubbing him through his pants.

Damian pressed his lips to yours in haste, eager to taste your tongue while pumping his fingers faster and deeper against your walls, focused on abusing your sweet spot. The kiss was more sensual than ever, a dance which consisted in sharing heavy breaths, exchanged pecks, sucking lips and caressing tongues. While you both were like rabbits a third of the time, you being hipersexual and him being in love with you, the newfound shared taboo kink definitely turned things up a notch. And you expressed it by interrupting the kiss with a hard bite on his bottom lip.

Damian hissed like a cat until you let his lip go. When he glared at you, anyone would think he was livid like you just kicked his dog, but you knew him better than anyone. In fact, you were the only one to ever see him in the vulnerable side that came with intimacy, the only one he would ever want and trust to either lay beside his naked body, or willingly allow to leave a mark on his scarred flesh. Taste his muscles. Drink his blood.

He used his free hand to touch his lip, and found blood there. You licked your own, bright crimson and wet.

When he looked at you again, you wondered if you had finally ruined him for anyone else forever, and he made sure to paint both your faces red with a kiss, while he made you cum on his fingers.

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[heartsriki]

STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL ⌇ 패션

pairing ᝰ — jake x fem!reader featuring.. heeseung, jay, sunoo | word count: 8800+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ Rich/celebrity au!, suggestive content, arrogant reader and jake, make out scene, cussing, fluff, smidge of angst, lots of bickering, heeseung is a asshole, reader is a fashion designer, use of petnames.

synopsis — everyone knew who you were. young, successful, talented and most notorious man eater. you enjoyed the games you played with men but it got complicated quickly when you played it with jake. fashion scenes golden boy.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊oh my god this took so long to write, anyways I hope you guys like it fr! Idk if I like it yet but the bathtub scene 👅👅 good lord. Ima fully check this tmr so sorry for any grammar mistakes!

The night was still young, the air thick with the hum of conversation and the distant clink of champagne glasses. You moved through the grand hall like you belonged there—because you did. Every glance that followed you, every murmured whisper in your wake, only served to remind you of the power you held.

Any other woman might claim to hate these kinds of events, the forced pleasantries, the exhausting game of charm and deception. But you? You thrived in it. You loved the way the room seemed to orbit around you, the way men tripped over themselves just for a second of your attention.

And yet, there was one thing you couldn’t stand. The desperate ones. The men who thought a well-tailored suit and a glass of overpriced bourbon made them worthy of you. As one of them slid a hand around your waist, his touch sensual and unwelcome, you scoffed, effortlessly slipping from his grasp without a second thought.

They never learned.

This was your reputation—the untouchable, the unattainable, the woman they all wanted but none could ever truly have.

But amid the usual sea of admirers, there was one man who didn’t make a move. He didn’t approach, didn’t try his luck. He simply watched, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. You barely gave him a second thought. Another coward, too afraid to step up.

Or so you thought.

“Having fun?” Heeseung asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a slow sip.

Jake hummed, his eyes still locked on you. “You could say that.”

Heeseung followed his gaze, his lips quirking up the moment he realized who had captured his friend’s attention. Then, he burst out laughing.

Jake raised a brow. “What’s so funny?”

Heeseung shook his head, still amused. “Her? No way. I’d switch targets now if I were you.”

Jake’s curiosity piqued. “Why? She got a man or something?”

“The opposite, actually.” Heeseung smirked, setting his drink down. “She’s a man-eater. Every guy in this room has wanted a piece of her at some point.”

Jake laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What, you trying to scare me off ‘cause you want her?”

Heeseung grinned. “More like trying to save you from embarrassment, man. She even rejected me, and that says something.”

Jake scoffed. “Egotistical bastard. Anyway, she doesn’t even know me. Why don’t I give it a shot?”

Heeseung let out a short chuckle and glanced at the others. With a simple nod, three more men joined the conversation—Sunghoon, Jay, and Sunoo.

“What’s up?” Sunoo asked, adjusting his collar.

Heeseung gestured toward you with his glass. “Jake has eyes on Y/N.”

Jay nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, hell no. Yeah, good luck, man.”

Jake scoffed. “You guys act like I’m not charming and rich.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Listen, if none of us even got as much as a kiss from that woman, you definitely can’t.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “So, you all think I can’t pull? Alright, then. Watch me.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, adjusting his cuffs before striding toward you with confidence.

The group watched in amused silence.

“Anyone busy tonight?” Heeseung asked after a beat.

“No,” they all replied in unison.

“Good,” Heeseung said, taking another sip of his drink. “Because that man is going to come back crying.”

As Jake strode toward you, you noticed him instantly—without even needing to spare him a glance. Finally. The man who had been eyeing you all night had mustered up the nerve to approach. Not that it would make any difference. You can just tell you wont be interested.

It’s just a game to you.

Clearing his throat, he smoothly excused himself into your conversation. The men surrounding you shot him warning glances, but he ignored them, his attention solely on you.

You didn’t even hesitate. With a polite smile, you excused yourself from them and turned to face Jake fully, flashing him the kind of grin that had men falling to their knees.

Too easy.

Jake took that as a good sign. See? She’s already giving such a pretty smile. How hard could this be?

“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself,” he began smoothly, holding out a hand, ready to bring yours to his lips. “My name is Sim Jaeyun, but the people I like to keep close—like you—call me Jake.”

You didn’t give him your hand.

Instead, you tilted your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Sim.”

Jake barely managed to mask his surprise as he quickly withdrew his hand. So, the gentleman act wasn’t going to cut it. Fine. He could adapt.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman here tonight,” he charmed, his voice dripping with confidence. “Where’s that dress from? It works wonders on you.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been told,” you said airily, before letting the real dagger sink in. “And this dress? It’s from me.”

Jake blinked. “From you?”

You smirked. “Yes. I made it.”

It took him a second, but then it clicked. Shit.

Realization dawned in his eyes. He knew now exactly who you were.

You leaned in slightly, your voice silky smooth. “Tell me, Mr. Sim… do you always fail to research the women you approach or did you just underestimate me?”

Jake swallowed. “I—uhm—”

Before he could recover, your hands were on him. A slow, deliberate caress up his shoulder, your fingers threading behind his neck. He stiffened, caught between the intoxicating warmth of your touch and the sharp edge in your voice.

“See, it’s men like you I hate the most…” you murmured, voice soft but laced with venom.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips curling in amusement.

“Uneducated.”

And just like that, you turned on your heel.

Jake stood frozen for a moment, trying to process how the conversation had flipped so fast.

Then, from across the room—laughter.

He turned just in time to see Heeseung and the others, barely containing their amusement.

Yeah. No. This wasn’t over.

Jake straightened his shoulders, running a hand through his hair.

If you thought that was the last time you’d be seeing him tonight… you had another thing coming.

After realizing who you were, he knew he needed a lot more than just a prince act to get to you.

Y/N, the youngest successful fashion designer in the country. Your creative silk dresses and outlandish designs shot you straight to the top, allowing you to build your own designer store and amass a massive fortune.

He regretted not researching you beforehand, but to be fair, you didn’t really advertise yourself—just your million-dollar merchandise.

But his greatest mistake was also his biggest opportunity. Jake and his friends just so happened to be ambassadors for your company, and from the looks of it, fashion was the only way to get to you.

As their car pulled up to the photoshoot, Jake grew more nervous. He had already landed himself in the deep end with you, and he had only a vague idea of how to get out. But you? You were a total wildcard.

Jake huffed as he stepped out of the car.

“What’s your problem?” Heeseung asked, walking beside him.

Sunoo smirked, approaching as well. “He’s still trying to woo Y/N.”

Heeseung laughed. “No way! After that shitshow last night? You’re either ballsy or crazy.”

Jake shook his head. “Whatever, I’ll figure it out.”

As they walked in, the photoshoot was already set up. Props were on display, cameras were being tested, and the staff bustled around. Jake scanned the room for you, but you hadn’t arrived yet.

Sunoo clapped his hands as he admired the lavish outfits they’d be wearing. Jake had to admit—you were talented.

The sudden bang of doors flying open caught everyone’s attention.

You walked in, dressed in comfortable yet stylish clothes that hugged you in all the right places. Jake could finally see what everyone had been talking about. You knew how to get eyes on you.

“Cameras, props, and lights ready?” you called out, hands on your waist.

The staff confirmed, and you turned to face the group. One by one, you examined each member calling them out with their valuable features—Sunoo’s alluring figure, Jay’s strong jawline, Sunghoon’s thick eyebrows, Heeseung’s plump lips… and then you paused when you got to Jake.

“Mr. Sim, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, grinning as you looked him up and down.

Jake let out a short laugh. “Didn’t know I was one of the ambassadors? I’m hurt.”

You hummed, circling him, trying to pinpoint a striking physical feature that could be useful. But for the first time, nothing came to mind.

“Anyway, let’s continue. Sunoo is first,” you said, brushing past him.

Jake scoffed slightly. It was a small thing, really. But for some reason, the fact that you didn’t highlight anything about him bothered him more than it should have.

He watched as you guided Sunoo through your envisioned concept, your passion evident in every direction you gave. Sunoo followed your cues effortlessly, showcasing the designs exactly as you intended.

One by one, each member had their turn, and every shot looked incredible—each outfit tailored perfectly to their features.

Then, it was Jake’s turn.

You stood in front of the wardrobe, flipping through the options. To be honest, it was frustrating. You had instantly known what worked for everyone else, but for Jake… you were stumped.

You turned around, squinting at him, taking him in. He sat there watching you, his throat going dry as you slowly walked closer.

Then, without warning, you reached out and tilted his chin up.

Jake stiffened.

You studied him, and suddenly, it clicked.

His big, expressive puppy eyes. His soft, round lips. The way he looked almost desperate and vulnerable.

…He looked so good like this.

You laughed to yourself, turning to the wardrobe and pulling out a sleek black suit.

You knew exactly how to take advantage of Sim Jaeyun.

You bitterly laughed as you scrolled through the articles. Of course, you had an eye for things like this.

The internet was in an uproar over Jake’s part of the photoshoot—but in a good way.

The concept was striking. The camera was angled just above him, catching the sharp contrast of light against his desperate, pleading eyes. His lips were slightly parted, pouty in a way that almost begged to be kissed. His shirt hung open just enough to tease, showing only a sliver of skin, while the veins along his arms stood out, practically begging for attention.

You coughed, shaking the thoughts from your head.

Shoving the distraction aside, you sat at your desk, fingers gripping your pencil as you stared at the blank sketchpad before you. Normally, this was the easy part—designs came to you like second nature. But today? Nothing.

Your eyes wandered the room, searching for something—anything—to spark creativity. And then they landed on the stack of freshly printed photos from Jake’s shoot.

It was like a lightbulb flicked on above your head. Thoughts started forming and it was like the cogs in your brain started turning.

You needed a meeting with him. Now.

It took some effort to track him down, but after a few well-placed calls, you discovered he was at a celebration party for one of his many sponsors. A big shot, was he? You scoffed, feeling a twinge of irritation crawl under your skin. No—why did he irritate you so much?

Your sleek, high-end car pulled up to the entrance, drawing the attention of reporters and guests alike. Ignoring their murmurs, you strode inside, brushing past the glittering crowd. The party was far livelier than the ones you typically attended, but you paid it no mind. Your focus was solely on one person.

Jake.

He was easy to spot, standing in the center of the room with a glass in his hand and a woman draped over his arm. She was laughing at something he said, tilting her head flirtatiously.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before marching toward him.

At first, he didn’t notice, too caught up in whatever meaningless conversation he was entertaining. But then he picked up on the shift in the room—the way heads turned, whispers spreading like wildfire. His gaze finally landed on you, surprise flickering across his face.

What the hell were you doing here?

“Hello, Sim,” you greeted, your voice laced with amusement. “Having fun?”

Jake blinked, momentarily thrown off. The woman at his side tightened her grip, glaring at you as if trying to stake her claim.

You gave her a quick once-over before arching a brow. “Please. If you’re going to try and mark your territory, at least put some effort into that outfit of yours.”

She gasped, her face burning red before she spun on her heel and stormed off.

Jake smirked as he watched her leave, then turned his attention back to you. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back. “I need you to come with me. It’s urgent.”

His brows lifted, a slow grin curling his lips as he leaned in slightly, his voice dipping into something lower, teasing. “Need me that bad, huh baby?”

