#please someone let me know if that link ever stops working

[hero-in-high-tops]

i think that this is a good time to remind everyone that in my personal opinion Mission Hill is required viewing for anyone in or entering their 20s, especially creatives. and the entire series is free on youtube. it's only 1 season and takes less than a day to watch it all

[pillow-coded]

To Have and to Hold — Chapter 1

Summary: finding a lost toddler's mother in the library wasn’t how Spencer expected to spend his afternoon. Later, when her mother arrives—panicked, breathless, and beautiful—Spencer starts to forget how to breathe. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Brief depiction of a lost child, mild panic from a parent, emotional vulnerability word count: 5.3k

A/N: This is the first work I had the guts to post (genuinely scared lol), slow updates! (so sorry, but uni is killing me), and lastly, English isn't my native language, so please do let me know if i got any grammar mistakes! (also not proofread cause i'm too embarrassed to show any of my friends)

Series Masterlist

Libraries have always been a great comfort for me. It’s a place full of knowledge, warmth, peace. Maybe it’s the smell of old books and how I can easily link that smell to the amiable parts of my childhood.

Those Autumn nights when everything was fine, where my wires were still intact. Mom was doing well back then. She’d read to me those old books she collected from all her years of teaching. That’s how I saw them back then... Old, decrepit books that contained the most fun stories... At least, I found them fun. Like Shakespeare’s Tales Retold – child-friendly versions of Shakespeare’s works.

Nowadays, they’re more than just fond stories or old books. Those books are relics and a memory of when my mother was... well, more lucid.

What I loved most about libraries was the quietness of it all. I spent a couple of hours of my day when I could, basking in the quiet. It was nice not to have to hear the gruesome details of some innocent woman murdered in cold blood.

Days like these only made the quietness feel even better. Soft Autumn day, nearing Winter already. We had just come back from a tough case, children were involved. Thankfully, we managed to get on time.

I had watched that boy while JJ tried to talk to him, trying to understand what had happened to him. He was barefoot, his hair disheveled, and he looked achingly thin. We later found that the boy’s parents held a “discipline ring.” According to his parents, it was a “behavior modification” experiment—one they claimed was “research-backed,” designed to “train” their child into being the perfect prodigy. The boy was denied food, affection, and even basic care when he disobeyed. But worse? The parents live-streamed it all on private forums for a group of like-minded “disciplinarians.”

It didn’t matter that we caught his parents. That the live-stream was shut down. That the others in that so-called “discipline ring” were going to prison. None of it mattered when he looked up at me with those eyes—hollow but obedient. Like love was something he still thought he had to earn.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hated those people.

I’ve done a lot of pretending in my life. Pretended I wasn’t scared. Pretended I wasn’t lonely. Pretended I didn’t want a family of my own. But that boy—he didn’t know how to pretend. He didn’t know how to fake normal. He just waited patiently in that hospital bed for someone to love him back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is why I had decided to come to the library instead of resting after the case like a normal person. I needed a moment of peace, a moment of quiet.

That moment of quietness was rudely interrupted—torn apart by high-pitched, desperate sobbing. I turn to my left, and there's a girl at the end of the long corridor full of bookcases. A tiny one at that, since the whole corridor looked gigantic compared to her.

She couldn’t have been more than five, barely tall enough to brush the second shelf. A statistical outlier in this ocean of silence, suddenly very, very loud. There was something universally gutting about how her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes. Lost children cried in a language everyone understood.

“Are you lost?” I ask hesitantly, not moving from my spot in the corridor. The little girl stops crying for a brief moment. Well, not stop. Her big eyes are still so full of fear and tears, but they open wide to look at me as if she hadn’t been expecting someone to help.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just looks at me—eyes still shimmering, lips trembling, chest stuttering around hiccuped sobs. She’s scared. That much is obvious. But it’s the way she clutches the fabric of her little coat that really gets me. Like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth right now.

I walk towards her. I'm not close—just close enough to show I’m not a threat. A non-threatening stranger in a cardigan and tie, kneeling among the books like I’m part of the furniture.

She stares, still trembling, still silent.

“It’s okay,” I murmur gently. “I’m not going to come closer unless you want me to. I just want to help.”

Her little hand scrubs clumsily at her cheek. She sniffles, her shoulders curling inward. Still holding it in. Still trying to be brave.

Then, finally—after a moment that feels like something unspooling—she shakes her head. And her voice, when it comes, is a soft, crumpled thing:

“I can’t find my mommy.”

I nod, matching her quietness. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

A pause.

“I’ll help you find her, alright? No rush. We can check the kiddie section together. That’s probably where she’ll look first.”

I didn’t offer my hand. It felt like too much for both of us. Instead, I walked beside her, slow and steady, letting the silence settle between us like soft dust. She kept sniffling quietly the whole walk down.

I desperately needed a way to make the little cries stop.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

She tilted her head back to look up at me—really look this time. She was so small she had to crane her neck to find my eyes. Her expression still carried that flicker of uncertainty, her trust not quite earned yet.

“I’m Spencer.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares for a second, like she’s still deciding whether I’m safe. Then, in the tiniest voice—barely above a whisper—she says:

“...Maddie.”

Maddie.

I nod, repeating it once under my breath to make it real.

“That’s a beautiful name, Maddie.”

She says nothing, but her fingers curl tighter around the hem of her coat. She’s still scared, but she’s not looking away anymore.

Progress.

I scan the rows of shelves ahead. The kiddie section’s not far now—colorful bean bags, tiny chairs, picture books splayed on wide tables.

“Do you like magic tricks, Maddie?”

She nods her tiny head, her eyes warming up to me at the thought.

I felt something in my stomach… I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe yearning?

She nods—just once—and I see it. That flicker of trust, like a light turning on behind her eyes. Not quite safety, but something near it.

And something stirs in my stomach.

I don’t know what to call it. It’s not adrenaline, and it’s not fear. Maybe it’s yearning. Not for her, necessarily—but for what she has. What she’s lost. What she’s looking for.

For someone to come back for her.

For someone to call her name.

“Okay… how about I show you some magic tricks while we wait for your mommy to get here? that sound fun, Maddie?”

This time she nods enthusiastically. Her big eyes excited to see what sorcery I had planned to show her.

I dig the pocket of my pants, my movements slow and deliberate. I pull out a simple quarter. It’s nothing special. Just a plain, shiny quarter that for some reason, I’ve held on to for way longer than I should’ve.

“Behold,” I announce, holding it up between two fingers like it’s enchanted. “A perfectly ordinary quarter.”

She leans in, captivated—eyes locked on the coin like it’s something rare. A small smile starts to tug at her cheeks.

“It’s your everyday quarter,” I say, twirling the tiny thing between my fingers, doing my best to keep this unfamiliar girl comforted—as if her calm is the only thing keeping me steady.

“Watch closely.”

I place the coin on my open palm and slowly close my fingers around it. Then, with my free hand, I give the air above my fist a little wave—like I’m stirring something invisible.

“And now… it’s gone.”

I open my hand. Empty.

She gasps.

I see it—the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes light up like I’ve just rewritten the rules of the universe.

I lean in, just a little. Not too close.

“Huh. That’s strange…” I murmur, pretending to look around her, behind her, above her. “Where could it have gone…?”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I reach behind her ear, and pull the coin free like I just plucked a star from the sky.

Her breath catches. She stares at the quarter in my fingers like it’s a miracle.

“It was behind your ear this whole time,” I whisper, grinning.

She beams at me, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her laughter is soft but real, bright and bubbly and innocent in a way that makes something sharp tug behind my ribs.

“Are you a sorcerer?” She asks, her big, curious eyes staring into my soul, trying to get answers out of me.

I blink, “A sorcerer?”

She nods, completely serious, “like the ones in Harry Potter.”

I chuckle fondly at her question, “Well… I don’t have a broom. Or a wand. Or an Owl.”

“But you made the coin vanish…” She pouts slightly, and although the sight of her minor pout was adorable, I would’ve given anything to see her smile again.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the case that had me feeling so fond of a child I just met. Maybe it got all the loose wires within me, all frayed and sparking from things I still hadn’t worked through. But there was something about this moment—this tiny human with tear-streaked cheeks and a Harry Potter reference—that made something ache deep in my chest.

I felt it so sharply it almost hurt.

This... this mattered.

And I hated how much I wanted it—interactions like this. Not just the comfort or the connection but the permanence. The possibility of something that was mine.

Kids of my own.

I glance down at her, still wide-eyed, still waiting for more magic. Her little hands twitch with excitement like she’s ready to believe anything I say.

“Yeah, but it’s only a magic trick, sweetheart,” I murmur, trying to offer the truth gently, without breaking the illusion. Without hurting her feelings.

But maybe I shouldn’t.

Maybe I should let her believe in it a little longer. Let her live in the dream. Give her what I wish someone had given me at that age—a reason to believe in wonder.

So I sigh, dramatically, like I’m about to confess something world-altering.

“Okay… you got me. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

She leans in, eyes shining.

“I’m actually a wizard.”

She gasps, delighted. A smile blooms across her face so fast it nearly knocks the air out of me.

“I knew it!” she squeals.

“Yeah, you did,” I grin back. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

She looks like she’s about to burst with thousands of questions. Eyes wide and shining with a special curiosity. I just hope her parent doesn’t murder me for fueling these wizard dreams that she has.

“Are you friends with Harry?”

I try my best to suppress a warm chuckle, but I can’t help the smile that shines through.

“Harry Potter?” She nodded so hard at my response that I worried her head might pop off. “Well… I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s mostly busy these days. But yes, we’ve met.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, and this time, I couldn’t subdue the fond chuckles that her reactions got out of me.

“Can you show me more magic?”

I smile, helpless to deny her. “Alright. One more, but you gotta sit down for this one.” I say, holding up a finger like I’m laying down a rule neither of us will actually follow.