Your face flamed, and you immediately shoved his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant—ugh! I’m requesting a conversation. Over dinner.”

Jake tilted his head, studying you. He wasn’t sure what this was about, but the fact that you were suddenly giving him attention? Maybe it was for the big success with his contribution to the magazine. Whatever it was, He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

“Alright,” he drawled. “Taking me out to eat before the fun stuff—how classy.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the exit. He let you, a smirk never leaving his face as he trailed behind you.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet. You stared out the window, lost in thought, while Jake stole subtle glances at you. You were always like this—so effortlessly captivating, playing hard to get like it was second nature. He didn’t mind. The chase made it all the more fun.

When the car finally rolled to a stop, Jake glanced out the window, his brows raising slightly. The restaurant was high-end, even by his standards. You didn’t just pick a fancy place—you picked the fancy place.

“You really like showing off, don’t you?” he mused, stepping out after you.

The moment you entered, the security barely even glanced at you before letting you through. Jake, on the other hand, was stopped immediately.

You turned back, giving him a slow smirk.

“He’s with me,” you said simply.

That was all it took. The guard stepped aside without another word, and Jake scoffed, shaking his head as he followed you in.

You were led to a private, reserved area on the rooftop, where the city stretched out in a breathtaking view. The soft glow of lights flickered over your face, casting delicate shadows. Jake had to admit—you looked stunning.

After placing your orders, silence settled between you. Jake swirled his wine glass, watching you over the rim.

“So,” he finally said, breaking the quiet, “why do I have the honor of your presence tonight, Y/N?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sim.” You exhaled, looking away for a moment before leaning back. “Do you know how I built my brand?”

Jake raised a brow. “Hard work I would presume?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “A muse,” you corrected. “Every artist needs one. And mine… has grown dull.”

He frowned slightly, trying to decipher where this was going. “And?”

Your gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “Lucky for you, I seem to find creative inspiration just by looking at you.”

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Jake stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a teasing remark locked and loaded.

Because you weren’t joking.

You had come all this way, pulled him out of a party, taken him to an extravagant dinner— not for some business deal, but because you needed him.

Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as a slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “Didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

You sighed, already regretting saying anything. “It’s strictly professional, Sim.”

“Sure it is.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something else there too—something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, studying you the way you had been studying him all night.

Finally, he set his glass down and smirked. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll be your muse.”

You arched a brow. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” His voice dropped into something quieter, more serious. “But don’t think for a second that this is a one-sided deal.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake leaned in ever so slightly, his smirk never wavering.

“You need inspiration,” he said. “And I need you.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction with amusement.

“Go on one date with me,” he said smoothly, tilting his head slightly. “And I’m all yours.”

You stared at him, blinking once. Then twice.

And then, you burst into laughter. A real, full laugh that made your shoulders shake as you leaned back in your chair.

Jake didn’t say anything—he just sat there, watching you with an unreadable expression. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… watching.

When your laughter finally died down, you exhaled and shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake simply raised a brow.

“So, you’re serious?” you asked, searching his face for any sign of a joke. “Just one date? No money? No sexual favors?”

His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Yep. One night. Let me have you on my arm for a few hours, and after that…” He shrugged. “I’m all yours.”

You grumbled at the thought. The idea of entertaining a man—even for one night for something as useless as a date—made you want to roll your eyes into another dimension. But you really, really needed Jake. His presence alone had sparked something in you. God, you hated when a man had the upper hand.

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine. One date. That’s all.” You narrowed your eyes. “And then you’re mine.”

Jake chuckled, resting his chin in his palm as he gazed at you, a lazy sort of amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Yes,” he murmured. “All yours.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made your stomach flip.

The deal was set. One date. That was all.

You repeated that to yourself as you adjusted your outfit, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t like you cared how you looked for Jake Sim. It was just… appearances. You had a reputation to maintain.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Your assistant peeked in, looking a little too amused.

“He’s here,” they said.

With one last deep breath, you grabbed your clutch and headed out.

Jake was waiting outside, leaning casually against his car—a sleek black luxury vehicle that, of course, fit his whole charming celebrity persona perfectly. He looked effortless in his suit, his hair styled just the right amount of messy, like he’d barely tried but still somehow managed to look good.

The worst part? He probably hadn’t tried.

His gaze flickered over you, and his smirk grew. “Well, damn,” he murmured, pushing off the car. “If I knew you were gonna look this good, I would’ve asked for two dates.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Not happening.”

He chuckled, opening the passenger door for you. “We’ll see.”

You slid in without another word, and the moment he settled into the driver’s seat, the engine purred to life.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

Jake grinned as he pulled out onto the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is some cliché rooftop dinner setup, I’m leaving.”

He laughed. “No trust in me at all, huh?”

“Not even a little.”

Jake shook his head, amused. “Guess I’ll just have to change that.”

It wasn’t a rooftop dinner.

It wasn’t a fancy five-star restaurant, either.

Instead, twenty minutes later, you found yourself in the passenger seat of Jake Sim’s car as he pulled into a bustling night market on the outskirts of the city. The place was alive—bright, colorful lights hanging between stalls, the air thick with the scent of grilled food, fried snacks, and sweet desserts.

You blinked. This was… not what you expected.

Jake shot you a sideways glance, catching your surprise. “What?” he teased. “Thought I was gonna wine and dine you in some overpriced restaurant?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “…Yes.”

He smirked. “See? You underestimated me too much.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t underestimate anything.”

Jake hummed, clearly not convinced.

Before you could protest further, he was already getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the door for you. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”

You hesitated before ignoring his hand and stepping out on your own. Jake chuckled under his breath but didn’t push it.

The market was buzzing with energy. Neon lights flashed, the sound of sizzling food filled the air, and people bustled past in happy chatter. You followed Jake as he navigated through the stalls with ease, stopping at a particular vendor selling tteokbokki.

“Spicy?” he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. “I can handle it.”

Jake smirked like he didn’t believe you but ordered anyway. When he handed you the steaming bowl of rice cakes drenched in spicy sauce, you took a bite without hesitation.

And instantly regretted it.

Your mouth burned.

You coughed, eyes watering as you tried to keep your expression neutral. Jake, of course, was watching you with way too much amusement.

“You good?” he asked, clearly holding back laughter.

You swallowed, forcing a nod. “Shit—Totally.”

Jake snorted before handing you a drink. “Don’t act tough.” He said with a laugh.

“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, gulping down the drink. “I just—”

“Don’t want to look vulnerable?”

You glared at him, which only made him grin. He slowly had you figured out.

The rest of the night went like that—Jake teasing you, you pretending to be unaffected, and somehow, between all of it, you… actually started to enjoy yourself.

He dragged you to different stalls, making you try every snack he claimed was the best. He somehow convinced you to play one of those rigged carnival games, and when you failed miserably, he swooped in with that cocky confidence of his and won a stuffed bear in one try.

“For you,” he said, handing it over with a wink.

You scoffed, snatching it from his hands. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You didn’t. Well, maybe you didn’t hate it as much as you wanted to.

Hours passed without you realizing.

By the time you both made your way back to the car, the market had quieted down, the crowd thinning as the night stretched on. You hugged the stuffed bear to your chest, glancing at Jake as he walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets.

“I’ll admit,” you said after a beat. “This was… decent.”

Jake smirked. “High praise coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He glanced down at where you touched him before tilting his head at you, something softer lingering in his gaze. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’re different when you’re not trying to impress.”

You stiffened slightly. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He smiled a little.

You quickly looked away, tightening your grip on the stuffed bear. “Don’t overthink it, It’s just one date.”

Jake hummed. “Just one.”

You didn’t like the way he said that. Like he knew something you didn’t.

Like he knew that one date wasn’t going to be enough.

The ride back was quieter than before. Not in a bad way—just… different. The playful teasing from earlier had faded into something heavier, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Jake was focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested lazily on the gear shift. You, on the other hand, sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window, pretending you weren’t acutely aware of every little movement he made.

It didn’t help that the car felt smaller than it actually was. Or maybe it was just the way he’d glance at you every now and then, his lips quirking up like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

At one point, he exhaled a small chuckle. “You’re quiet.”

You turned your head slightly but didn’t meet his gaze. “So?”

Jake hummed, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. “Just not used to it. Usually, you’re too busy trying to put me in my place.”

You finally looked at him. “Trust me, I still could.”

“Oh, I know,” he murmured, eyes flickering to yours before returning to the road. “But that’s not what’s happening right now, is it?”

You opened your mouth to retort but hesitated.

Because he was right.

And that was irritating.

The rest of the ride passed with that same unbearable tension, neither of you saying much, but the energy thick enough to cut with a knife. Every second felt stretched, every brush of his fingers against the wheel, every shift in his seat, every subtle glance your way felt charged.

When he finally pulled up in front of your place, you should’ve gotten out immediately. You should’ve thanked him—maybe given him a sarcastic remark for good measure—and left it at that.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you hesitated.

Your fingers clenched around the stuffed bear in your lap as you turned to face him. Jake was already watching you, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something else.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you blurted, “Come inside.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “For a photoshoot.”

His lips twitched. “At—” he glanced at the clock on the dashboard “—midnight?”

You lifted your chin. “You said you were my muse now, right? I just got an idea. Unless you’re scared of a little late-night work.”

Jake’s smirk deepened, like he could see right through you. “You really suck at making excuses, you know that?”

“Are you coming or not, Sim?”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning off the car. “Lead the way, boss.”

The moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted again.

Your place was modern yet warm—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture, and mood lighting that cast a soft glow over everything. Jake took it all in as he followed you inside, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“So,” he mused, scanning the room, “where’s the magic gonna happen?”

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words but ignored it, grabbing your camera from the shelf. “In there,” you said, motioning toward the bathroom as you both walked in.

Jake raised a brow as he watched you adjust the settings. “Straight to business?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, but even you knew it wasn’t convincing.

He stepped closer, just enough that you felt the heat of his presence. “Whats the plan?”

Your fingers grazed over the camera button as you eyed him without hiding.

Your jaw clenched. You inhaled sharply. Then, without missing a beat, you lifted the camera and snapped a photo right in his face.

Jake blinked at the flash.

You smirked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Take off your suit—leave the button-up—and get in the bathtub.”

Jake froze, his brows lifting slightly. He looked at you like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. But for once, he didn’t argue, didn’t throw a cocky remark your way.

Instead, he simply exhaled, loosened his tie, and shrugged off his suit jacket. His fingers made quick work of his cufflinks before rolling up the sleeves of his already damp button-up. With an unreadable expression, he stepped into the tub, settling against the porcelain with his arms resting along the edges, looking like a king on his throne. His shirt, already slightly undone from earlier, clung to his chest, teasing glimpses of toned skin beneath the fabric.

You hummed, pleased with how naturally he fit into the scene. Lifting the shower head, you turned on the water.

Jake yelped.

“Hey—shit, that’s cold!“ He recoiled, hands shooting up to shield himself from the icy stream.

You grinned mischievously. “Oops. Sorry, princess.”

Jake groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You only smirked as you adjusted the temperature, letting the water run warm. He exhaled, relaxing under the heat, though you could tell he was still a little wary.

The camera flashed.

Jake’s eyes snapped to yours. “Seriously?”

“That’s it,” you murmured, tilting the lens as you took another shot. “Just relax. You look better when you stop overthinking.”

Something shifted in his expression. His shoulders eased, his body sinking further into the tub as he let go of whatever was running through his mind. The water streamed over him, drenching his shirt completely, making the fabric cling to his torso like a second skin. His hair, already a mess from the rain earlier, now fell over his eyes, strands curling slightly from the dampness.

You almost let yourself admire him.

Almost.

He looked like something out of a luxury ad—lazily elegant, frustratingly attractive, like sin wrapped in silk. He was a glass of dark wine, the kind that burned just enough to keep you coming back for another sip.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying that out loud.

Instead, you inched closer, adjusting the focus to capture his eyes. He had the prettiest, prettiest boba eyes—deep and dark, framed by long lashes, almost too soft for someone who loved to tease you so relentlessly.

But something wasn’t clicking. The shot wasn’t right. You frowned, turning off the water to get a better angle, hovering slightly over him in concentration.

Jake watched you past the lens, amusement dancing in his gaze as you pouted in frustration.

“You look cute when you’re trying too hard,” he mused.

You barely had time to process his words before—

Splash.

A gasp tore from your lips as you were suddenly yanked forward, water soaking through your clothes in an instant. Your knees landed on either side of Jake’s lap, hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. Your body pressed against his, and the realization hit you way too late.

The camera slipped from your hands, landing with a soft clunk on the dry edge of the tub.

“You—”

But you froze.

Because holy shit.

His hair was a dripping mess, strands falling into his eyes, water trickling down his temples. His lips were slightly parted, breath shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. But it wasn’t that.

It was his eyes. Those eyes.

Gone was the teasing glint, the ever-present mischief. Instead, they were dark, hooded—pleading.

Exactly what you were looking for earlier.

But with something deeper. Something unspoken. It expressed something his mouth couldn’t say.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, like he was waiting. Like he was testing to see if you’d pull away.

The only sound in the room was the slow, rhythmic dripping of water and the soft, uneven breaths between you both.

Neither of you moved.

Because if you did, if either of you so much as shifted—

You both knew what would happen next.

Jake exhaled shakily, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Then, voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “You gonna do something? Because this is killing me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Jake…”

The second his name left your lips—soft, breathless, uncertain—his fingers flexed against your waist, and something in his eyes snapped.

His jaw clenched. His chest rose sharply as he exhaled through his nose, his grip just a fraction tighter, just enough for you to feel the tension between you crackle like a live wire.

“…Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Without another second to hesitate, his lips crashed onto yours.

A sharp inhale left you as your eyes widened in surprise, but the warmth of his mouth, the way he moved against you so effortlessly, erased any thoughts of pulling away. Your lashes fluttered shut, that little voice in your head telling you to stop quickly drowned out by the sheer pleasure of it all.

Jake kissed you like he had been starving for this—like he had been waiting too long, and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste another second. His hands roamed along your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer as if he needed you to be right there against him. Your own hands weren’t still either—fingers moving with urgency, working on the buttons of his soaked shirt, pushing the fabric away in greedy desperation.

The wet material slid off his shoulders, discarded somewhere to the side. And then—God—your hands were on him. Palms dragging down the expanse of his torso, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Jake sighed into your mouth at the sensation, his breath warm, his body reacting to you just as much as yours was to him.

Your heart was practically pounding. What was he doing to you? You’d played this game before, teased and flirted, danced along the edge of something dangerous—but never like this. Never this raw. Never this vulnerable.

He moved before you could even process it. His hands slid up, fingers weaving into your hair as he shifted you—one second, you were on his lap, the next, you were lying beneath him, water still clinging to both of you.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

His lips left yours only to trail across your jaw, down your neck, to the sensitive dip between your collarbones. He kissed like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to leave a mark in places no one else had ever dared to touch. You sighed at the feeling, your hands slipping up into his damp hair, fingers tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin.

It was intoxicating. The weight of him, the heat of his breath, the way his lips moved against your skin as if he owned you.

Then— Jake stilled.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes flickering over your face. A sharp inhale filled his chest as he took you in—the way you were watching him, the way your lips were parted, the unhidden hunger in your gaze.

Damn.

You looked like you were ready to devour him.

For a moment, he just stared—like he was trying to brand this image into his brain, like he needed to convince himself that this was real.

Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, lips brushing over your ear as he whispered, “Strictly professional, huh?.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering through your desire-hazed mind when he pulled away completely. Jake stood, stepping out of the tub before holding a hand out for you. You took it, letting him pull you up. Water dripped from both of you as you steadied yourself, but your fingers clung to his forearm, your lips slightly parted in silent protest.

Your expression must have given you away because he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Relax,” he mused, tugging you flush against him. “I just wanted to take you to your bedroom—unless you want to do this right here?”

His voice was laced with amusement, but there was something darker beneath it. A challenge. A temptation.

And the way his fingers slowly dragged down your waist, the heat behind his gaze, the way his lips barely ghosted over yours without fully kissing you—

He knew exactly what he was doing.

The warm sunlight streaming through the window pulled you from your sleep, making you groan as your limbs ached from exhaustion. Every movement sent a dull throb through your muscles, a reminder of exactly what had happened last night.

You raised your hand to rub your temple, only to pause when your fingers brushed against something—small, dark bruises dotting your skin.

That jerk.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips before you turned over, reaching instinctively toward his side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. Your stomach twisted.

Your first thought was that maybe he had just gotten up early. But then, the silence in the room became deafening, an eerie reminder of how alone you were.

Your chest tightened, but before the feeling could settle, you noticed the faint glow of light coming from the bathroom.

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived.

As you moved closer, the sound of his voice—muffled but unmistakable—reached your ears.

You hesitated. Something in you told you to go back, to not listen. But your curiosity, your need to know, got the better of you.

And that’s when you heard it.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

Your breath hitched.

Your heart didn’t just drop—it shattered.

Mistake.

Was that all last night was to him?

A mistake?

The one man you had allowed past your carefully built walls, the one man you let touch you in ways no one else had, was now talking about leaving before you even woke up.

Your hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into your palm to fight the sting in your eyes. No. No way in hell were you going to sit here and mope about this.

If this was a mistake to him, then it was a mistake to you too.

You turned sharply on your heel, biting down the lump in your throat as you moved quickly to get dressed.

You weren’t going to wait around for him to leave first.

From Jake’s perspective, he woke up to the soft vibration of his phone on the nightstand beside him. Groggily, he turned over, his eyes immediately landing on you—curled up beside him, your arm draped over his waist. You looked so peaceful, your breath steady, your grip on him light but firm.

His heart fluttered at the sight.

With a quiet groan, he reached for his phone, squinting at the screen to see Heeseung flashing across the caller ID.

He sighed before accepting the call.

“Hey,” he whispered, carefully shifting out of your hold so he wouldn’t wake you. Slipping into the bathroom, he shut the door behind him. “What do you want?”

“Yo, I haven’t heard from you since the party. What’s up with you?”

Jake glanced back at the bed through the cracked door before lowering his voice. “I’m at Y/N’s place.”

Silence.

Then, a loud yelp from Heeseung made Jake wince. “What?! Y/N? No way—did you guys—?”

Jake smirked. “Yes. Maybe—we did.”

Heeseung let out a hum of approval. “Damn. Someone finally got to her. Congratulations, man. We should celebrate tonight.”

Jake scoffed. “It’s not like that, Hee.”

Heeseung frowned on the other end. “Wait… you mean you’re actually trying to make something out of this?” A dry laugh followed. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Jake’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean? I thought—”

“Exactly. You thought.” Heeseung let out a sigh. “I already told you who she is. A man-eater, Jake. If you weren’t at her place right now, she probably would’ve disappeared before you even woke up.”

Jake swallowed hard.

It had taken a long time to get through to you—everyone knew that. But last night felt different. He wasn’t imagining that… right?

“Listen,” Heeseung continued, his voice laced with amusement, “if I were you, I’d take the good fuck and get out of there before she hurts your feelings.”

Jake’s grip on his phone tightened.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

Then, before Heeseung could add anything else, a new voice cut in.

“Don’t listen to that player.”

Jake blinked as Jay snatched the phone away from Heeseung.

Jay shot his friend an unimpressed look before putting the phone to his ear. “If things actually seem like it’ll go good between you two, then go for it.”

Jake exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You think so?”

“Yes. Don’t come crying to us later saying you fumbled.”

Jake let out a short laugh, finally smiling again. “Alright. See you later.”

Hanging up, he set his phone down on the sink and glanced at himself in the mirror. He ran a hand through his messy hair, wincing slightly as a sting shot across his back.

Curious, he turned his body slightly and craned his neck to check—only to see deep, red nail marks trailing down his skin.

A laugh rumbled from his chest.

That was definitely your handiwork.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Another thought crossed his mind, he shouldn’t have listened to Heeseung.

Sure, You had a reputation—everyone knew that. But you weren’t just some girl to him. Last night wasn’t just about the physical.

He had seen the way you softened under his touch. The way you looked at him like he was more than just some guy you had picked for the night.

He wasn’t an idiot. He had felt it.

And yet, for a split second, Heeseung’s words had gotten into his head, making him doubt everything.

Jake stepped out of the bathroom with a light smile, now going back to chuckling at the sight of the nail marks on his back. But as he looked around, his smile slowly faded.

The bed was empty.

The sheets, once messy from the night before, were now slightly straightened—like someone had hastily tried to fix them before leaving. His heart sank.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice hesitant.

Silence.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of you—your clothes, your phone, something. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the closet door slightly ajar. He walked over, tugging it open. Empty.

Jake’s stomach twisted.

You were gone.

His mind raced as he reached for his phone, but before he could dial your number, something on the nightstand caught his eye. A necklace—your necklace. The one you always wore, the one you never took off.

His chest tightened.

What the hell just happened?

Then, it clicked. The way he had found you curled up next to him this morning—the way your fingers had unconsciously gripped his waist, as if afraid he’d leave. You weren’t the type to do that. So why did you—.

Unless—

She heard me.

Jake felt the blood drain from his face. His own words echoed in his head, the ones Heeseung had fed him, the ones he stupidly repeated without thinking.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

He clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

You had heard him. And now, you were gone.

Jake spent the rest of the morning searching for you. He called your phone multiple times, but it kept ringing until it went to voicemail. He texted, only to be met with unread messages. Every hour that passed made his frustration grow—where the hell could you have gone?

Then, it hit him.

Your studio.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and drove across the city, ignoring every red light and honking car. His mind was a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, fear. He needed to fix this.

When he finally arrived, the familiar sight of your workspace came into view, its large glass windows dimly lit from inside. His heart pounded as he stepped out of his car and made his way to the entrance, pushing open the door without knocking.

The moment he walked in, he spotted you.

You were sitting at your desk, hunched over a sketchbook. From the way your pencil angrily scratched at the page, it was clear you were frustrated. Your usual fluid, elegant designs had been replaced with jagged lines, some pages torn out and crumpled beside you.

You were trying to drown yourself in work.

Jake’s breath caught as he took you in. Your hair was messier than usual, your face devoid of the usual sharp confidence you carried. You looked exhausted. Like you hadn’t slept at all.

Like you were trying to forget last night ever happened.

But when you sensed someone standing in the doorway, you didn’t look up. “Go away.”

Jake swallowed hard. “Y/N—”

“I said go away.” Your voice was steady, but he could hear the underlying hurt beneath it. That hurt made his stomach twist.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, taking slow steps toward you.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, finally looking up at him. “Talk? Now you want to talk? Thought this was all a mistake?”

Jake flinched. “That’s not—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, slamming your pencil down. “Don’t stand there and try to spin this, Jake. I heard you. I heard everything.”

The weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“I woke up, and you were gone,” you continued, voice rising. “I went looking for you because—because for once, I thought maybe this was different. Maybe I wasn’t just another thing for you to play with. But then I heard you. I heard you say it was a mistake—that you should leave before I woke up.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Guess I just saved you the trouble.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his heart hammering. “Y/N, you don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” You stood up from your chair, stepping closer to him, your expression unreadable. “I was stupid enough to believe that this was more than just another hookup for you. That maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t some temporary distraction.”

Jake took a shaky breath. “You’re not.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s not what it sounded like this morning.”

Jake exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck. He was messing this up—again. He needed to make you understand.

“I didn’t mean any of that,” he said, voice softer now. “I was on the phone with Heeseung, and he was—” Jake paused, shaking his head. “He was saying a bunch of bullshit, making me second-guess things. But I never meant it, Y/N. The second I said it, I regretted it.”

You stared at him, jaw tight. “And yet you still said it.”

“I know.” He sighed, stepping even closer. “I was stupid. I let someone else’s words get in my head, and I didn’t think. But if you’d stayed just a second longer, you would’ve heard Jay tell me not to listen to Heeseung. You would’ve heard me say that I wanted to stay.”

You hesitated, but your arms remained crossed, a sign that you weren’t letting him off that easily.

Jake sighed, rubbing his face. “Y/N, I don’t do this. I don’t—I don’t wake up next to someone and feel peaceful. I don’t look at someone and think, God, I want more than just one night. But you…” He looked at you, eyes desperate. “With you, it’s different. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

Jake took your silence as permission to continue. “I don’t want to be just another regret for you. I don’t want this to be some game. And if you tell me you regret last night—if you tell me you never want to see me again—I’ll leave. But I don’t think you regret it.”

Your breath hitched. He was right. You didn’t.

But you were scared, too.