She hurries to a small chair in the kid tables. Wiggles in place, hands clasped in front of her like she’s bracing for something incredible.

I reach into my pocket again, fingers brushing against the familiar coolness of the coin.

“But you have to pay very close attention, okay? This one’s advanced wizardry.”

She nods like she’s preparing for a test at Hogwarts.

“We have, the very same coin from earlier,” I move the coin to the center of my palm, “But if I place it right here… and you keep your eyes on it…”

I curl my fingers over it, give them a little dramatic wiggle.

“This simple quarter will just…”

Disappear. Or—it’s supposed to.

Everything was going fine. The coin’s in my palm. My fingers close around it. I make the usual gesture—slight misdirection, a practiced flick of the wrist, the classic illusion.

Except this time… something goes wrong. There’s a soft metallic clink followed by—

“Ow!”

Not me. Behind me.

The little girl’s eyes go wide, delighted at first by the trick. But then her head snaps toward the voice—the one behind me, the one that just yelped in surprise.

And just like that… the magic disappears.

“Mommy!” She takes off running.

I stand and turn instinctively, ready to reassure the parent—let her know her daughter’s safe, that I was only trying to help. Maybe even apologize for the quarter that, somehow, made impact.

But then I see her.

And for a moment… I forget what I was about to say.

She’s standing there, breathless, eyes wide with relief, and the softest kind of panic still clinging to her expression. The kind that says she’s been searching—not just through the aisles, but through every possible worst-case scenario in her head.

And yet, despite the tension in her posture, despite the flurry of emotion on her face...

She’s—God, she’s beautiful.

Like something from another lifetime. Light catching in her hair. Autumn caught in her breath.

An angel.

I’ve always thrived on routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, go fulfill today’s duties… It wasn’t anything exciting, but it was dependable. Familiar.

That all changed when I had her.

My Madelyn.

Now, my mornings depend on a dozen unpredictable factors. Maybe Maddie wakes up before I do and cuts my desperately needed seven hours of sleep short. Maybe she had a nightmare. Maybe she wet the bed. Or—more often than not—she’s just too excited for the day and bursts out of sleep like it’s a celebration.

It’s exhausting.

But she’s my entire world. My sun. My moon. And I’d sacrifice every ounce of sleep or peace of mind a thousand times over if it meant making her life feel safe and full of joy.

Still, we do have one day of the week that rarely breaks pattern.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday, for as long as I can remember, I wake up early, make pancakes, get dressed, and head to the library—the one place where time slows down, where stories open like doorways and the world feels just a little quieter.

Bringing Maddie into that routine was surprisingly easy. I started taking her when she was just two weeks old. I would’ve done it sooner, but I was still figuring things out—how to be a single mother to a newborn. Just surviving those first few days was its own kind of story.

She loves our Saturdays.

Every Saturday morning, once the pancakes are ready, I head to her room—and without fail, she wakes up with the biggest smile.

She always knows it’s Saturday because of the smell. Like clockwork, the scent of warm batter reaches her tiny nose, and her whole body just springs to life. She throws off her covers, races into the kitchen barefoot and beaming, already asking for her syrup before I can even plate the first stack.

This Saturday morning was different.

I should’ve known things would go wrong the moment I decided to step even slightly out of routine.

“Good morning, princess,” I sing, beaming as I step into her bedroom—blueberry pancakes in hand. “Brought you breakfast in bed. Aren’t you a spoiled little princess today?”

Her face lights up like it always does. “Good morning, Mommy!”

She spots the pancakes, and her eyes sparkle. She bounces a little beneath her blankets, already reaching for the plate. “Blueberry?”

I nod, smiling. “Well, I know how much you like them, so I decided to change things up,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Alright, eat up. The library’s waiting for us.”

She hummed as she ate, little legs swinging off the edge of the bed, syrup smeared near the corner of her mouth. It was such a small thing, but I remember thinking—this is what happiness feels like. A plate of blueberry pancakes and a four-year-old who thinks I hung the stars.

We left a little later than usual.

Just ten minutes. That’s all.

She insisted on picking out her own outfit—a striped shirt and a pink coat—and I let her. Another tiny detour from routine. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous.

The nearest library, which we were used to visiting, was a three-story building. It was old, but they kept it clean. The library had a huge variety of books, from Children’s books to cookbooks.

It was just as it always was. Quiet. Warm. A kind of sacred.

We walked in together. I remember holding the door open while she skipped inside.

I remember telling her—“Stay close, baby.”

she nodding.

And then…Then I blinked. I looked up from the shelves. And she was gone.

I’ve never lost my Maddie before. She’s a curious child, and she loves to wander off on adventures. She probably inherited that from me. This need to find whatever’s glowing. I understand it. We’re moths, both of us. Fragile, flitting things, always blinded by the glow, unaware that it might hurt us.

But I’ve gotten better at spotting the danger.

At least… when it comes to her.

I watch everything. Every step she takes. Every handrail she climbs. Every crack in the sidewalk I gently guide her around. Not even the tiniest fruit fly gets near her without me noticing. I make sure of it. I always make sure.

So how did I miss this?

How—how—did I lose her?

“Maddie?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maddie, where are you, sweetheart?”

No reply.

Just silence. Just shelves. Just the sound of someone flipping a page somewhere far away.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t hear her.

Panic bloomed in my chest, sharp and fast. I started moving—too quickly to think, too slowly to matter. I scanned every row, every corner of the first floor, spinning in half-circles, eyes darting, throat dry.

Think. You have to think. Breathe.

I forced myself to stop. Just for a second. Inhaled. Shaky. Exhaled. Useless.

That’s when I saw it.

A sign hanging above the staircase in soft, colorful letters:

Children’s Section – Second Floor.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken stairs that fast in my life.

I practically leapt two steps at a time, nearly tripping—twice—but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My heart was pounding too hard, my breath caught somewhere between a prayer and a scream.

As soon as I reached the top, I heard it. Laughter. Soft, bubbling giggles echoing from the back corner of the floor.

Maddie. My sun.

I followed the sound like it was oxygen, rounding the shelves toward the children’s section—and there she was. She was fine. Smiling. Whole. Lit up with joy I hadn’t seen since breakfast.

I was so blinded by the sight of her—so completely caught in the gravity of that relief—that I didn’t see the small, shiny object flying straight at my face.

Thunk.

“Ow!” I yelped, instinctively pressing a hand to my forehead where the coin made impact.

“Mommy!” I blinked, still holding my forehead, and finally looked up to see my daughter running full speed to me.

I dropped my hand and opened my arms just in time, catching her as she flung herself into me.

The force of her little body nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs—and I didn’t care. I clutched her to my chest, my hands smoothing over her hair, her back, her arms—like I needed to physically confirm every part of her was still here.

Still mine.

“I was looking for you,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I know. I’m here.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and only then—only then—did I let myself breathe. Let myself relax and look around with a clear mind.

And that’s when I saw him.

A man—tall, gangly, cardigan-ed, and completely mortified. His wide brown eyes darted from the coin in the floor, to my face and back again like he wasn’t sure which deserved more immediate attention.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t—I mean, the coin wasn’t… is your forehead okay?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He reached down and took the quarter in his hands.

He was nervous. The poor thing couldn’t even get a full thought out without stuttering or switching pitch. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—in the most endearing way possible.

I adjusted Maddie in my arms and slowly rose to my feet, brushing a hand over the spot where the coin had hit.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m okay.”

“Mommy, that’s Spencer. He’s a wizard, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” Maddie’s little voice cut in, muffled by my shoulder. Her tiny hands clung to my shirt like this secret was sacred. Like this moment mattered.

“Is he now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The poor man looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and he kept shifting like he wanted to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. He was clearly mortified for making my daughter believe he was an actual wizard.

Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she might explode from sheer joy.

“He did magic, Mommy!” she beamed. “He made the coin disappear! And he’s friends with Harry Potter!”

I looked at him again—this tall, blushing stranger in a cardigan, holding a rogue quarter like it was evidence from a crime scene—and for the first time since the panic hit…

I smiled. No, not just that. I giggled.

“He’s friends with Harry Potter, sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” Maddie chirped, her little head nodding furiously against my shoulder. “He told me so!”

I glanced down at Maddie, still glowing with excitement in my arms, then back at him—this stranger with a guilty expression and a coin pinched nervously between his fingers.

“So you’ve met the famous Harry Potter?” I asked softly, more amused than anything else.

His mouth opened… then closed again. He looked completely out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure whether to defend himself or disappear behind the nearest bookcase.

“I… may have implied we’d met,” he said, almost apologetically. “In a—fictional sense.”

“Fictional,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes flicking anywhere but at me. “She asked if I knew him, and I just couldn’t say no. Plus, it calmed her down.”

My heart twisted, gently. Of course it did.

I crouched to set Maddie down, brushing a hand over her curls. “Don’t wander off, sweetheart.”

She nodded seriously—too seriously for someone who just believed she’d befriended a wizard—but she stayed put, her wide eyes still bouncing between me and the man standing awkwardly by the bookshelves.

When I stood, he was watching me. Not in a weird way. Just… watching. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say something, or leave before he embarrassed himself further.

I finally broke the silence.

“Thank you,” I said. “For keeping her calm. And for the magic tricks. Even if one of them involved hitting a complete stranger in the face.”

His eyes widened. “Oh my god—yes. I’m really sorry about that. That was not part of the trick. I swear it usually disappears. Like, away from people.”

I smiled again, gentler this time. “I believe you.”

A beat passed.

“You’ve got a very brave little girl.”

My chest squeezed.

“Yeah,” I whispered, looking over at Maddie, who was now spinning slowly in place, humming to herself like nothing had happened.

“She really is.”