Scared because you had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, convinced that love was a battlefield you had no interest in fighting for. Scared because Jake had found a way past your walls without you even realizing it.

And scared because, despite everything… you still wanted him.

“I don’t regret it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Jake swallowed, nodding. “Then let me prove it to you.”

You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all you saw was sincerity.

A heavy silence filled the room before you finally exhaled, your shoulders sagging. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you yet.”

Jake’s lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile. “That’s fair.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “God, you’re such a pain in the ass.”

“I’ve heard.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, but this time, there was no real malice behind it. Just exhaustion. Maybe even the hint of a smile.

Jake took a tentative step forward. “Can I at least take you to dinner?”

You raised a brow. “A real date?”

“A real date,” he promised. “No mistakes this time.”

You studied him for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “Fine. But im paying.”

Jake scoffed. “Just because you have way more money than me doesn’t mean you can show off.”

And as you stood there, sticking your tongue at the boy mischievously who had somehow wormed his way into your heart, you realized— this definitely wasn’t a mistake after all.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bed. You stirred, shifting slightly, only to feel the weight of an arm draped over your waist. A soft exhale tickled the back of your neck, and you turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of Jake—eyes closed, breathing steady, his features relaxed in a way that made your chest tighten.

It had been weeks since the misunderstanding that nearly tore you apart. Since then, things had fallen into place in a way neither of you had expected. There were no grand declarations or extravagant gestures—just moments like this. Quiet, intimate, and real.

You gently moved his arm, attempting to slip out of bed without waking him, but before you could even shift an inch, his hold tightened.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was rough with sleep, and yet, there was a teasing lilt to it.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I was going to make coffee. But I see you have other plans.”

He hummed, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “My only plan is keeping you right here for a little longer.”

You let yourself relax against him for a moment before sighing. “Jake, we can’t just stay in bed all day.”

“Why not?” He murmured against your skin. “I finally got you, and now you want to leave me for coffee? You wound me.”

You turned to face him, raising a brow. “You’re so dramatic.”

He smirked. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Jake noticed—the way your eyes softened, the way you licked your lips as if debating whether to respond. Love. The word had been lingering between you two for a while now, unsaid but present in every touch, every look, every stolen moment.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was slow, unhurried, filled with an emotion you weren’t quite ready to put into words but hoped he could feel anyway.

He smiled against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes, I do love you, Jake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t know how I survived this long without you.’”

You scoffed, pushing at his chest playfully. “You’re such a dumbass.”

He caught your hand before you could move away, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Fine, fine,” he relented, grinning. “But at least let me make the coffee. You stay here.”

You arched a brow. “You? Making coffee?”

Jake gasped dramatically. “I’ll have you know I make an excellent cup of coffee.”

“You put in twice the sugar any sane person would,” you deadpanned.

“You still drink it when I make it,” he pointed out smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. This—this was what made it different with Jake. The teasing, the tenderness, the effortless way you fit together.

As he finally pulled himself out of bed, ruffling his already-messy hair, you watched him fondly. Maybe neither of you had planned for this, but it was happening anyway.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ssour-apathyy]

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ fangs and forgiveness (caitvi x fem!reader)

vampire!vi x vampire!caitlyn x vampire hunter! reader, detailed descriptions of violence, blood, fighting, death (not reader or caitvi), use of y/n, reader is referred to as daughter

word count; 3,949

summary; as a vampire hunter hot on the trail of your latest catch, you meet two "monsters" who change your world view forever

a/n; i think that i mayhaps got a little carried away with this one LMAO. thank you to the anon who made this request, i had a lot of fun writing this one. sorry if the ending feels a little rushed, i had no idea how to put it WITHOUT turning it into an even longer mess

The ground was cold and damp against your skin. The harsh asphalt rubbing through your aged jeans where you sat, stoking the makeshift fire in front of you.

In the distance, you could see the small hamlet that you had been sent to investigate. A quaint, isolated place with a population of less than 100, dwindling as of late. People were disappearing, only to turn up again a few days later in some back alley as nothing but skin wrapped around bones, without a drop of blood in their bodies.

A vampire, naturally.

It was nothing new to you, having been in the game for years. Your father and his father, and so-on and so-forth, had all been vampire hunters. It was a tradition supposed to be carried on by the men in your bloodline, but you had so graciously thrown a spanner into the works when your mother had given birth to a girl.

You had a chip on your shoulder and something to prove. So, if nothing more than to spite the man who said you couldn't, you became the most decorated hunter in your family's history. A shelf within your home lined with large glass jars, each filled to the neck with fangs. One fang from every vampire you cleansed from the earth, as physical evidence of your successes.

Even then, it wasn't good enough. You were acutely aware that nothing you did would be good enough for him, for the simple fact that it wasn't a son. But still, you persisted, because you refused to give him the satisfaction of actually ruining the tradition.

So here you sat, on the ground that had recently been rained on, in the damp dark of the night air, waiting. The routine was always the same. Never, ever, enter the settlement at night. Wait, and watch. And once the vampire makes its move, as will you.

── ⟢

It will never cease to surprise you how loud a human can actually scream. The second that the shrill sound echoes over the surrounding land, you're up and moving.

You close your eyes, take a breath, and let your ears guide you. Accustomed to the tell-tell sounds; the snap of bones, the tear of skin and the suckling of the blood leaving their body, it's no time at all before you find yourself peering around the corner of a house to gaze upon the monster you're hunting.

With another steadying breath, you reach inside of your coat to grip the wooden stake tightly, slowly advancing towards the creature. It stills, waiting for a moment before detaching its mouth from the victim and unceremoniously dropping them to the floor with a squelch. It slowly turns its head, snarling at you over its shoulder.

In a blink and you'll miss it moment, it lunges. You drop to the floor and roll to the side, avoiding the vampire with expertise as you spring back up, fingers tightening around the stake as you drive it forward towards the creature's chest.

Too slow.

Clawed fingers seize your wrist and twist hard, causing white hot pain to flare up your arm as the stake clatters to the ground. Before you can think, it slams you into the wall of the house, the bricks crumbling as the impact steals the breath from your lungs. Its claws move to grasp your jaw, pressing you further into the building with a snarl— flashing its fangs as it leans in, rancid breath hot against your face.

Your free hand slips a smaller stake from your sleeve, and you drive the tip into the chest cavity. It stumbles backwards, releasing its hold on you as you drop to the floor with a sharp gasp. It looks down at the small stick poking out of its body, and grasps onto it with both hands, slowly removing the wood.

It's a small distraction, but it's enough for you to unbutton the sheath on your thigh and grasp your machete, the silver blade glinting in the moonlight. As the wood clatters to the ground and the creature looks up at you, you swing.

The sound of your sharp, shallow pants is all that fills your ears as you watch the headless creature slump over in front of you. You take the moment to compose yourself before you wipe the blade clean on your leg, slipping it back into it's sheath.

The head had landed by a nearby shrub, and you collect it by holding onto one of the pointy ears, carrying it back over to the body. Propping it up against your thigh and holding it in place with your hand, you retrieve the pliers that you keep in a small pouch on your belt. Lifting the upper lip reveals the monster's most prized asset, and the jagged grips of the tool slots over the fang perfectly. With a grunt, you twist and pull, freeing it with a pop.

"Oof, that's gotta hurt."

The head drops to the floor with a thud as you whip around to where the voice came from, quickly slipping both the fang and the pliers back into your pouch. As your gaze settles on two women peeking around the wall of another nearby house, you squint.

Even in the dark of the night, you can see the un-natural red hue of their eyes, and your hand settles on the handle of your machete once again.

The shorter one, who likely realises she gave away their position, winces as she sees they've been spotted. The taller of the two steps out from their hiding spot, eyes dragging over you slowly. "You're hurt" she says matter-of-factly as her gaze settles on your arm, the blood dripping from your fingertips steadily.

"Don't think for a second that gives you an advantage" you retort, voice tight. In all honesty, alarm bells are ringing in your head. Your injured arm is too weak to help, you're still winded from the impact against the wall, and there's two of them. You have no chance of getting out of this, but you've been raised better than to back down.

She raised her hands up, palms facing towards you in surrender, as she takes a tiny step forward. "Relax. We don't want to hurt you, right Vi?"

The other one — Vi — slowly steps out from around the corner, mimicking the blue haired girl's body language as she joins her. "Right. We aren't like he was" she states, tilting her head towards the twist of limbs in front of you. "We don't hurt humans."

You scoff, the action causing the lack of air to catch in your throat and send you into a coughing fit. It's shallow and wheezy, and you curse yourself for showing weakness. "Bullshit—" you grit out between clenched teeth, grip tightening on the handle of the blade. "Goes against your nature."

"Maybe—" the taller one starts, voice as calm as a lake. "But something tells me standing here and talking to us, rather than swinging that blade, is against yours."

You don't reply, don't move a muscle as your eyes flit between the two. They don't look like any other vampires you've seen before. Almost too—

Human.

And she did have you there, you must admit. Any other time you would be swinging by now, for better or for worse. But something about them is stopping you.

"You're hurt" she repeats, her voice stressing the point as she takes yet another step towards you. "We can help you, if you'll let us."

Your father's voice is screaming at you from inside your skull.

Swing! Swing, you silly, silly girl! They are not for this earth!

The burning in your arm, and your lungs, and your lower back wins out — however — and you let go of your weapon, shoulders slumping as you release your breath. You take one step towards them before the pain and the blood loss catch up to you, and you crumple to the floor face first.

Vi is by your side in an instant, wrapping strong arms under your own to haul you up to your feet. She adjusts, slinging one arm around your back as she moves your injured one to lay across her own shoulders, encouraging you to lean on her as she takes a step towards the taller girl.

"Wait—" you gasp out, causing her to freeze. With a shaky hand you reach into your pocket, pulling out a small box of matches. You hold one between your teeth momentarily as you close the box and twist it around to the rough side. With one hand you strike the match and flick it onto the corpse beside you, the roaring flames engulfing the body to ensure that there's no coming back for the creature.

── ⟢

They had brought you to a run-down wooden cabin that was on the outskirts of the back side of the hamlet, abandoned. As Vi assisted you to sit down on the beaten-up couch, the taller girl got to work drawing any curtains and blocking all windows to ensure the coming sunlight wouldn't enter the building.

You hissed as Vi placed you down, cradling your injured arm against your chest protectively.

"M'gonna need to take this off you. That okay?" she asked carefully, grasping the edge of your jacket. Her voice was hushed, gentle, as if speaking any louder would cause you more pain.

You squinted up at her, still clinging on to the deep-seated apprehension that was tugging the back of your brain. Even if you were in pain, even if they hadn't hurt you— yet, you were still wary that they were technically your enemy and this whole thing could just be an elaborate game.

Your gaze caught her own, and her wide-eyed and questioning expression made you feel like, even if it's for a fleeting moment, that you were safe here. Begrudgingly, you nodded.

Vi gave you a small smile and an affirmative nod, and carefully moved to help you out of the heavy outerwear. You grunted as you leaned forward, your body stiff and back screaming from the earlier impact, and she was quick to slip the material down your shoulders and remove your good arm from its sleeve. Your injured arm proved a little more difficult, as it was stuck to your exposed flesh. Your eyes bore into the site before flicking up to Vi's, and you knew what she was thinking.

You gave her a nod, took a deep inhale and grit your teeth. "Do it."

If your jaw wasn't aching from the prior fight, it sure as hell was aching from how hard you tensed it now. In one swift movement, Vi tugged the sleeve down your arm and away, small slithers of material popping out of where they had embedded themselves in your arm. You refused to scream, to show that kind of weakness in front of anybody, but a strangled groan still managed to tear its way from your throat.

"Caitlyn!" Vi shouted to the other girl, who was elsewhere in the cabin. "We really need medical stuff here, it's worse than it looked!"

The monster's claws had shredded your forearm, skin torn and ripped like it were paper. If you looked really closely — which you didn't, not wanting to risk your dinner coming back up — you swear that you could see tendons.

"It will buy us some time, but isn't a permanent fix" the taller girl — Caitlyn as you now know — spoke calmly as she entered the room, her blue hair now tied up and out of her face. "This place isn't exactly full to the brim of live saving materials."

Vi steps to the side as Caitlyn takes her place, dropping the items she's holding onto the cushion beside you as she kneels on the floor in front. The red-haired girl moves away and out of your view, your eyes firmly fixed on the scraps of material and bottles that Caitlyn had set down.

You felt lightheaded, the mix of pain and loss of blood sending your brain fuzzy as you watched Caitlyn pick up the larger bottle and a small cloth from the pile. Soft, cold hands cupped the sides of your face and guided you to look away, carefully manoeuvring your head to lean back against the couch. As your vision moved up, Vi was stood behind you, looking down at you oh so softly. She moved one hand to brush your hair away from your sweaty forehead, a sad smile on her lips.

"This is gonna hurt" was all she said quietly, before a white hot burning pain engulfed your forearm causing you to strain against her with a scream. Her touch was still soft, but firm enough to keep you in place, as you almost immediately passed out.

When you came-to, you were lying down on the couch now, and a small fire was burning away in the cabin's cobbled fireplace. You groggily raised your head, lifting your arm up into your line of sight to take a look at it. It was tightly wrapped with the scraps you had seen earlier, the surrounding skin looking a lot cleaner than it did before. You made a move to sit up, groaning in pain before a hand stopped you.

"Easy, easy." Caitlyn's voice came from above you, her hand against your shoulder softly guiding you back down. "You need to rest, your body's been through a lot."

She moved to perch herself on the edge of the couch, facing you. Her eyes were soft, a tiny hint of a smile gracing her lips. She was nothing like you'd come to know from vampires — neither of them were —and the way that they'd been looking at you made your stomach flip.

"Your wound is clean, and the cloth will act as a temporary bandage, but you will need stitches. Soon." she murmured, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the material of your shirt. You took the moment to study her face, every contour and curve, the way her lips curled as she spoke. As much as you hated to admit, she was truly beautiful.

"Why are you helping me?" you rasp out before you can think about the question. "i've killed so many of your kind. Why not leave me to bleed out, or — I dunno — kill me yourselves?"

"Because that's not who we are" she answered immediately, her voice firm as her eyes locked on your own. "Vi wasn't lying, we don't hurt humans."

You paused for a moment, mind whirling. "Then how-"

"Animals, mostly" Vi chimes in as she enters the room, effortlessly sliding a chair up alongside the couch so she can sit with you, giving both of you a brief smile. "Livestock, when we can get our hands on it. Sometimes, depending on where we are an' how desperate the situation is, we'll hit up a blood bank and sneak a few bags. But never a live person."

It was quiet for a moment, the sound of the wood crackling as it burned filling the room.

"There are more of us, you know." Caitlyn adds. "Those who don't want to hurt you. It's unfortunate that the violent ones are the loudest."

You didn't know what to say. This was so alien to you, so abnormal, that you were struggling to wrap your head around it. There was no way they were telling the truth, right? You had never met a vampire that hadn't wanted to kill you. Although you had never really given them much of a chance, you supposed.

"We'll take you to our commune" Caitlyn said firmly, causing Vi to snap her head towards her.

"Woah, okay, hold on. She's still a hunter, Cait-"

"And she's injured" the taller girl retorted, turning to face her partner with a stern expression. "Even if she did want to wipe us out, which I don't believe she does, you expect her to do so in this state?"

Vi thought for a moment, her expression firm before she sighed, shaking her head. Caitlyn turned back to you, her face softening once again. "We have resources to help you heal. Properly. If you'll let us, that is."

Your throat felt tight, but you swallowed around it. "My name is Y/N, by the way" you murmur. An olive branch.

The two share a look, and then smile softly at you. Branch taken.

── ⟢

The commune was, admittedly, quite breathtaking. Various different buildings, of different sizes and materials, scattered around the land between two large hills. There were trees all around which, combined with the natural landscape, worked well to shelter the sanctuary.

It had been a few days since you had arrived, barely having seen how things operated as Caitlyn had firmly insisted that you rest once your arm was properly seen to. It was currently bandaged and in a sling against your chest, to make sure that you were allowing it to heal. They had given you an extra set of clothes, just a simple pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, whilst somebody worked on getting your ruined ones somewhat presentable again.

Caitlyn was showing you around, showing you the ropes of the small settlement. "Most of the people here were turned against their will" she explained, her voice filled with melancholy. "All of us agreed on one thing though, that we shouldn't have to lose our humanity. Shouldn't have to become monsters." She paused her steps and turned to you, one hand resting on your shoulder.

"I know it might be hard for you to believe, but that's not what we are. The majority of us are just victims of bad circumstances, who are scared and confused and don't know how to control it. That's what this place is for, to offer them a different path."

As you mull over Caitlyn's words, you glance over at Vi in the distance. She's knelt down in the grass, surrounded by 3 or 4 kids, teaching them how to properly drink from some rabbits. You had never seen vampire children before, and the picture following from Caitlyn's prior words made your gut twist.

Not allowing yourself to sit with the thought for too long, you couldn't help but settle your gaze on the short haired girl. The softness of the interaction and the way that she was so gentle with them, paired with the way that the moonlight was painting her in an almost ethereal light, caused your heart to stutter in your chest. Not that you could have noticed but from beside you, Caitlyn was looking at you the same way.

She showed you around some more, taking you to the small paddock that the settlement had, explaining how they were breeding their own livestock so that they didn't have to take so much from the humans. The more you saw, the more your feelings shifted. The more you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, they were right. That being a monster is not their nature, but something that they choose to be, willingly or not.

You stay a few more days, helping out with things where you can before either Cait or Vi catch you and guide you back to rest. When your arm is finally healed enough that you wouldn't need to be supervised, you were handed back your clothes.

You stood in front of the two girls inside their home, the fabrics bundled in your arms. "It... it doesn't feel right—" you mumble, shaking your head a little. "putting these back on. Going back to... that."

It wasn't a lie. Nothing about hunting vampires felt anywhere near acceptible after the time that you've spent in the sanctuary, after you've seen them as a mirror reflection of humanity. But that wasn't the main reason for your apprehension.

Truth be told, you had grown fond of the pair. The way they had helped you, had looked after you so gently. The way they were when helping those in need, providing assistance wherever necessary. All of it had you feeling things you'd never felt before, let alone for two people at once.

You were falling in love with them, and there was no way that you could deny it to yourself.

"Then don't." Vi spoke, voice firm enough to cause you to raise your head. There was a small, fleeting look of worry in her eyes, like you would slip away at any moment. "Don't go. Stay."

She took a tentative step forward, her eyes roaming over your face to gauge your expression as she did. Your eyes flicked up to Caitlyn, who gave you a smile and a nod, coming to stand just behind Vi. The shorter girl reached up to cup your jaw, her thumb softly grazing over your cheek bone.

The sound of the clothes you were holding hitting the floor with a soft thud was barely registered before you surged up, wrapping your arms around her neck and pressing your lips to hers. Vi took a small step back but didn't falter, kissing you back firmly as her free hand slid to your back so she could press you impossibly closer.

It was as if time had slowed to a stop, and you swear that Vi was kissing you for hours. Your breath was coming out in short pants as she reluctantly pulled away, giving a soft chuckle as you tried to chase her lips. You hadn't even managed to open your eyes as Caitlyn stepped forward, lifting your chin with her pointer finger before capturing your bottom lip between her own.

Kissing both of them was very different. Vi was impatient and greedy, kissing you like there were minutes left to live and she was adamant to die with your tongue against hers. Caitlyn was more refined, slower and more controlled. Both of them made your head spin deliciously.

You slowly blinked your eyes open as Cait pulled away, looking at the pair in front of you with a dazed expression that slowly morphed into a shit eating grin. Caitlyn giggled at that, and Vi let out a soft laugh too, and before long the three of you were stood together chuckling amongst yourselves.

The two vampires each took one of your hands in their own, interlocking your fingers as they shared a look, making sure they were on the same page. They intertwined their free hands together, the three of you molding to one another so perfectly, like a puzzle that was finally complete.

── ⟢

The three of you stood out in the street, looking down at the pile in front of you. Your hunter's clothes and gear, all the little pouches and gadgets and importantly, your machete, laying out on the hard ground. You took a step forward, twirling the match box in your hands as you took a moment to reflect.

Your father would be so disappointed.

With that thought, you took a match and struck it, wasting no time in throwing it onto the pile and watching the flames engulf your possessions.

The two vampires took a step forward, each wrapping an arm around your waist and cuddling into you, both pressing a kiss to your temples. You leaned into their touch, closing your eyes for a moment to bask in the glow of not only the fire but also their affection.

You stood there and watched as the flames consumed everything you had thought you'd known. The fire burned bright, the light from the flames dancing across your faces, painting the three of you in a new light.

[cherry-coffees]

Marriage of Convenience!Caitlyn headcanons

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who does not want to get married - much less to someone she doesn’t know or have feelings for. so when Cassandra introduces you to her for the first time, all she knows is that you’re from some noble house in Noxus and she resents you. It’s not your fault, she knows, but it’s so much easier to have someone to blame for her unhappiness.

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who watches Cassandra talk to your mother in silent rage, who watches you smile politely and just go along with this. this just makes her resent you even more because why are you so okay with it?

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who (very reluctantly) attends the ball in celebration of your engagement. no one know it’s arranged - everyone in Piltover thinks that a Piltovian and Noxian fell in love and oh how wonderful it is that these star-crossed lovers will bring peace and an alliance between the two regions! Caitlyn wants to scream the truth at them all until her lungs burn. but her mother would kill her, so she just stands there with a fake smile, blue gaze icy.

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who eventually ducks out of the main ballroom and onto a secluded balcony, seeking some relief from the constant attention of the crowd, only to find that you’re already there. frustration runs through her veins, a scowl automatically gracing her sharp features because why can’t she just have a single moment alone? but her expression morphs into one of surprise when she takes in your posture: leaning against the balcony railing in your gown, your head low and your body almost crumpled — defeated.

Caitlyn can’t help but hesitate, straightening out her Commander uniform she had insisted upon wearing. She doesn’t know whether to intrude or leave you be. But, she supposes, you will be married soon. 

So she breaks the silence, stepping forward to lean on the railing beside you. “Why aren’t you in the ballroom?”

“Why aren’t you?” You counter, not bothering to meet her eyes. You stare ahead, looking out at all of Piltover all lit up at night. 

Caitlyn can’t stop the scoff that escapes her. “Too much attention for something I don’t want.”

You bob your head once, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Makes two of us.”

“Are you kidding?” Caitlyn’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing and turning her body to fully face you. “You seem to be quite content going along with everything your parents want.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhale, your breath coming out as a puff in the cold night air. Caitlyn notices this, gaze darting to the gooseflesh that prickles on your bare arms. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it. It’s better to go along and make the best of it. If I’m going to be married to you, I don’t want to hate each other.”

Caitlyn blinks, slightly taken aback. “I-“ she pauses, considering your words. “I don’t hate you.”

“Seems like it.”

“I don't,” she insists, and you finally turn your head so your eyes lock with hers. “Look-“ Caitlyn holds your gaze, a twinge of respect stirring within her. “If my parents had to marry me off to someone, I’m glad it’s you. I know we just met, but you’re very respectful, and you seem kind. I like that.” She hesitates again, eyes flicking down over your body for a split-second. “And you’re undeniably pretty.”

“Uh- thank you." You blink, wide-eyed at the unexpected compliment, a pink hue dusting your cheeks. You can't deny that being called pretty in that posh accent of hers makes you a little flustered. But you push past it, shaking your head to clear your mind and continuing. "You’re right: we don’t know each other. But since we’re getting married, I’d like to, if you’ll allow it.”

And for the first time since Cassandra broke the news to her about this marriage, Caitlyn lets herself give you a half-smile. “Yeah,” she nods, a hint of interest in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

I have loose plans to write a full fic of this so!!! Stay tuned and lmk if you have any ideas/things you'd like to see with this <333

Reminder that my asks are open!

[goldenroutledge]

someday my prince will come

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count ⤜ 3.7k

summary ⤜ fluff. in which you’ll never feel alone as long as you have rafe, and he’ll never feel alone as long as he has you.

warning(s) ⤜ wedding planning stress, toxic family members

a/n ⤜ inspired by ‘alone together’ - sabrina carpenter || masterlist

Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed. That’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping it will wish away the cynicism surrounding what is supposed to be the happiest time in your life. Transactional relationships set the norm on Figure Eight for friends and foe alike. Everyone used anyone they could get their hands on, only leaving them for dead when the conditions were no longer suitable.