I looked back again, and of course—despite being told not to wander—she had already drifted toward the toy shelf, her tiny fingers trailing along the edge of a plastic castle.

Moth. Always drawn to whatever glows.

He hadn’t stopped staring.

He kept looking at me like he wanted to tear me open—not in a violent way, but in that quiet, curious way. Like he needed to understand what made me me. Like he was trying to read my soul the way other people read books.

I hadn’t even noticed—Not until I turned my gaze back to him, and when I did, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

There was something behind his eyes—something searching. Gentle, but sharp. Not the kind of stare meant to intimidate. No, it was worse. It was the kind that saw. Saw too much.

The kind of look that made you feel like maybe you weren’t a collection of masks and moments. Like maybe you were a story he’d just opened to the first page.

It made my skin warm.

I looked away first. Not because it was uncomfortable—But because it wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like that. Like I was worth reading.

“So… she read the Harry Potter series?” he asked, breaking the silence.

His voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked a couple times, trying to shake myself free from whatever trance those hazel eyes had pulled me into.

“Has she read—? No, no. She still struggles a bit with reading. The only books she’s managed on her own so far are Frog and Toad Are Friends and The Tales of Oliver Pig.”

His lips twitched at that, like he was trying not to smile too hard.

“Do you mind me asking… how old is she?”

“She’s turning five in a couple weeks.”

He blinked. “And she’s reading at a first-grade level? That’s impressive.”

I smiled, soft and proud. “She’s always been a quick learner. Loves stories. I think it’s how she makes sense of the world.”

He nodded, like he understood that. Like maybe he did the same.

“So I take it she’s only seen the Harry Potter movies then?” he asked, circling back to his original question.

“Oh—no. I read to her a lot. We actually went through the entire Harry Potter series last summer.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “All seven?”

“All seven,” I nodded. “It took us a few months, but she was completely obsessed. She didn’t want me to put the books down, not even to sleep. Had a million questions. Wanted to know why Harry had to live in the cupboard, how the time-turner worked, what butterbeer tastes like.”

He chuckled softly. “She sounds like someone I would’ve been friends with at her age.”

“You read a lot as a kid?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he seemed to be sorting through too many memories at once.

“Pretty much all I did,” he said eventually. “Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just a fun fact, but a truth he’d learned the hard way.

I didn’t push. I just nodded, quietly understanding.

“Maddie’s the same,” I offered. “She talks to books like they talk back.”

He smiled at that. “That’s the best kind of kid.”

I was about to reply—to agree with the praise of my daughter, to maybe say something more—but then she came barreling back toward us, beaming.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look!” She held up a Rapunzel doll.

“Can I have her? Please? She has real brushable hair!” Maddie clutched the box to her chest like she’d just been entrusted with state secrets.

I chuckle, “That’s yarn, sweetie. You can’t brush it.”

“Can I have her? Please, Mommy?”

I looked at him, then at my daughter’s wide, pleading eyes. The panic from earlier was still fading in my bones, but the joy on her face grounded me again.

“Fine,” I said with a knowing smile. “Let’s check her out and ask if she’s ready for a new home.”

Maddie squealed and ran ahead toward the counter.

He straightened, glancing at me with the softest grin.

“She’s something else,” he said.

I met his eyes, the warmth still lingering between us.

“She really is.”

He smiled—soft, sheepish. A little unsure.

There was a pause.

My eyes flicked between him, the floor, and Maddie standing at the counter, rocking on her heels with the raggedy doll held up against her chest.

I didn’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to her, so tender.

Maybe it was the way he panicked when I first approached them—all flustered and apologetic, tripping over his words like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days.

Maybe it was his eyes—big, toffee-colored, and far too curious. The way he kept looking at me like I was a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve.

Despite everything in me that usually resisted introducing new people into our lives, I felt it—that pull.

I wanted to know him.

“I should get going,” he said, his voice low, like he didn’t really want to.

I nodded, even though something in me quietly hoped he’d stay just a little longer.

“Of course. Thank you again. For everything.”

He looked down, then back at me, like he was still trying to memorize something.

“It was… nice meeting you. Both of you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

He took a step back, then paused.

“I hope she keeps believing in magic,” he said, glancing toward Maddie with something almost wistful in his eyes.

“She will,” I said, smiling. “She has a good reason to.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just smiled once more—brighter this time—before turning and walking away.

And even though I knew I’d just met him… I wanted to call out after him. Maybe invite him to eat with us, I had the pretense of him keeping my daughter safe. It would be so easy, just go, “hey wait!”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because despite having every reason to call out to him, to try and integrate him into my life, the fear in me always ended up eating my intentions up.

Still. I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last time I saw him..

I stayed still for a moment, just watching him leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared from view that I finally moved—walking to the counter where my daughter was waiting, still cradling her new doll like a prize.

“Where did Spencer go?” she asked, as soon as I appeared beside her.

Spencer. So that's his name.

It fit him, somehow. A little old-fashioned, a little too soft around the edges for someone who carried so much weight in his eyes. But now that she’d said it out loud, I couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.

“He had to leave, sweetheart.”

Her little face fell just slightly. “Will we see him again? I want to see more magic.”

I crouched beside her, brushing her hair back behind one ear as I pulled her into my arms. The weight of the day finally caught up to me—settling in my chest like something too big to name.

“Who knows, Maddie,” I murmured, holding her tight. “Maybe someday.”

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I need you to promise me something, okay?”

She blinked up at me, her Rapunzel doll dangling loosely from one arm.

“Don’t ever wander off like that again. Spencer was kind, and he kept you safe. But not everyone is like him. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

She nodded, serious now. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“I know, baby,” I whispered, holding her again. “I just need you safe.”

“I promise, Mommy.” She murmured.

“Thank you, honey.” I kissed her temple. “Now… let’s buy you this doll and go get something to eat.”

She grinned, her earlier worry forgotten, clutching Rapunzel to her chest like she’d just made a new friend.

We walked out hand-in-hand, the late morning sun spilling through the library doors as they shut behind us.

And even though I told myself it was just another Saturday…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had quietly begun.

[atinystarcafe]

Hongjoong fic recs

────୨ৎ────

✴ : smut

ᯓᡣ𐭩 : absolute favourites

[Last updated: 05.03.2025]

⋆˙⟡ If any links don't work anymore please let me know I'll get it fixed as soon as possible ^^

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Series ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Paradise Lost - @breakyourrxles ✴

| Friends to lovers au (COMPLETED)

A story of two people navigating life & love; the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ugh, As If - @ennysbookstore ✴

| leatherworker!hongjoong (COMPLETED)

Hongjoong is not someone you should be attracted to, especially considering everything that’s on your plate in your final semester at university. Unfortunately for you, he has some sound suggestions for helping you cure your insomnia…

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Oneshots and drabbles ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Declaration - @tenelkadjowrites ✴

| (Ex?)roommates to lovers au

On the brink of moving out of the apartment you share with your bad boy roommate, Hongjoong, you’re shocked to learn that he’s a virgin - and wants his first time to be with you.

Time Of Love - @koyagifs

he was nervous - of course he was. He was finally proposing to the love of his life.

More Than Just Coffee - @03jyh23

| best friends to lovers au

the one where hongjoong finally makes a move

Tailormade - @ennysbookstore ✴ | TA!hongjoong x textilestudent!reader

The one where Hongjoong, a textile design student, is the only available TA in the entire design building during the late hours of the night.

In Your Eyes - @hwaightme ✴ | postgrad!bf!hongjoong

time is nobody's friend, and hongjoong often finds himself wondering how much he has lost. thankfully, you always remind him of how beautiful the present and future can be, how full of love, how intimate, how true.

Familiar Stranger - @yourlocaljonghoe ✴

| parent!au, best friends to lovers au

you and hongjoong have known each other for over 20 years now. growing up side by side, graduating, marrying and having your own family was tough, but kim hongjoong had always been a constant in your life. now, in your late 30s, you suddenly find yourself divorced, and hongjoong’s wife just left him as well. your children are devastated, and for the sake of keeping them occupied, you try to urge them to spend much time with each other on a holiday trip. but what happens if things change? what happens if suddenly, you develop feelings for a man you considered nothing but a friend your whole life?

Fashionable Fate - @pocketjoong ✴ | model!hongjoong x designer!reader

You go to a launch event for a fashion line and end up seeing your boyfriend there.

Love Killa - @koyagifs | mafia!hongjoong

hongjoong gets kidnapped thinking he’s the leader when they have it all wrong.

Lust Is In The Air - @bananayuyu ✴

Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

The Prettiest Picture - @potatomountain ✴

You just really really love your boyfriend so much you can't stop taking pictures of him

Crystal Clear - @ennysbookstore ✴

Heartbroken and abandoned on what was supposed to be your perfect couple's getaway, you find yourself alone in the city of Lisbon, spending your days pathetically at your resort's bar. That is until you meet Hongjoong, a carefree, wild soul, who's nothing like you. When he promises to help you forget your heartbreak in one night, you uncharacteristically let him.

Our Shared Melody - @makeitmingi

| Parent au ✧ Dad!Hongjoong

Ever since you got together with Hongjoong and married him, he never hid you. Despite being an idol, he took pride in showing you off and showered you with love. But now, you're both taking the next big step in your relationship and of course, he wants ATINY to be a part of it too.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Look After You - @mingigoo ✴

| struggling musician!hongjoong x nurse!reader

after a long night at work with little to no sleep, you nearly doze off on your way home, hitting a tattooed, spikey-haired guy in the middle of the road. Panicking, you run out to help him and go with him to the hospital, only to lie and say he was your husband so you could go back with him. Well, when he woke up, he didn't exactly take it the way you thought he would...