It should’ve been no surprise that people would be treating your upcoming marriage to Rafe that same way. As if it’s nothing but a transaction curated to mutually benefit yourself, Rafe, and your respective families. Truthfully, your relationship was anything but.

Years together proved that passion still burns between you, in a way that most can’t begin to dream of. Every look, every kiss and every touch holds that passion somewhere deep inside. There was no denying that you two have enough of it to last a lifetime and then some when Rafe got down on bended knee and asked you to spend your life with him. You love Rafe Cameron for all the right reasons and he loves you the same.

Your families and friends around you are fools to not acknowledge that, seemingly destined to have their own ways of projecting insecurities onto the both of you. Planning your wedding was something you imagined to be a magical time, selecting colors and florals that would paint a picture reminiscent of a fairytale. Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed.

From the moment your perfectly cut diamond ring was noticeable on your left hand, some chose to take it as a personal invitation to assert their unwarranted advice. It started with your mother, divorced and remarried now more times than you care to keep track of. Her guidance hardly resembles the special experience between mother and daughter that planning a wedding usually brings. After one of your first meetings with your wedding planner, you’d come to regret asking your mother to accompany you.

“I just don’t see why he’s walking you down the aisle instead of me.”

“You mean my father? I didn’t think you’d have such an issue with it given you chose to marry and have a child with him.”

“And I chose to divorce the asshole, too.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me, Mom. You both made your choices and I made mine. My father is going to be at my wedding whether you like it or not.”

“50 feet away from me at all times, I hope.” She speaks lowly, barely under her breath. You’d be burning with embarrassment right now if it weren’t for your wedding planner, ever attuned and able to spot an argument a mile away, who kindly left you and your mother to chat in private.

“Please, don’t worry about that. I’m sure he wants nothing to do with you either. The only difference is that he’s willing to tolerate you for the sake of my happiness.”

“This isn’t about happiness, Y/n. It’s about respect. Had I not raised you right, you wouldn’t be able to attract a man like Rafe in the first place. The least you could do is acknowledge your mother on your wedding day.”

“That’ll make for a beautiful toast at your next brunch with the ladies from the club. I’ll be sure to write that down.” You chide sarcastically, unable to hold back from rolling your eyes at her audaciousness. “It’s good to know that’s what you’re really excited about. Showboating to your friends that I found someone successful, not that I found someone I love.”

“Like it or not, it’s the truth. I’m not afraid to be honest with you unlike some people in your life.”

“What exactly is honest about guilt tripping me into letting you make all of my wedding decisions for me? For us! You’re lucky Rafe isn’t here or he would’ve thrown you out by now.”

“And risk our relationship just when we’re about to be in-laws? You’re ridiculous. I hope he knows the kind of dramatics he’s marrying into.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not trying to be malicious, dear. I just want you to have your priorities straight.”

“Believe me, they are.”

“You can’t forget your family in the process, my darling. You can’t just leave me behind like I don’t exist because when this marriage is over you’ll realize that I’m not as crazy as you think. You’ll need me again one day.”

“When my marriage is over? This isn’t some fucking contract. We love each other.”

“There’s no need to get hysterical, Y/n. I told myself all the same things too. You’ll see.”

—

Your conversation with your mother left you disheartened at best, infuriated at worst. One look into Rafe’s eyes would have your worries melting away, but you can’t help the nagging feeling inside that’s telling you to say something. You know how much courage it took for him to open his heart to you in the way that he has. You know how much courage it’s taken for you to open your heart, too. You know how with each other it’s been so easy that neither of you really noticed how naturally your love has blossomed. When you fell for each other, there was nothing that could stop you.

That explains why this nagging feeling, that you assume is guilt, simply won’t go away. How can you imagine getting married to Rafe Cameron, the love of your life, and feel anything but unbridled joy. To give a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone doubting your relationship, you’d love nothing more than to proclaim your love for each other in front of a crowd. But in the many scenarios you’ve played in your head, none of them put you at ease.

There was no denying the deep trust that connects you, knowing that you can tell him whatever is on your mind. The worst thing you’ve ever done, the darkest thought you’ve ever had, he will stand by you through anything. And you would do the same for him. It’s why the idea of saying: ‘Hey, by the way, I don’t want a wedding’, is not something you can muster the courage for. Guilt begs you to tell him anyway, knowing how badly he would feel to know you’re suffering in silence like this.

Little do you know, Rafe is troubled in reconciling his own guilt. It’s not just your mother who wants to see the worst come of your relationship. Considering Rafe’s strained dynamic with his father, that should come as no surprise.

Cameron Development takes up most of Rafe’s time these days, leaving him and Ward to spend quite a lot of it together. Rafe prefers to keep their topics of discussion focused on the company. Their relationship works best that way, a transactional partnership between father and son that would benefit the Cameron legacy for generations.

But if it weren’t for Ward’s nagging, Rafe never would’ve ended up here at the Island Club having lunch with his father. He knows for a fact that it would’ve been time better spent with you, his future wife, desperate to feel the kiss of your lips or be able to exhale in your arms in the midst of a busy day.

Ward spends all of 5 minutes discussing some company stuff that could’ve easily been sent in an email drafted by his assistant before getting down to his real intentions. He always hides them behind the mask of a loving father.

“I lied about why I needed to speak with you today.”

Rafe scoffs, but always manages his expectations when it comes to Ward. “Imagine that.”

Ward chuckles, trying to play off his son’s jab as innocent sarcasm. “I wanted to talk to you about your soon-to-be marriage to Y/n.”

Rafe takes a gulp of his drink, already feeling slightly on edge and on guard at the mention of your life together. “What about it?”

“Have you two discussed a prenup?”

“Dad-” Rafe tries to interject, but to no avail. Ward’s already a step ahead of him.

“I know it’s only been a couple months into the engagement, but it’s never too early to have these conversations.”

“I don’t need to worry about having these conversations at all. And you definitely don’t need to be concerned with it either because I’m not asking her to sign a prenup. Simple as that.”

“Rafe, if there’s anything I’ve learned in my marriage to Rose-”

“Your marriage to Rose is a sham. And Y/n is nothing like her.”

“Y/n’s great.” Ward seemingly surrenders, in hopes to disarm Rafe while still getting his point across. “I’m not trying to suggest otherwise. I’m just saying that things happen in marriages and you need to be prepared. What do you think will happen to Cameron Development if she winds up with half in a divorce?”

“If we get divorced, it means that I’ve got bigger problems than potentially losing Cameron Development.” Rafe laments, finishing his drink. “Besides, she wouldn’t want it.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I know her. For sure. Alright?” Rafe fires back, firm intent behind every word. “I know you have a hard time imagining what it’s like to be loved for something other than your money. And I’m sure you have a harder time imagining how she could love me without it. But you can save your fatherly advice, I’m gonna live my life with Y/n without any of your prenup bullshit.”

Rafe grabs his wallet from his pocket, throwing down several bills on the table that he doesn’t bother counting. All that’s on his mind right now is getting back home to you.

“Have a nice day, Dad.”

—

At this point in his life, Rafe has mastered the art of ignoring Ward Cameron. He’s come to accept that they’re simply a better duo in business than as father and son. The family he came from felt less like family when he fell in love with you. Now that you were about to be married, it was gonna be real. You would be each other’s family not only in spirit, but officially on paper. For the rest of your lives you would be where you always belonged; together.

Right now, Rafe can’t shake the feeling that his father is already preparing for everything to fall apart before you two have a chance to build anything more. Logically, he knows the concept of a prenup isn’t a stupid idea. But his father’s intentions for him have proven to be anything but pure. There’s always something in it for Ward.

Rafe loves you, and that means he’s ready to share his life with you, money be damned. Besides there’s nobody more deserving for him to spend it on, no matter how badly you insist that you don’t love him for the fine jewelry or the dates at expensive restaurants around the island. For him, that’s all the more reason why he commits to showing you a lifestyle that’s beyond comprehension.

He wants to tell you about the absolute bullshit his father brought him to lunch to talk about today but hesitates in mentioning it at all. In any other scenario you’d both laugh it off, but this was a special time for your relationship. It’s delicate, and deserves to be handled with care. Rafe wants nothing more than to protect you from anyone looking to tarnish it.

Rafe’s final straw strikes later that night while waiting for you to finish your skincare routine and join him in bed. His phone sounds with several text messages from Topper. His eyebrows furrow in curiosity, expression quickly turning sour as he reads the messages.

Clearly, after cutting lunch short, Ward was quick to enlist Topper Thornton into his agenda. Seeing the way he wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s an easy enough target to carry out something like this. Rafe scans the messages, catching the gist of it.

Something about ‘A prenup is just insurance, you might not need it! But you should be prepared anyway cause she could leave you at any time, bro’ and ‘Have you heard of the infidelity clause? I'm not saying she would, but you know what Sarah did to me, better be safe than sorry.’ Rafe’s frustration catches your attention when he curses something about ‘this motherfucker’ under his breath.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Rafe looks up to meet your eyes peeking outside the bathroom door. He gives you a reassuring smile, but you can tell that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Coupled with the fact that his energy has been off ever since he got home today, you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing, it’s just Topper bitching to me about the wedding. He doesn’t think he’ll find a date in time.” Rafe cringes at his white lie, but figures it’s better not to stress you out when you’re about to go to sleep. And it’s not completely untrue, Topper has expressed his concerns about finding a date ever since he found out about the engagement. At this point, it’s to be determined if he’s still invited.

You chuckle at the thought. “Our wedding date is 7 months away, surely that’s enough time.”

“Speaking of our wedding.” Rafe starts, which reminds you of the pit in your stomach. “How did it go with your mom today?”

“It was good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows inquisitively, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice. Finishing your nighttime routine, you make your way to your shared bed. Rafe gets up to meet you halfway and to make sure you’re okay. He’ll be able to tell with just a glance.

“Okay, baby. You know as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Your heart flutters and you smile at him, knowing in your heart that he truly means it. “I know.” You press a kiss to his cheek, wrapping your arms around his large frame. Being in his embrace drowns out any lingering thoughts of frustration. After all, you could choose to blame it on pure exhaustion clouding your mind. “Can you believe we’re getting married in seven months?”

Rafe beams at the thought. “No. Can’t even fathom what I’ve done in my life to deserve you in the first place.”

You shove his chest softly, the tips of your ears warming up at his words. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“Not sure about that one, baby.”

You sigh, full of contentment while being held in the secure hold of your fiance. Yet a part of you still feels resigned from the stresses of today. “Just ask my mother.”

You can feel Rafe’s muscles tense slightly before he pulls back to look at you. “What do you mean? I thought it went well today?” The gears are turning in his head as he anticipates your response. He’s always been great at picking up on the smallest of cues, be it the change in your tone or the look in your eyes.

“It could’ve been better. I mean you know her, she always has something negative to say about everything, she’s pretty much allergic to my happiness.” You chuckle softly, trying to deflect and keep the conversation from going where it’s headed.

Rafe is having none of it. “She doesn’t think we should get married?”

“Not without her involvement, ad nauseam. Everything I suggested, she had a better idea. She’s trying to guilt trip me into letting her walk me down the aisle instead of my dad. It was just her usual schtick, trying to control me any way she can, hoping she’ll get my attention by using our wedding to play her little mind games.”

“You don’t owe anything to her, not about this. Besides, security will take care of it if there’s any problems. I’m not gonna let anything ruin this for us.”

“I know.” You reassure him, running your hand up and down his arm. “It’s just a lot of tradition this, and family legacy that. She’s sucking the joy out of everything, like usual.” You mumble that last sentence, almost hoping Rafe didn’t hear it. “Not that I’m not excited to marry you. You know what I mean, right?”

Rafe nods, flashing back to the conversation he had with his father at lunch today. It’s almost uncanny to him how you two are often on the same page about everything. It’s comforting above all else. “Yeah, I do. I know exactly what you mean. I had lunch with my dad today, got a lot of the same bullshit.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I shut him down. I guess our parents are just hellbent on making sure we do things the same way they did.”

“As if we want to be anything like them?”

Rafe chuckles at your quip, relieved at how you two are able to make light of the stress your families have imposed on you. “As if.”

You both stand in silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm of being in your lover’s arms. The weight of your worries feel lighter now that you’ve shared them with Rafe, unfortunately knowing that they’ve made a home with you until the big day is over and done with. Hopefully you make it, if the stress doesn’t kill you first. If there’s anyone you’d have by your side through this, it’s Rafe. You can’t imagine enduring the hardships that life has to offer with anyone else. Then again, there are worse problems to have. Just seven more months.