Loyalties - @itstheghostofmypast

| criminal!hongjoong x detective!reader

He held her itty bitty heart in his bloody palm and she knew that, but did she love him enough to let him win his little game everytime? Did he love her enough to risk her safety?

Less Than Three - @kbandtrash

| teacher au - math teacher!hongjoong x math teacher reader

Kim Hongjoong teaches middle school math and finds himself absolutely smitten with you, the math department's newest hire. You're the last person to find out.

You're Hongjoong's Bias - @jnginlov

| idol!hongjoong x idol!reader

when you and your group go on idol radio to promote your latest comeback, you don’t anticipate one of the hosts to be completely enraptured by you

Birthday Surprise! - @yuyusuyu

hongjoong knows wooyoung is up to no good... which is a good thing because he sure is in for a pleasant surprise at midnight!

King's Play - @atzfilm ✴

| teacher au, professor!hongjoong x professor!reader

shadowing your colleague as a new professor, you come to realize the reason why his classes are at full capacity within five minutes of registration

Early Mornings - @pocketjoong ✴

| idol!hongjoong x producer!reader

You wake up to find Hongjoong in your studio. What started with you helping Hongjoong, turns into an unexpected confession from the idol himself.

A Melancholy Melody - @swallowedbymadness ✴

| pianist!hongjoong x writer!reader

As a writer, love was something you naturally longed for but thought it to be unattainable. However, when a mysterious piano player comes to town one summer, you find yourself falling into a fairytale of your own.

Why Do You Love - @scoupsakakitty

20.08 - @yizhou-time | mafia!hongjoong

Fashion designer!hongjoong - @monstacheol | fashion designer!hongjoong x journalist!reader

────୨ৎ────

Did you finish all the fics? Check out the other members too! ⤵ Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Wooyoung | Mingi | Jongho

[bbtsficrecs]

BTS FIC RECS PART 4.1

Part 4.1 of some of my favourite BTS fanfics. Please do consider liking, reblogging and/or commenting on the fics you like. There are so many wonderful and amazing authors out there who do not get the recognition they deserve. So please send them lots of love to keep them going. If you're on here, then know I enjoyed every second of reading your story ♡

There will be two parts 4 as it's (sadly?) too long to be saved under one post. Stay tuned for part 5, joon recs will be added!

Please let me know if some of the links aren’t working. Happy reading!

⊹ Navi ‣ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.1 | Part 5 |

⊹ Merry Kinkmas - part 02 Enemies to lovers au au | s | @bebejungkook ‣ You find out who your secret Santa was but his gift was a little too personal.

⊹ In Your Arms Tonight College au | s, f | @angelguk ‣ “I’m Team I Would Like To Be Fucked Tonight.” You stated, blatantly ignoring the stink eye he shot your way. “But clearly that’s not on our agenda. Have you ever seen Vampires Suck?”

⊹ Baecation Richboy!jk au | s, f | @1kook ‣ “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

⊹ Act Of Falling Fuckboy!jk au | s, f , a | @kooktrash ‣ What was supposed to be a meaningless fling has turned into much more before you both realized you were falling. Now all you can do is hope that all the challenges you’ve faced are worth something.

⊹ Candles & Flames Royal AU | s, f, a | @taegularities ‣  He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

⊹ Distractions Practice couple au | s, f | @chryblossomjjk ‣ Jungkook agreed to let you do his makeup, but he can't stop getting distracted.

⊹ Naughty Boy Step siblings au | s | @scribblemetae ‣ Reader is older step sister that knows he has a crush on her/yandere tendencies & she teases him until one day he gives in. 

⊹ When It Feels Right (read part 1 first) Divorce au | a, f | @7deadlysinsfics ‣ Although Jungkook is struggling with the decision he made months ago, he still thinks it was the best thing he could’ve done for your safety. But he isn’t doing well, and his friends are worried about him and how he’s choosing to deal with his feelings. Meanwhile, you’re now living with your brother, his wife, and their ten-month-old daughter, who has helped bring some light into your life. Just as you decide to tell Jungkook the truth about your pregnancy, he appears at your brother’s house with a truth of his own.

⊹ When She Loved Me Terminally Ill au | s, f, a | @jungkookstatts ‣ How does one live when life is bound to end? 

⊹ your step brother fucking you in front of your parents Step siblings au | s | @aris-ink

⊹ Don't Blame Me (on-going) Single Dad au | s, f, a | @thvhoe ‣ Jungkook is known for his good looks and is often described by your friends as "daddy material." Funny enough, he actually was a daddy. The daddy of the baby girl you babysit every Saturday. Working as a nanny for the world's grumpiest single dad should have been easy, but you can't keep your eyes off him. He's handsome, a little arrogant, with broad shoulders and strong tattooed arms. And when he decides he can't keep his hands off of you. Who are you to resist?

⊹ Rolling Stone Idol au | s, f , a | @kooktrash ‣ He was a rolling stone with no ties to anyone or any place and that’s how he and his fans liked it. Now he’s found you and it’s never been this hard to convince someone that he’ll stay. The problem is neither of you know what it means to express yourselves without reverting to sex as a form to end discussion. It causes all hell to break loose when Jungkook realized if he wants you to stay for him [with him] then he needs to show it to you too. Can Jungkook and Y/n get past their own growing doubts on if what they feel is real and work out a way to be together—especially considering Y/n wants nothing to do with the limelight?

⊹ The Ability To Fantom - part 02 (on-going) Brother’s best friend au | a, f | @hanniwrites ‣ You are shocked when your friends reveal their theory: Jungkook, your brother’s annoying best friend, has a crush on you. A bad one.

⊹ Torn Apart Infidelity au | s, a | @bethschamberoftales ‣ That one time when you caught your boyfriend cheating on you.

⊹ My Love Is Here (series) Unrequited love to requited | s, f, a | @solemnreads ‣ You didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not like you purposely woke up one day and thought “Hey I’m going to fall in love with my best friend!” No, that is not at all what happened.

⊹ I'll Stop Tomorrow Friends with benefits AU | s, a | @dreamyjoons ‣ You know it has to end.

⊹ Just A Taste Spring break AU | s, f | @cutechim ‣ “Your lips make me wonder what the rest of you would taste like.”

⊹ Flat Tire Established relationship AU | s, f | @ppersonna ‣ How do you pass the time when you’re stuck on the side of the road with your boyfriend, with a flat tire?

⊹ One Mistake (on-going) Idol!Tae & Cheating AU | a | @vamours ‣ it’s been three years since you and Taehyung had started dating. recently, you’ve started to notice changes in taehyung’s behavior towards you. with your four years anniversary only a few weeks away, you’ve come to discover the truth.

⊹ Akrasia Strangers to? | s | @nitaescence ‣ Basically two strangers fucking in a crowded bus.

⊹ Stepdad Taehyung Step!father au | s | @aris-ink ‣ "He was not touching himself right beside you. No, that was not possible"

⊹ Rock Bottom Idol Jimin AU | s, f, a | @jkbabiey ‣ When, in a four-year marriage, you get to the point where you question its worth, you know that’s your rock bottom. How many I’m sorry’s will you handle? How many times are too many times?

⊹ What's Poppin Established relationship AU, | f, s | @joonberriess ‣ Yoongi being the type to buy you a chain cause if he’s pimped out, his girl gotta be too.

⊹ Foundation - Part 01, 02, 03 feat Yoongi Non-idol doctors AU | f , s, a | @hamsterclaw ‣ You know Jungkook is a fuckboy. So why are you letting him fuck with you? Featuring Yoongi.

⊹ Looks so refreshed Idol AU | s | @kimnjss ‣ Friends with benefits is hard, but when he’s an international superstar… It’s much harder. So while you love his friends to death, spending the night holed up in his hotel room just sounds a lot more fun than a dinner party.

⊹ Friends (3TAN) Brother's best friend AU | f, s, a | @kithtaehyung ‣ The week you get with Yoongi has a few surprises. and one of them presents itself in the form of a phone call.

⊹ So it goes Friends with benefits (ish) AU | f , s | @prodagustd ‣  You and Yoongi have been hooking up, having dates and spending most of the week together for almost seven months. He was comfortable without a title, until the last two weeks, when you couldn't see him because of your busy schedule, Yoongi can't understand why he misses you so bad if your relationship is just sex to him. Or maybe he does, but he's too much of a coward to admit it..

⊹ Marry me, Yoongi Established relationship AU | f, s | @spideyjimin ‣ When Yoongi decides to get married in vegas after all the fan’s comments on the vlives.  

⊹ Amour Propre Established relationship AU | a | @randombtsprincessa ‣ Crumbling Relationship with one Min Yoongi

⊹ Blind Spot Established relationship AU | f, a | @randombtsprincessa ‣ Yoongi tries to win you back.

⊹Your Universe Rejection AU | f, a, s | @muniimyg ‣ Regretting rejecting oc, Min Yoongi goes through a circus load of gestures and tasks in attempt to be loved again

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf141 boys

hey y’all :) sorry for not posting yesterday, I was running so many errands..just wanted to drop this link here, it’s a way to help me earn some extra money without having to give me any of your own (you could even sign up and earn money too) just by clicking the link :)

Your boyfriend and the rest of Task Force 141 are at the gym.

You? You’re at home, bored.

And boredom for you is a dangerous thing.

So, naturally, you decide it’s the perfect time to unleash absolute chaos with a song lyric.

What could possibly go wrong?

Captain Price – "she’s unhinged!"

You lay on your couch, feet kicked in the air behind you as you scrolled TikTok, you had somehow landed on text prank videos and you could say that you were very intrigued..and well, bored, and who better to fix that boredom than you boyfriend? It was his own fault for leaving you home alone to go workout with the boys..least you could do was tease him.

missus💍🥵: I just had sex, and it felt so good.

You giggled, waiting for his response, and true to his usual fashion it was almost immediate.

captain🥵❤️: WHAT THE FUCK?

A cackle as you type out the next lyric to the Akon song.

missus💍🥵: A woman let me put my penis inside of her!

This was probably where he would have realized you were fucking with him if he was being rational, but you know he jumped from 0 to 100 real fast.

captain🥵❤️: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT??

the next second, the phone is ringing, he’s FaceTimed you, and feeling nice you answer.

“Hey baby, how’s it going?” How you keep a straight face is beyond you, but you do.

“HOWS IT GOING? BABY PLEASE TELL ME YOURE FUCKIN AROUND-“

Soap is suddenly in view on the screen, looking over his shoulder at his phone: "Mate, you okay?" He whispers.

“NO, I AM NOT FUCKIN’ OKAY!“

Gaz, seeing Price's death grip on his phone: "Bro, what the fuck—"

Price, jaw clenched: "I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE."

“Well, anyways boys, I just had sex, and I'll never go back to the not-having-sex ways of the past!”

“YOU ARE SIX SECONDS FROM GETTIN’ PUT ON MY FUCKIN KNEE WOMAN-“

Gaz and Soap, now reading over his shoulder: "OH, FUCK." He must have your texts open.

Ghost, hearing the commotion: "What’s going on—" sees the text "…Oh, she’s dead."*

"She’s fuckin’ unhinged." John must be on the move because you don’t see soap when you hear his voice, but, he’s not wrong.

“John, mate, breathe." Gaz, ever the nice guy.

Price is already grabbing his keys, you can hear them jingling aggressively in his hands. "I swear to God, I’m fuckin’ going home." His voice was full of anger, and it should’ve made you nervous but it didn’t, you felt a thrill instead.

Then—

“JK babe, it’s a prank! Love youuuu!” You’re cackling, blowing him kisses.

Price stops dead in his tracks. His eye twitches. You cackle some more, kicking your feet.

“I’m gonna strangle her."

“Aye, but you love her, don’t ye?"

“That’s the worst part."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "baby please!"

honey💋: I’m doin’ this tonight. You’re probably gonna start a fight. I know this can’t be right.

Gaz is mid set on the cable machine, working on some lat pull downs, when he sees it, he stops (ever the dutiful boyfriend) to see what you had said and is immediately taken aback.

babes❤️: EXCUSE ME???

Your response is almost immediate.

honey💋: I know that I can’t take no more.

His eyebrows furrow, confused, thinking he’s done something wrong he calls you, heart racing.

You ignore it, but send another text.

honey💋: I wanna see you out that door…

babes❤️: BABY, PLEASE.

“Johnny! Johnny look at this!” He practically shouts, grabbing his beefy friend and shoving his phone into his face. “Is she being serious?”

Another text comes in and Soap raises an eyebrow, using his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his face.

honey💋: Bye, bye, bye~

babes❤️: I AM LITERALLY SPRINTING TO YOUR APARTMENT, BABY PLEASE.

He takes off on foot, your apartment wasn’t that far from their gym, one of the many reasons he suggested moving into it. “I need to see her!”

Soap, breathless after running after him, ever the dutiful friend. "BRO, WAIT!"

“Gaz, it’s probably a prank—" Ghost is behind him too as he runs full stop, his friend a little less breathless than him.

“I CAN’T RISK THAT, MATE!" Hes made it to your apartment building, and thankfully you have a ground floor unit because he bursts through your apartment door, panting. "BABY, PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE JOKING!"

You giggle, setting your glass of iced coffee down on the dining table as you leave the kitchen. "Kyle, oh my God—"

"OH, THANK FUCK."

He pulls you into his arms, holding you like he just got back from deployment. "Don’t fuckin’ do that, babe!"

Soap stumbles in behind him, wheezing. "Bro, I swear to God, you made me run mid-leg day—"

Gaz glares at you, still hugging you. "You owe me a fuckin’ back rub for this, I swear to God."

“She owes me one too, mate.” Ghost jokes, leaning against the door frame. “Can we go finish our workout now? Need a spot for the bench”

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "who is this man?!."

He’s on a cool down at the gym when you send the first text, he checks it even though he rarely answers his phone when he’s at the gym.

wifey💋❤️: Everything you own in the box to the left. In the closet, that's my stuff, if I bought it, please don't touch.

“Huh?” He has to stare at the screen for a second, wondering if he’d read it right.

hubs🥵: WHAT.

wifey💋❤️: Go ahead and get gone. Call up that chick and see if she’s home.

“The fuck?” His words came out a little louder than he meant, attracting Johnny and Kyle.. “You two make any sense a’this?”

hubs🥵: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT?

wifey💋❤️: Oops, I bet you thought that I didn’t know. What did you think I was puttin’ you out for?

Soap and Gaz, reading over his shoulder: "Ohhhhh, fuck."

Ghost, vein throbbing in his forehead, looks at them in bewilderment, eyes wide. “I Don’t know what she’s talking about- I,.I wouldn’t have another woman!”

hubs🥵: WHAT FUCKIN’ CHICK? WHO THE FUCK IS SHE? NAME FUCKIN’ NAMES.

wifey💋❤️: You must not know ’bout me. I could have another you in a minute. Matter of fact, he’ll be here in a minute—

hubs🥵: ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT.

Ghost, eyes black with rage, storms out of the gym. "I’m going home."

"Wait—" Soap chases him. “Bro, no, she’s fucking around—" He’s already out the door though, throwing the door of his truck open so hard that they’re surprised he didn’t rip it off.

“Lass is in for it..” Soap sighs, looking to Gaz.

He’s scratching his head, one hand on his hip. “Did they get married and not tell us? He’s got her as wifey in his phone..”

The drive home takes five minutes with him breaking every rule of the road, he pulls into the driveway and throws it in park, jumping down and not even bothering to close the door.

Ghost kicks open your door like a fucking SWAT team.

"BABY, WHO THE FUCK IS THIS MAN? WHERE IS HE?" He’s running up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You scream, laughing as he tackles you onto the bed, caging you in. "SIMON, IT’S A PRANK!"*

Ghost freezes. His breath hot against your throat. "…What?"

You hold up your still-streaming phone. "Say hi to the chat, babe."

He grabs your phone and ends the live with one click, but not before talking to them first."Y’all are fuckin’ done."

(Chat explodes with screaming.)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "crying in the weight room."

babygirl💍: You don’t have to say what you did, I already know.

he was just finishing his first set of squats, getting ready to add more weight to the bar when he checked his phone, and then almost dropped a 50lb plate on hys foot.

babyboy🫶: WHAT DID I DO??

No. Seriously, what the fuck did he do? He literally has only been thirty minutes..did he not close the garage door? did he leave the fridge open again? step on the cat? the bugger did it to himself!

babygirl💍: You told me you loved me, why did you leave me all alone?

babyboy🫶: BABY I LITERALLY WENT TO THE GYM, WHAT THE FUCK???

“Kyle!” He felt tears welling in his eyes, his heart racing as he started to panic. He’d rather shoot him self in the foot than upset you like this, it was his worst nightmare.

babygirl💍: The bridges were burned, now it’s your turn to cry.

A sob ripped from his throat, Kyle behind him rubbing his back as he figures out what exactly is going on, saying soothing words.

babyboy🫶: I’M FUCKING CRYING RIGHT NOW.

babyboy🫶: PLEASE, BABY, I AM IN THE FUCKING WEIGHT ROOM CRYING.

Then—

Kyle sends you a photo.

Of Soap.

Sitting on the weight bench.

Head in his hands.

Shoulders shaking.

annoying ass🩷: Babes, please stop. I cannot handle seeing my brother like this.

Your heart breaks instantly.

You immediately call him. "Johnny, baby, it was a prank, I swear—"

"BABY WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??"

"I’m so sorry, baby, please, I love you—"

Kyle, in the background: "Bro, she didn’t actually break up with you—"

Soap, still sniffling: "Aye, but she fuckin’ COULD’VE.“

You spend the next hour apologizing, sending him photos in his favorite positions as incentive for your apology..

Moral of the Story:

You thought it would be funny.

Now?

You might be single.

[aspirationalpeony]

Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

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

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER EIGHT

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur @thelightknight21 wc: 9.5k notes: would it be funny if instead of linking the masterlist i linked something really weird instead. im just kidding though. or am i. call me the uconn womens basketball team the way i had a terrible first half performance but locked in for the second half of this chapter. um jk. no im not someone tell geno to figure his shit out. between geno and luigi, this has been a really sad month to be an italian. please keep us in your thoughts during this time. also idk why this is so long, the first half of this chapter truly chewed me up and spit me out so i have nothing to say. next chapter is the last for this series and if anyone has any suggestions on how im supposed to feel about that, please let me know cause idk what's happening. im probably not going to proofread this so take this as you will. as always, let me know how we're feeling about this and happy holidays 🫶

‘A Family Affair, A House Divided’

In February, the South Carolina Gamecocks hosted the University of Connecticut Huskies for the regular season. After a thrilling, competitive game, the Gamecocks ultimately secured the win in a convincing 83-65 victory over the Huskies. Te-Hina Paopao led the Gamecocks with a dominant 21 points, shooting 5/7 from three. Connecticut’s dual-threats, Paige Bueckers and Aaliyah Edwards, scored 20 points each but were unable to clear the deficit.

However, despite the rousing game, many viewers were interested in the storyline between South Carolina’s Tess Kennedy and Connecticut’s Paige Bueckers. In the last issue, we mentioned that many felt as though this match-up was a house divided as Bueckers and Kennedy made their relationship official in June of last year. Critics were concerned whether or not they would be able to take the game seriously as a couple, although Bueckers proved many wrong with her performance. Bueckers was very focused on her game, and while Kennedy was still on the bench with only a few more weeks of ACL recovery, South Carolina did not waver. One commenter noted that Bueckers and Kennedy have been playing basketball for a very long time. They are both invested and focused on their game, and many supporters believe that they would not let off-court distractions and pressures stop them from playing their games to the highest of their ability.