“Did you ever see yourself here before? Getting married?” You ask Rafe.

“Not until I found you.” He charms, satisfied with the way you snuggle even closer to him. “How about you?”

“The same. Never thought I’d find the one until I found you. If I’m honest, that’s all I’m excited for, to just be husband and wife.”

“Y/n?” You hum in response, matching his curious tone. “Do you even want a wedding?”

You freeze, noticeably tensing the same way Rafe did some time ago. You knew the answer and had a feeling that he did too. It was painful to put into words. “I want to be married to you, Rafe. You know that right?”

“I know that, silly. I wanna be married to you too, clearly.” Rafe acknowledges, brushing his thumb over the engagement ring on your finger. “But a ceremony and a reception, the tradition. Do you want that?”

You can’t help but give him a knowing look, one that says damn, you’re good. But it’s also filled with a plea for understanding. “I could live without it, but our wedding will be beautiful, Rafe. I just want to make sure that it’s ours. I hope you don’t have the wrong idea, that I’m having second thoughts or anything because I-”

Rafe cuts off your ramble by kissing you, your face cupped in his hands delicately. He’s gentle, but reassuring. He needs you to remember that he knows you and he’ll never forget.

“Run away with me?” His eyes gaze into yours and there’s an intensity of love behind them that leaves you tearing up. “Our wedding will be beautiful, because it will be ours. Just you and me. We can still have the actual event, don’t think that I don’t dream of you walking down the aisle towards me. We can still have the party and the tall ass cake that you deserve. But having that doesn’t mean we can’t have what we want.”

Rafe’s never been more sure of himself as he watches a tear slip down your cheek, his thumb wiping it away before it can fall too far. You beam at him, and it’s your turn to kiss the man that you love. The man that you’re about to run away and elope with.

“Screw tradition, let’s get married.”

—

The sun sets in the distance, giving you and your husband the perfect view of your spot on the beach, taking turns at feeding each other bites of a miniature cake, coated in a silky white frosting to commemorate your marriage. It was Rafe’s surprise to you, having ordered it custom, and practically overnight, decorated with icing rosettes and your new titles, Mr. and Mrs., written beautifully in the center.

“Our families might kill us, you know.”

Rafe’s smile doesn’t budge, he’s convinced it might just be stuck on his face forever as long as he’s spending it with you. “I guess that means we’ll have to die together then, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does.” You whisper, closing the distance to kiss your husband. You’ll never get sick of it. Golden rays from the setting sun surround you in glowing warmth, something you’ll feel in your heart from this day forward. The light catches your diamond ring perfectly and it winks at you with a sparkle, forever a reminder of the love you and Rafe share.

He pulls back, yet never too far as he holds your face in his hands. His cerulean eyes glimmer with a hope you only see when he’s looking back at you. “You don’t regret it? Not having the fairytale wedding?”

“This is my fairytale wedding. Just you, me, and a cake.” Rafe smiles, unable to imagine that this is his real life; unable to imagine that having him and him alone, is more than enough for you. There’s not a decision he’s been more sure of in his life than asking you to marry him. “Do you regret it? Marrying me without a prenup?”

Rafe scoffs lightheartedly. “You’ve already taken my heart so you might as well have the rest. Nothing else matters to me as long as you’re mine and I’m yours. I love you, remember? ‘Til death do us part.”

He holds out his pinky and you happily reciprocate the youthful gesture by locking your fingers together. “‘Til death do us part.”

Emotion overcomes you once more, pouring your heart into a kiss that’s as true as your promise to each other. You know he intends to keep his, and so do you. Daring to love each other through the pretty and the ugly, healing each other with a simple look or touch. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. If you don’t have each other, then you have nothing at all.

💌: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Prompt by anon + Idea for reader's nationality by anon

Synopsis: After more than 10 years with the same hairdresser, Melissa Schemmenti must change salons.

Tag list: (Since this is my first time writing for this character, I thought it best not to tag anyone. So if you want to be tagged just let me know.)

Warning: MELISSA AND Y/N ARE MAaaaD *in Ava's voice*

Words: 4k

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

Enjoy!

Link on AO3

Chapter 1 - Changes

Barbara Howard's friendship had a transformative impact on Melissa Schemmenti's personal life from the beginning.

The religious woman's friendship at the beginning of the redhead's career made the Italian woman rethink many things about herself. Regardless of their moral differences, how their individual relationships with religion are almost opposite, or even their small disagreements, one thing right at the beginning turned Melissa's world upside down.

The once chaotic and disorganized woman discovered the calming practicality of being hostage to well-established standards with a Christmas gift from her black coworker in her second year working at Abbott Elementary.

A schedule with a small calendar.

The year she received that gift, the redhead was furious with what was left written between the lines.

Disorganization.

After all, Melissa had absolutely everything under control.

She always had.

In her own way.

And Melissa also thought it was stupid to waste precious time that could be spent working by just planning to work, but after a terribly inconsistent semester (with more art, music and physical education teachers being fired than she can count on one hand), the redhead decided to give it a try.

So, 22 years ago Melissa started to use a schedule and a calendar every year faithfully and never looked back.

As she got older, the certainty of her upcoming appointments and how easy was to change what was needed on that sheet of paper to make better use of her time kept Melissa calm even during all the chaos that continued to live in her head and in her classroom every day. But everything changed when the spaces on pages that were reserved especially for her monthly visits to her family's hairdresser were now blank.

Rationally, the redhead knew that the hairdresser who had taken care of her grandmother's hair for the last twenty years of her life, two of her aunts out of town, washed and cared for her mother's hair every week, and three of her sisters periodically couldn't last long. But Melissa couldn't help but feel fooled and betrayed when Andrea Rossi announced her retirement.

The redhead hadn't been Andrea's client for her entire life, after all, the older hairdresser's regular clients had always been her priority. However, Melissa began to be part of the select group of Schemmenti women helped by Andrea when her former hairdresser (the one who had a Greek accent and many opinions that she hated but didn't discuss because he was her brother-in-law's friend), decided to call her Melinda, even after having her as a client for over three years.

Melinda.

Even though it was seventeen years ago, Barb still remembers the angry redheaded hurricane that entered the teachers’ lounge that week and still manages to make jokes about it whenever she gets the chance.

Monthly visits to the older woman had started with a simple hair color, but unlike her old hairdresser, Andrea had become much more than that for Melissa.

It was a ritual, a moment of care that for a long time brought her joy and confidence. It was talking animatedly with an Italian woman who showed her affection and care, something neither of them would admit out loud but was lacking in the Schemmenti family when it came to recognizing Melissa’s efforts and personal victories.

And now it was over.

“Ragazza (girl), don’t be like that… I’m old now, my hands hurt more than I can handle after a busy weekend,” Andrea tried to justify, stroking Melissa’s head with a tender smile as she finished coloring her hair that day, but which did not hide the weight of the decision.

“And what am I going to do now? Let the gray hair give me another 30 years in less than 6 months?”

“Don’t be silly! I’ve already transferred all my clients to hairdressers that I trust. You included! So stop it now!”

“I don’t want someone new.” Turning uncertainty into resistance is like armor for the redhead, even though she knows she has no choice, her brain still tries to break the meaning of Andrea’s retirement, “It’s going to mess up my entire schedule, Andrea! Two rooms and now with you gone? I almost went crazy with the first semester of the year alone, now I know I’ll as soon as classes start after winter break!”

“I know that, Melissa. That’s why I talked to the hairdressers I know, and the best choice for you is Y/N, my last trainee. She’s great, hard-working, very talented and was willing to easily change her own clients’ schedule to see you at the same time I see you every month, she also works just five minutes away from here. You’ll like her.”

“But I don’t know her.” Even though she didn’t admit it, the idea of ​​a stranger touching her hair disturbed Melissa deeply, and the murmur that left her mouth made a point of emphasizing this.

The change came too quickly, and with it, a wave of anxiety took over Melissa's heart. This feeling was temporarily drowned out by her more than exhausting end-of-year routine. She was the hostess of the Schemmenti family's Thanksgiving dinner, and this, along with the end of the year, drained her ability to think about her other problems. But when the following month arrived, and along with the return to school after winter break, her colorless hair also started to show again, so Melissa swallowed her pride and went to the salon that Andrea had recommended to her.

Riverfront Roots.

The name was silly, a clear reference to the Delaware River that Melissa preferred not to think about too much as she looked at the large letters printed on the facade of the place. As soon as she entered the new salon, the smell of hair products and the sound of blow dryers buzzing caught her attention. The place was modern and well-decorated, but Melissa couldn't feel completely at ease. The smell was different, the decor was different, the voices were different, and the redhead hated each of these things.

She wasn't so reluctant to little changes in her daily life, but that week was so exhausting. The two classes together made a point of actively getting on her nerves, Gary also changed some of the lemonade brands in the vending machine and none of the new ones lived up to the taste of the old ones. The man made a point of telling the redhead that it wasn't done on purpose, thanks to the end of their relationship, and she genuinely believed him, but even so, such a change in such a tiring week only made the teacher's discomfort that Saturday morning turn into a gratuitous and deep antipathy towards the new place.

The woman of Italian descent approached the counter, where a receptionist graced her with a friendly smile.

"Hello, how can I help you today?", was the question that greeted Melissa, with a kindness that, in the redhead's mind, was completely unnecessary.

The teacher hesitated for a moment before answering sharply, ignoring the hello offered to her.

"Schemmenti. Melissa Schemmenti, please. I have a coloring booked here. A recommendation from Andrea Rossi." While the receptionist checked her information, Melissa looked around, trying to get used to the new habitat, but she barely had time to do so because, in less than thirty seconds, the receptionist escorted Melissa to a chair in front of one of the largest mirrors in the salon.

The chair that was chosen for the redhead was a little isolated from the other people present, who were laughing and talking without worrying about the noise, but if the redhead was being honest with herself, she actually preferred it that way.

“Hello, Melissa. My name is Y/N and it’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you fell welcome and comfortable here with me. Andrea has told me wonderful things about you and I have her notes in my hand to make sure you leave here satisfied.”, a younger woman with a thick accent appeared out of nowhere, vomiting the words at Melissa with a smile and a sweet voice that were already starting to give the redhead a headache.

The speech seemed rehearsed, still genuine, but her voice seemed too practiced to instill comfort in the redhead. And if that wasn't enough, the younger woman was enthusiastically waving a note in her hand like a triumph, making Melissa even more insecure about Y/N's talent than she already was.

The teacher knows she's not an idiot but… This hairdresser wasn't even thirty years old. This Y/N was clearly in her early twenties, with rich hair and a quick smile that probably lit up the room more than those stupid ringlights that surrounded the chairs in that place.

Not to mention that she was beautiful. Very beautiful.

A part of Melissa, hyper-aware of her own age, felt the bitter taste of envy take over her tongue as she looked at the younger woman's reflection in the mirror in front of her, but another part, even more recklessly, awakened a dormant desire in her mind.

However, even with that spark hidden behind Melissa's eyes, their initial interaction couldn't have been worse.

Y/N seemed excited, first asking Melissa for permission to touch her hair – something the redhead almost said no to, just to see if that smile would die on her lips – but quickly the hairdresser started discussing ideas for Melissa's hair, something that forced the redhead's voice to sound cutting:

"I just dyed my hair red for years.", Melissa made sure her voice sounded as sharp as she intended, "Get those ideas out of your head and just do what Andrea use to do."

The lack of niceness caused Y/N to feel strange, but the hairdresser tried to remain calm despite the discomfort.

New clients were always a little insecure, so the Brazilian woman would just prove to the one in front of her that she had talent.

Y/N always had magical hands. When she was still a girl, on the hot afternoons in her hometown, she would have fun braiding the hair of her school friends. Long locks of hair shiny thanks to the summer sun and strands yellowed by the chemicals of several women in the city often passed through Y/N's hands as if she were an artist molding a sculpture.

Her friends loved the hairstyles she did. At first, they were not at all sophisticated due to her young age, but they were done with so much love and dedication that they always seemed to transform any hair into something unique. For Y/N, it was more than just fun.

It was a passion.

When she reached her teen years, that passion became something more serious. Y/N was not satisfied with just doing the hair of her friends and family. The Brazilian woman wanted to learn, she wanted to master the art of transforming people's hair into something even more special.