In fact, Bueckers and Kennedy were spotted at the Tin Roof, a bar nearby the University of South Carolina, roughly an hour after the game ended. Insiders noted that Kennedy ordered – and take a deep breath, everyone – a soda, and that she appeared to be having a lengthy conversation with Bueckers. Out of respect, our source has elected to not share the contents of their conversation (nor would we share it!), but did tell us that Bueckers and Kennedy are “stronger than ever” despite the on-court tensions and critical narratives.

Basketball fans can rest easy knowing that Bueckers and Kennedy are committed to each other and committed to playing some electrifying basketball in the NCAA tournament. As the SEC and Big East tournaments quickly approach, viewers are excited to see where the two teams will land and we are eagerly awaiting the clash of the titans.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MARCH 8, 2024

“Slow” ends up working a lot better than either of them had been expecting.

Honestly, part of Tess was worried that they’d give up on it after a day or two. She knew that she and Paige had terrible restraint around each other. It would have been far too easy to give up on trying to be mature about their situation, although they were both committed to giving it an honest shot. Things are great. Truthfully, she hasn’t felt this secure with Paige in a long time, not since Christmas and New Year’s, but even they couldn’t come close. She and Paige were locked in – for real this time – and knowing that was just so comforting.

They don’t change very much. They communicate a lot more and they’re more open about their feelings and insecurities, the two main things they had to hide from each other while they were fake dating. Paige is still affectionate, charmingly (or insufferably) flirtatious, and gets on each and every last one of Tess’s nerves. It’s not far off from how she behaved when they were “faking,” which kind of makes Tess mad – Paige’s was so fucking obvious and she just never realized, never allowed herself to entertain the thought that there was a little bit of truth to their lie. If Tess was being real, she’d have to admit that she didn’t really change, either, and she realizes she was being pretty obvious, too – she and Paige might just be a little oblivious.

February and the first week of March passes in a blur of traveling, games, and practice. The two of them make a more concerted effort to stay in touch, especially while they’re on the road, which is probably why Bree forcibly implements a “no phones after 10pm” rule when they have to room together. It’s not like they talk about anything weird – they mostly talk about Grey’s or Paige yaps about the NBA, but Bree says that Tess is “pussy-whipped” and “down bad” and that she can’t sleep through her giggling. That doesn’t happen, by the way, and Tess certainly does not giggle. Reluctantly, she adheres to Bree’s tyranny.

By the time the SEC tournament rolls around, Tess is fully cleared for play, although she’s under a minute restriction. The trust that Coach Staley has in her is honestly commendable – Tess herself would be hesitant to play her so soon after her injury and especially in a game as important as an SEC tournament one, but she’s not going to fuck up this opportunity. Both she and Coach Staley are cognizant of the five game maximum Tess needs to abide by to keep eligibility for next year. Tennessee and LSU are tough opponents and she understands that Coach would prefer to have her in these games instead of betting on making it to the NCAA tournament so Tess can play her five games there.

For the Texas A&M game, Tess is the first on the court for warmups. Tip off is an hour and a half away, so she locks in, dividing her time between shooting drills and stretching her legs while her teammates filter in. She feels good, but she’s still a little stiff. She knows there’s some lingering worry in the back of her mind – she’s healed, she’ll be fine, and she’s practiced with full contact, but playing against her teammates and the practice boys is nowhere near the same as playing against an actual opponent whose season is on the line. It will take her a couple of reps on the court before she gets hot and starts letting the ball fly, but she knows she’s not going to have a crazy game. Her main goal is to just have a good impact, whether it’s through scoring, defensive stops, or forcing contested shots.

Paige had wished her good luck and promised she would be watching. She said she would have flown out but she had her game against Providence in Rhode Island the very next day, so Tess forced her to keep her ass in Connecticut, much to Paige’s chagrin and disappointment. She swore she’d be able to make it in time. Tess was more concerned about Paige’s teammates having to deal with their sleep deprived captain and at this point in the season, the last thing the Huskies needed was Paige falling asleep during warm ups.

Warmups fly by and when tip off finally rolls around, Tess is on the bench for the first seven minutes of the quarter. When she’s subbed in for Bree, they’re up 12-9, and the resounding cheer that she receives is the loudest the arena has heard thus far. She grins as she jogs onto the court, high-fiving Bree as she passes. Texas A&M inbounds and misses, though the rebound is scooped up by Sania, who chucks it up court into Tess’s awaiting hands. She hardly thinks as she shoots. It circles the rim once before falling into Ashlyn’s grasp, whose putback is solid and puts them up 14-9, although Texas A&M is fouled in the scuffle.

She was hardly an inch off. After months off, she’s okay with that, but she knows her work is going to show. She won’t miss the second time.

Texas A&M only makes one of their two free throws. Te-Hina gets the ball and she shoots, although her shot is blocked by Janiah Barker and the ball rolls out of bounds. Te-Hina inbounds it, lobbing it to Tessa Johnson, who launches it right back to Te-Hina, who passes it to Tess, unguarded at the top of the key, and she lets it fly. The ball swishes in without much preamble and the crowd roars – Tess Kennedy’s first points back after her ACL injury. She musters a grin as she switches to defense.

Tess ends the quarter with an efficient 5 points and a steal – not bad considering her last game was last year’s Final Four. She starts the second where she’s particularly explosive – notching an additional 4 points, another steal, and an assist in the seven minutes she’s in. By halftime, she’s tallied 9 points, 2 steals, and her lone assist, but her teammates jostle and cheer and she can’t help but feel so, so good about herself – Tess Kennedy is so fucking back.

Coach Staley benches her for the first half of the third quarter, but she’s not mad. Coach already told her she wasn’t playing any more than twenty minutes and even that was pushing the limit. When she subs back in, they have a comfortable lead and she feels like she’s on fire. Kamilla and Ashlyn land three back to back layups (including an and one) in the first minute Tess is on court, and honestly, she just feeds off of that energy. On their next offensive possession, Ashlyn draws a crowd under the basket and kicks the ball out to Tess, who hardly thinks as she shoots it. It swishes in cleanly and she switches back to defense, where she forces a shot clock violation.

Texas A&M holds them scoreless until the last twenty or so seconds of the third. They’d begun to hound Tess at the perimeter, but she wasn’t going to let their suffocating defense allow them to close the lead too much. Texas A&M shoots a late three, though the ball clangs off the rim and is scooped up by Te-Hina. They have five seconds left on the clock and Te-Hina passes to Tess at the line. She dribbles, gearing up for a three, but she’s hounded on defense immediately. Tess spins out of the coverage, driving down the open lane, stepping back and letting it fly from midrange as the shot clock expires. It goes in. Tess exhales as the crowd erupts, hyped after an electrifying buzzer beater.

She sits for the entirety of the fourth, but the Gamecocks hold a comfortable lead and they secure the win 79-68. Tess closes out her first game back with a solid 14 points and 2 steals, and 3 assists. She couldn’t ask for much more. 

This was the moment she’d been working towards since May. Now that it’s here, it’s almost as surreal as her first college game ever, her first SEC win, her first NCAA championship game. Those hold a special place in her heart but coming off of an ACL injury and all of the shit she put herself through and performing at a high level just means more. If you’d asked her back in April, after she tore her ACL and was drowning in her own thoughts, she would have laughed at you and told her that it wasn’t possible. She would have said she would never play basketball again. But here she is, celebrating the first of three SEC wins that will punch their ticket directly to the NCAA tournament. It’s taken so much work to get back here, but she did it. She had some help and she’ll never forget that, but she dragged herself out of this mess as well as she dragged herself into it. That’s enough for her to be proud of.

Coach Staley makes her do the presser, which she’s less excited about, although the reporters seem to be on their best behavior today as they congratulate her on her first game back and her recovery. The reporters ask the typical questions: What adjustments did you make to stop Texas A&M’s comeback efforts? How have you adapted in practice to integrate Tess back into the plays? Will Tess play tomorrow for the Tennessee game? For once in their lives, they don’t ask anything particularly invasive, but Tess is just ready to get back to her apartment and relax after the day’s excitement.

When she does, Bree and Kamilla congratulate her one last time, wrapping her up in warm hugs as she grins at them. She makes it back to her room – finally – and turns on her phone to find several messages from Paige, ranging over the course of a few hours.

Good luck today You’re going to kill it 🫶

[Delivered 11:45am]

You look so pretty on the bench I’m getting my manager to reach out to the NCAA so they can start broadcasting bench cams I can’t focus on the game

[Delivered 12:07pm]

Tess Kennedy minutes!!! I’m so excited Lock their shit up baby

[Delivered 12:09pm]

Good shot I saw the hoop move Not your fault

[Delivered 12:11pm]

Kennedy for threeeeee Kennedy with the STEAL??? LAYUP Okay I’m On my Way! Autocorrect

[Delivered 12:13pm]

Tess reads through all of her messages, a beaming smile on her face at Paige’s goofiness. If she had this to look forward to after each game, then she’s going to show up and give everyone a show while she’s at it.

[Tess disliked “I’m getting my manager to…”]

is this tess kennedy’s biggest fan?! you should be careful i heard she has a gf

Does she?

she does they’re very locked in i dont think you have a chance

Bummer I think I could convince Tess Kennedy to give me a shot though

can you?

In lieu of a response, the FaceTime call comes through immediately and Tess accepts it with a grin. Paige’s face fills her screen, wearing a warm smile. “Hey, ma,” Paige says, her features softening. Tess can’t help her lovestruck expression. “Good game. You did amazing.”

Tess flushing, her grin growing at Paige’s words. “Thanks,” she says, her voice a near whisper. “I was just…honestly, I was just stoked to be playing again. I could have dropped a donut and turned the ball over and I still would have been happy. I get to play basketball again.”

“You do,” Paige hums, shifting slightly. “You worked so hard to get back here. Don’t forget it.”

Tess laughs gently. “I couldn’t if I tried.” Then, her face softens, her gaze so unashamedly full of adoration that Paige can see it clear as day through the phone. “My ACL led me to you. So…there were some good things that came out of it.”

Paige beams, her cheeks twinging with pink. “Yeah?” she asks bashfully. “You think that when I’m pissing you off?”

“You piss me off all the time,” Tess states. “So yes.”

Paige clutches her chest like she’s swooning, pretending to cry. “My girl says the sweetest things,” she proclaims, wiping an imaginary tear as Tess rolls her eyes affectionately. 

“Are you done?” Tess asks, amused.

“Nah. But you just dropped 14 points in a conference tournament so I’ll cut you a break.”

Tess huffs. “Thanks, Paige. I appreciate that one.”

Paige gives her a cheeky wink, her face all too smug. Tess can’t believe this is who she’s in love with, but as she watches the slow smile spread across Paige’s face as she rambles about the game, she can believe that this is who she fell in love with. Paige rounds out her sharp edges, grounds her, always challenges her, and makes her feel like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. She believes in her unconditionally, supports her through it all, and understands her better than she understands herself. Her falling in love with Paige was always going to happen, but Paige falling in love with her, too, was something that she’d never take for granted.

APRIL 5, 2024

The last two games of the SEC tournament were incredibly tense. On March 9th, the Gamecocks battled the Tennessee Volunteers in the SEC semifinal, which was a nailbiter until the very end. At the end of the fourth, the Volunteers were up 73-71 with a little over a second left on the clock. Tess was tasked with inbounding the game ball after a foul by Tennessee – she passed to a wide open Kamilla, who, on her first three-point attempt of the season, banked it in and Tess and her teammates immediately swarmed her.

On the 10th, they were matched against LSU, which was…interesting. They won 79-72, but late in the fourth quarter, there was an intentional foul on Flau’jae Johnson that stopped the play and led to several ejections. Tess was more worried about getting her ass in position to score after MiLaysia tapped the ball out of Flau’jae’s hands, but the altercation occurred quick enough that Tess didn’t even know they were fighting until Kamilla knocked Flau’jae flat on her ass. Tess knew that this wasn’t her fight for multiple reasons. First of all, she’s 5’10 and she thought the weight room was optional until sophomore year. She is too pretty and too young to get laid out like that. Second of all, she’s not retearing her ACL by trying to throw down on the court. And third of all, she is reformed, thank you very much – she spent enough time trying to fix her image and she doesn’t think the media will be as lenient the second time around.

That’s probably why she gets turned into a meme after the game. One user on Twitter uploaded a screenshot of her standing alone in the middle of the court, hands raised in the air while everyone was fighting, and captioned it, “If I sent you this, it means that shit is not my business.” If Tess was being honest, that was pretty funny. Paige told her she made that picture her new lock screen and, well, that’s determinedly less funny since Paige’s old lock screen was allegedly a cute mirror selfie of the two of them.

As the SEC champions, they were guaranteed a place in the NCAA tournament, which Tess was stoked for. This would be her fourth year in a row back – in 2021, they fell short to Stanford by 1 point in the Final Four (goddamn Cameron Brink and Lexie Hull); they won in 2022; and Tess doesn’t even want to talk about the 2023 Final Four loss. All she knows is that they will put Iowa on a t-shirt this year (respectfully). Tess is back with a vengeance. That was her motto going into the NCAA tournament.

The first four games were cakewalks, excluding Indiana, although they pulled out a close win. Tess was on the bench until the Final Four game against NC State. She was looking forward to it for a myriad of reasons. NC State would be a challenge, but she was confident they were going to win. Combined with the fact that she and Paige would be in the same place since February, she was excited to get to spend some extra time with her girlfriend (provided they were able to sneak away). Their game wasn’t set to start until 7pm, which Tess was less than excited for. The silver lining was that she would be able to see Paige and the Huskies go head-to-head with Iowa. Tess will admit that she’s sad she won’t be the one kicking Iowa’s ass, but she and Paige share so much anyways; she can have the honor, even if Tess will lay awake at night thinking about all of the points she could have scored on her lick back game.

She and Paige managed to find the time to sneak away and spend a good few hours with each other that morning. Paige treated her to a nice brunch, much to Tess’s chagrin – Paige pays for entirely too much.

“You can get it next time,” Paige tells her, though the grin on her face was not convincing as she slid her card into the booklet and handed it off to their waitress. The smile she gave the waitress was polite and chaste, her full attention on Tess, and Tess couldn’t help but preen a little.

“I feel like you’re lying to me,” Tess grumbles good-naturedly.

“Oh, for sure,” Paige admits shamelessly, breaking out into quiet laughter when Tess rolls her eyes. Paige taps her ankle lightly with her foot, drawing Tess’s attention back up to her. “Gimme 20 tonight and I’ll let you get it. Promise.”

Tess huffs, amused as she narrows her eyes. “Let me?”

Paige shrugs. “We can do 15 if you feel like 20’s too much,” she goads, spinning the ice in her water nonchalantly with her straw. Tess’s eye twitches. Damn it.

“20’s fine,” she bites out. Paige smirks at her and she sighs, knowing she’s been baited. Paige extends her hand across the table and Tess half-heartedly shakes it.

They spend another hour together after they eat, although Tess’s coaches summon her and her teammates for some last minute film and practice. She knows that she and Paige will get to spend vastly more time together once the season ends, but leaving Paige alone in her hotel room to finish watching Grey’s feels more like leaving for war. She’d sighed when she read the text message, not really wanting to get up, but she was not in the mood to test Coach Staley.

Paige watches her get ready to go, her head propped up by a fist, her expression contemplative, soft, and sickeningly in love. If it were anyone else, Tess would have gagged, but there’s just something different about being sickeningly in love with someone and knowing that they’re sickeningly in love with you, too. Paige stares at her like she’s not dressed in sweatpants and a South Carolina hoodie, her hair in a loose bun, but the way her gaze lingers makes her feel like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world – knowing Paige, she’d undoubtedly agree, and that makes a small smile appear on her face as she slides into her shoes.

Paige catches her around the waist before she can leave fully, dragging her back down on the bed and kissing her one last time. It’s gentle, unhurried, and warm – Paige’s hand maps the flush on her cheek and she grins as they break away. “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” Paige whispers to her. She says it so confidently, so assured like it’s more fact than reassurance, and all Tess can honestly do is believe it. She tore her ACL during the last Final Four she played in, but she knows this one is different. This is the true test of her recovery, skills, and abilities; Tess Kennedy is back and everyone in the college basketball sphere will know it.

“You will too,” Tess says, kissing Paige again, only breaking away when Paige’s subsequent smile grows too large. She presses her lips to her cheek instead, squeezing her hand as she pulls away to tease, “Just don’t get too upset when we play in the championship again and I have to break your ankles.”

“Not happening,” Paige says smugly, which just makes Tess shake her head. “Gonna try to tune in for you but Coach is doing film and practice before our game. He hates me.”

“He wants you guys to win,” Tess corrects. “Maybe you should tell CD to reschedule so you can watch your girlfriend.”

Paige frowns at her. “You’d have a better chance scorin’ on me than I would convincin’ CD to do anything.”

Tess pulls away from her, an indignant look on her face. Paige laughs as Tess rolls her eyes. “Rude!” she exclaims, walking towards the door.

“Hey,” Paige calls, her laughter easing up and a more serious expression on her face. Tess turns, leaning against the wall, her smile fond as she locks eyes with Paige. “I’m serious. You got this, you know? Whatever happens, I’m proud of you. You worked so hard for this. Don’t overthink it, don’t get in your head, jus’ play your game. I love you.”

Tess feels something flip in her gut, a sort of weightlessness in her chest that makes her grin widen. She can’t help how stupid she probably looks, cheesing just because Paige told her that she loves her, but that confession is quickly becoming one of the things she never grows tired of hearing. She wouldn’t mind hearing it for the rest of their lives; Tess doesn’t care how soon it is. She’s sure that Paige is it for her. That thought doesn’t scare her at all. “Thanks, Paige,” she says, a little bashful, but Paige’s expression is understanding. “I love you, too.”

Paige blows her a cheeky kiss, which, ugh, Tess pretends to catch, but she can’t bring herself to care. And if Tess doesn’t even defend herself when Bree makes fun of her as soon as she gets to the conference room (extremely late), then that’s nobody’s business but her own.

Later that night, the NC State game goes about as well as expected.

Tess starts the first quarter, along with Kamilla, Te-Hina, Raven, and Chloe. They start the game off with an explosive five points notched within the first minute – a two pointer from Te-Hina and a three from Raven. Tess didn’t get very many touches in the first two possessions, but she played good defense and secured the steal that led to Raven’s three pointer. NC State holds them scoreless for two and a half minutes, increasing the lead to 7-5 in favor of NC State, although Kamilla ends their run early with a jumper that ties the game with just under six minutes left. A well-timed block from Kamilla sends the ball in Chloe’s direction and she scoops up the rebound, passing it to Tess on the wing, who knocks down her first three of the night. NC State ties it up again 10-10, then NC State scores off of a steal, then Ashlyn shoots, though the ball doesn’t fall and she picks up the offensive rebound. She kicks it out to Tess again, who takes a long two and it falls in. They’re tied 12-12 with about three minutes left, but Coach Staley motions for subs and Bree replaces Tess so she can get a quick breather. In the efficient seven minutes Tess was on the court, she notched five points on 100% shooting, one steal, and one assist, which was good enough for her as the Gamecocks close out the first quarter with a game-tying 3 point shot and the and 1 from Milaysia.