That's why when she graduated from high school, Y/N started studying, and within a few months, she was already working professionally at a salon in her city. It didn't take long for her to be recognized for the quality of her work. Her skill with scissors and dye made her quickly stand out among other professionals. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to transform people into more beautiful versions of themselves, she knew what her clients wanted and, most importantly, she knew how to make them feel good.

Little by little, Y/N began to stand out even more and her life began to change.

She knew that her talent could not be limited, and so, when some close friends who had already moved to the United States began to encourage her to try her luck in Philadelphia, Y/N was scared at first. But if the chance to start over in another country meant more opportunities, she couldn't let this pass, even if the exciting idea had the power to scare her. But even though she was frightened, she was soon embarking on a new chapter in her life in a plane.

It was hard to save money for the travel, it was hard to get all the necessary documents to enter the USA legally, it was hard to leave loyal clients behind, and it was even harder to leave her country and its traditions. But the youthfulness of her soul and the hope of a new life embraced her heart and the hairdresser decided to give herself this chance.

Wen she arrived in Philadelphia, Y/N felt, at the same time, small and full of possibilities. The city was big, the competition was powerful, and she was seen as just another foolish immigrant.

But she was determined.

The Brazilian woman knew that her skill could be the key to a promising future. She just didn’t expect that her future would be shaped by Andrea Rossi, an older and more experienced Italian hairdresser who worked at a well-known salon nearby.

The story happened by chance. One of Andrea’s regular clients mentioned that her son had gotten a haircut from a really new Brazilian hairdresser.

“It was something very different… Like those stupid things we see on TikTok, but it was exactly what James wanted, and we had never found anyone willing to do it. What this young woman did perfectly and without thinking twice, and my son loved it!”, the woman commented in admiration before giving the older woman an idea, “You should meet her!”

Andrea was curious and, figuring she had nothing to lose, asked for more information about the Brazilian woman. The client was enthusiastic and told the Italian one everything she knew and, even though she was skeptical, Andrea let her curiosity get the best of her and decided to see it for herself.

The next day, she went to the salon where Y/N was working and, observing closely, immediately noticed the young woman’s skill. The Brazilian woman had the touch of someone who knew what she was doing, an eye for beauty trends, and the needs of her clients, but she also had more than that.

Y/N had a natural connection with people, a charisma that, combined with her smile and strong accent, made any client feel at ease, and Andrea saw that.

So the Italian woman wasted no time. She called Y/N for a chat at the end of her shift and, soon, took her on as her last pupil before announcing her retirement.

Normally, hearing Andrea Rissi's name made Y/N happy. All the advice, recommendations, affection, and wisdom shared by the older woman were a pleasant memory for the Brazilian woman.

But there, while she tried in vain to be nice to what was Andrea's transfer, having her work compared to the older woman's began to annoy her.

First, the owner of those pretty green eyes began to verbalize her dissatisfaction with the work tools Y/N used, telling her how much she preferred Andrea's work tools, which were always on display for her clients to see. Then the redhead started rolling her eyes at Y/N's coworkers, who, since they had no clients, were chatting spiritedly while planning to get their nails done at the end of the day, muttering how much she would appreciate some peace and quiet.

But the first sign Y/N gave that she was definitely not the type of person who would just ignore or shrink from Melissa's bad mood was when the redhead made a point of directly comparing her work to Andrea's before Y/N even started dyeing her hair.

"Andrea, don't part my hair like that. You'll leave my hair full of spots!"

Trying to preserve the good mood she had woken up in that morning, the hairdresser chose to be sneaky and ironic. Y/N looked around theatrically and curiously, as if she was searching for something important, and Melissa, unable to contain her fear and confusion, made her voice present.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just looking for Andrea Rossi since you want to talk about her so badly.”

Receiving only silence as an answer, and thinking that the unhappy attitude of that client was over, the hairdresser continues her journey. Y/N measures the dye with all the care in the world, making sure to double-check on the scale in front of her that the weight is correct when compared to what Andrea gave her over the phone before applying the dye accurately, fearing giving Melissa another reason to complain. The Brazilian woman divides Melissa’s hair locks with the focus of a professional with much more experience, doing everything she can to not lose a single gray hair, and when she goes to wash it, she does so with a gentleness that surprises Melissa.

But the teacher doesn’t want to admit it, so she continues to stare sullenly at the mirror, even while Y/N gently untangles her wet hair.

When the redhead’s hair is nice and completely ready to be dried, Y/N looks at her hair curiously before turning once more to Melissa’s reflection in the mirror.

“I usually do this before dyeing, but what do you think about maybe cutting a few inches? The ends are starting to lose their shape.”

“I don’t want to cut anything.”, the words are said low enough for no one but the hairdresser to hear but Y/N, but with a hint of anger that surprised the young woman, “And stop talking, your voice is too annoying for the kind of mediocre work you deliver, kid.”

It was insensitive. Even to Melissa.

The redhead knows that Andrea would never send her to a bad hairdresser. She knows she is being harsh and critical to someone who gave her no reason to do so, but before she realizes it the words have already escaped her mouth.

But the teacher simply has no idea what was coming.

The hairdresser’s eyes widened, large pupils full of rage meeting the teacher’s gaze through the mirror, shocked by the words said by Melissa. And, before Melissa's mind can even work on instigating any remorseful reflexes, Y/N grabs a large chunk of hair from the redhead's bangs and takes a pair of scissors out of her pocket with her free hand, quickly placing them right on Melissa's forehead, exactly where her hair grows, like a more than concrete threat.

“Listen to me Philadelphia's beauty, I don't know what kind of hairdresser you expected when Andrea transferred you to me but as long as you sit in my chair you will respect my work and listen to my fucking suggestions.”, it is said as a whisper, but the hairdresser's anger and her thick accent along with the slight pull she gives the redhead's hair make the whole interaction sound indescribably scary, even to Melissa, “I've been nothing but polite and respectful to you, but I'm starting to regret accepting someone so unfortunate in my char that they think they can criticize my work without even knowing me.”

There, locking eyes with Y/N ​​in the salon mirror, Melissa understood how much she had crossed the line.

Melissa took a deep breath, filled with adrenaline at the thought of losing the top part of her hair, before nodding her head, causing Y/N to put down the scissors and let go of her bangs as she returned to work normally.

And then silence.

Dead silence.

The silence between the two women was so thick that it seemed to fill every corner of the room, making the sound of the dryer and the conversations around them sound muffled and filling the air with a corrosive feeling.

The scene from minutes ago was still boiling in Melissa's mind, repeating itself like a scratched record. Now, as if Melissa had finally come to her senses, the redhead wanted to disappear. She wanted to jump out of the chair and run away from the mirror which reflected her own guilt and shame. But she couldn't. Her anxiety combined with the idea of ​​leaving now, before the end of her service (something that could be even more disrespectful than her words), did a magnificent job holding her body in place, like an invisible chain that kept her feet on the floor and her mouth gagged.

With her fingers drumming on her apron-covered leg as the Brazilian woman prepared to style her hair, the teacher wanted to believe that it hadn't been so bad, that maybe Y/N had already forgotten what was said. But she knew that wasn't true. The weight of the moment still hung between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Y/N doesn't cut her hair or even mention the idea once again. The hairdresser just dries her red hair perfectly, but now with a serious gaze and a hurt look on her face. The Brazilian woman vehemently ignores Melissa's green eyes throughout the entire process, and the teacher stupidly decides too late that she prefers the incessant smile that remained on the hairdresser's lips minutes ago.

Melissa thought about apologizing, but the idea of ​​speaking made her breathing quick and shallow, along with the fear of seeming too desperate.

It was then that her eyes fell on the small ceramic jar in the corner of the counter next to her chair. It was decorated with hand-painted flowers and had, in crooked but legible letters, the words: "Tips for Y/N" next to a QR code. Even with the virtual possibility of compensation, the jar was open and with a significant amount of dollars, coins, and two lollipops, which Melissa just knew had been left there by a child.

And so, an idea formed, hesitant but clear in the teacher's mind.

A good tip seemed perfect, silent, indirect, but still meaningful. As the minutes passed, anxiety whispered again in Melissa's mind, wondering if Y/N would believe that she was doing this because of the guilt she felt at that very moment and not because of the regret that was now eating her mind. But the alternative of doing nothing was simply unbearable for Melissa.

The redhead knew she couldn't leave without at least trying, even if in her own way, to make amends.

When Y/N finished applying a light-smelling oil to the teacher's hair and walked away, silently letting her know that her work was done, Melissa tried to meet the hairdresser's eyes and give her a small smile, which she knew would be nervous, but which could give her an idea of ​​what was going on in Y/N's head.

But Y/N didn't look at Melissa.

When Melissa got up from the salon chair, her racing heart didn't stop her from taking two generous bills from her wallet — much more than she would usually give for just an appointment to dye her hair— and walking over to the pot. Her fingers were shaking slightly, but before anything could be done, she was interrupted:

“I don’t want your tip.” Before the two hundred dollars could enter the ceramic pot with the Brazilian’s name written on it, Y/N placed her own hand over the top to the object, successfully blocking Melissa from doing what she intended.

“Okay. Now you’re being ridiculous!”

With those words, the hairdresser's eyes finally focus on the green ones again, still filled with an anger that Melissa rarely sees in people who have a disagreement with her (too used to the regretful and submissive ones) and the redhead was shocked by this when Y/N actively chooses to ignore her accusation by saying:

"I'm willing to give you the exact coloring mixture that Andrea developed for your hair so you can find a hairdresser who is like the silent imitation of Andrea that you are looking for.", and before the redhead even has a chance to answer her with an apology that would apparently be necessary, the hairdresser quickly collects everything that was used in the teacher's service and directs Melissa a few more words before walking away without looking back, "Call the salon when you want the measurements and the receptionist will share them with you with pleasure. Have a good rest of your day."

[oqmemphis]

okay i'm aware that Misali probably is intending to/already has done this themself, but i took a look at the data (so far) and there's some really interesting stuff in it

firstly, no letter scores extremely high or extremely low:

as far as i can tell from the formulas, these tiers correspond to uniform divisions of the ranking scale, so S tier is anything scoring above 5 and F tier is anything scoring below 1; both of these tiers are completely empty (as is the A+ subtier). we end up with a sort of lopsided bell curve, with a slight bias towards lower scores. the mean ratings of all 1179 letters average 2.754, with a standard deviation of 0.741. (the letter scoring closest to this average is ɦ (small letter h with hook), with 2.757.)

the number of ratings received by each letter also follows a rough bell curve:

the letter with the fewest ratings is 𝼩 (small letter s with mid-height left hook), and the fact that that's almost certainly displaying as an invalid character for you is presumably why most people skipped it. where it gets interesting is if we compare each letter's score to the number of ratings it received:

assuming that each letter had a roughly equal chance of being presented to someone, this would seem to suggest that the letters that are hardest to have an opinion on are also the letters which are rated less highly by the people who do have opinions on them. speaking only for myself, i can say that i skipped over any letter that had more than one diacritic, and those (plus the ones that don't render properly for me) make up 65 of the 100 lowest-rated letters, but only 1 of the 100 highest-rated.

we also get access to the standard deviation of each letter's ratings (i.e. how much the ratings tended to cluster around a particular value vs. being spread out). if we plot each letter's average score against its s.d., we get:

which indicates that letters with very high or low ratings had pretty significant consensus around the result, whereas letters in the middle of the rankings had much more variation in popular opinion. in other words, there are no letters that were consistently ranked as "mid" by most respondents.

miscellaneous stats (at time of writing):

the single highest-ranked letter is ɤ (small ram's horn), scoring 4.667; the lowest-ranked is Ấ (capital A with circumflex and acute), scoring 1.228.

of the unmodified, unaccented letters used in ordinary English, the highest-ranked is lowercase x, scoring 4.352 (in 20th place); the lowest-ranked is l (lowercase L), scoring 1.749.

Ɐ, Æ, æ, A are A-tier. ꞵ, B, Ꞵ, b, ʙ, Ƃ are B-tier. ȼ, ç, č, ʗ, Ȼ, ꞔ, ĉ, Ć, ƈ, Ċ, Ƈ, ć, Č, Ꞔ, ċ, Ĉ are C-tier. Ḍ, ď, ḑ, Ḑ are D-tier.

poll idea that's too big for tumblr. what are your favorite letters?