The second quarter starts with all of the starters back on the court, looking to retake the lead at 16-16. Kamilla and Tess are the only ones who score during the entire second quarter, which is frustrating as NC State forces four turnovers. At the end of the half, Tess has scored an additional 7 points with a few extra assists and a steal, tallying her statline at 12 points, two steals, and four assists. Kamilla accounts for an additional 16 of the Gamecocks’ 32 points.

The energy in the locker room is intense as Coach Staley fires them up, going over plays and adjustments. The shift is immediate when they return for the second half. They hold NC State to only six points in the third quarter while they score 29, increasing the score and their lead to 61-37. NC State could have an explosive fourth quarter, but Tess doesn’t plan to let that happen. While she was out with her ACL, one of the things about her game that she improved on immensely was her defense, which shows in the fourth as she ends the game with two more steals, a block, and other plays that won’t show on her stat sheet like forcing shot clock violations or contested shots. At the end of the game, confetti rains down as the Gamecocks are the Final Four winners, 78-59. Tess notched 20 of those points, only trailing behind Kamilla, who had 22. She celebrates with her team, excitement coursing through her body – she’d won the game and her bet with Paige. All in a day’s work.

She showers quickly and sits through the presser. A reporter asked her what it was like being back in the Final Four – and taking home the Final Four win – after last year’s disappointment, and all Tess could really say about it was, “It’s a blessing.” Her teammates led her here through an undefeated regular season and they trusted her enough to welcome her back on court during some of the most important games of their season – the SEC games, the Final Four. She’s overwhelmed with gratitude, appreciation, and love for the game, although her joy quickly fades when a reporter asks, “The championship match up will be between South Carolina and Iowa or South Carolina and UConn. How do you plan on facing personal conflicts of interest in either of those matches?”

Tess knows she’s trending before she even feels her face contort, although Kamilla pinches her thigh under the table and she schools her expression. She figures that the UConn conflict of interest – whatever the fuck that means – is more than likely referring to her and Paige, although she’s more confused about the Iowa one. Was it because Iowa defeated them last year and people are still trying to make it seem like Tess holds a grudge for her ACL?

Coach Staley hasn’t interrupted to say next question yet, so Tess answers it to the best of her ability. “Um, I can promise that there will be no personal conflicts of interest. I’m here to play ball. Nothing else to it. All of us, South Carolina, Iowa, UConn, whoever, we’re mature players and any off-court friendships are just that – off-court. We’re here to win. I don’t hold anything against Iowa for last year’s loss or my knee.” She leaves it at that, although the reporter was clearly expecting more, but she doesn’t care.

The rest of the conference keeps on moving until Coach Staley ends the questioning. Coach gives her a covert nod, appreciative of the way she answered the question, and Tess doesn’t wait around for any further instructions. She makes her way back out to the court, finding a seat in the stands as Iowa and UConn warms up. Paige glances up, her eyes scanning the crowd absentmindedly as she dribbles, before she finally locates Tess. There’s thousands of people in the arena already, but Tess feels like she and Paige are the only ones in the room when she smiles at her. Tess gives her a thumbs up.

Once the game finally starts, Tess is on the edge of her seat for the entirety of it. She doesn’t think she’s ever been more invested in a game she wasn’t personally playing in. Even when she was on the bench spectating her teammates while her knee was healing, part of her just couldn’t get into it fully. She was thinking about the plays, visualizing the X’s and the O’s, pondering what she would have done differently, how she would have taken that shot. Watching Paige play feels like Tess is playing, too. Whether or not Paige wins or loses this match feels personal. Tess wants this so badly for her. They’ve both been dealt a shitty hand of cards, with Paige tearing her ACL the year before Tess and missing her junior season; then Tess tore her ACL and missed 95% of her senior season.

UConn is up 19-14 at the end of the first, but it’s a hard fought 5 point lead. By the end of the half, UConn maintains a steady 6 point deficit, leading 32-26 as they go into the locker room for a much needed break and some review. The third quarter rolls around quickly and the team takes their place on court once more. It’s a tense ten minutes. Iowa finally clears the deficit and they’re tied 51-51 going into the fourth. The fourth is where Iowa truly begins to break away, leading by as much as nine points before UConn clears the gap. With a three from Nika, they’ve cut the lead down to 1 with 40 seconds on the clock. With less than ten seconds remaining, KK pokes the ball out of Hannah Stuelke’s hands, and Tess rises to her feet, all of the blood rushing to her head as she watches on with an odd combination of hope and fear.

Nika brings the ball up, passing to Paige who hands it right back, circling around to draw her defender while Aaliyah sets a screen. Tess almost blacks out when she hears the whistle. Offensive foul on Edwards. The UConn fans surrounding her clamor in disbelief, booing loudly, and all she can do is watch, her hands over her head. Tess can’t believe it’s ending like this.

71-69, Iowa. Tess still hasn’t processed it, even after watching Paige and her teammates make their way to the locker room in defeat. She doesn’t process it when the team group chat lights up, discussing how Iowa is their official natty match. She doesn’t process it when Kamilla texts her personally, extending her condolences towards Paige, but what she does process is the second message from Kamilla reading, “Get them back.” She plans on it.

Tess’s thumbs hover over her keyboard ten minutes later, trying to figure out what to say to Paige. Tess has known Paige – personally – for almost a year, but she doesn’t know how to approach her. There’s nothing she can say or do that will take back the officiating, but as a competitor, too, she knows the game shouldn’t have come down to a call or free throws. She doesn’t know if Paige wants time alone right now or if she wants someone to lean on. Tess knows she has to at least try, although Paige beats her to it before she can put her jumbled thoughts into words.

I can see you typing It’s okay

Paige’s own text bubbles blur in and out for a moment, but Tess doesn’t send anything.

Can you come to my room? After press Please I’ll kick Ice out

i’ll be there

Thank you

Tess sends a single heart emoji back, not expecting a response, and she doesn’t get one. Her heart hurts for Paige. She just went through the toughest season of her life, and it ends like this. Tess wouldn’t be satisfied. She knows Paige isn’t. But right now, she needs a moment to rest, to decompress, to feel the loss instead of sitting and giving media-approved answers for 20 minutes.

Before Tess heads out to Paige’s hotel room, she swings by the nearest gas station first, stocking up on a bunch of candies, a drink for each of them, and a pint of ice cream. She’s unsure if Paige will have an appetite after the game, but it wouldn’t hurt. Once she’s paid and all of her groceries are in their bags, Tess makes her way to the hotel to wait.

Paige doesn’t keep her waiting for too long. Tess is lounging on the bed, eating Sour Patch Kids when the door unlocks with a click. Paige shuffles in, her bag slung over her shoulder, and the look on her face is all Tess needs to see. Wordlessly, Paige drops her bag on the ground and doesn’t even kick off her shoes before she’s crawling into the bed next to Tess, wrapping her arms around her waist and laying on top of her. Her hair is still a little damp when Tess undoes the hair tie, brushing her fingers through the blonde waves, dragging her fingertips against her scalp. Paige is tense against her but she relaxes as Tess stretches out, creating a little pocket for Paige to slot her legs against.

Paige is the first to break the silence. “D’you get those gummy cluster things?” she asks forlornly. Of all of the things Tess was expecting her to say, that was not one. She can’t help her surprised laughter.

“Of course I did,” she says, pressing her lips to Paige’s forehead. “They’re your favorite.” Paige doesn’t move, but she cranes her head, her ear directly over Tess’s heart. Her arms tighten around her. “I’m sorry,” Tess says after a while.

“It’s okay,” Paige says quietly. Her voice cracks. “Shoulda never come down to that. Calls, free throws, whatever.” Tess can’t help but smile a little bit, knowing that’s exactly what Paige would say. “Gonna be sore for a while but we’re gonna be there next year.”

“You will,” Tess promises. Paige shifts her head, looking up at Tess. The expression on her face is defeated, but Tess knows Paige well enough by now that she recognizes that fire, the spark of determination in her eyes. This is just a set-back. They did the impossible, damn it. Paige led them to the Final Four after coming back off of an injury, after losing most of the team to other injuries. Countless people said they wouldn’t be able to do it and Paige proved them wrong. “You’ll lead your team to the Final Four again next year. Tell Geno to recruit someone crazy from the portal. You’ll get some pretty good freshmen next year. You’ll win the Final Four, and you’re gonna come see me in the natty tournament ‘cause I’m not making that win easy for you. But you’re gonna lead them to that win and you’re gonna kick our ass. You, one of your crazy ass freshmen, and one of your sharpshooters – Ashlynn or Azzi. Maybe both. Then they’re gonna talk about us. Romeo & Juliet, Bueckers & Kennedy, cringy shit like that.”

At that, Paige can’t help her watery laughter, her eyes shining just a little brighter. “You think that’s happening?” Paige asks, amused. “I’on know if you can put your ego aside and lose like that.”

Tess raises her finger, grinning softly at Paige. “See, I’ve thought about it. Walk with me here.” Paige hums, rolling her eyes, but her expression is unbelievably fond as she gazes at Tess. “So, here’s us. February 8th, 2021. Our first game together. You kick my ass. Then every game we played since then, I kicked your ass. Now, it’s only full circle if you win the first and the last games we play against each other collegiately. It’s, like, written in the stars. But you’re not winning just ‘cause it’s fate, you win because you drop a nuke and you have that transfer portal weapon, your scary ass freshman, and your sharpshooters, like I said. For my other point – I know I always say ‘Tess Kennedy doesn’t lose twice!’ but hear me out. If I lose to you, I’m technically winning, because I have two natty rings, then my girlfriend has a natty ring, and then in like a couple years, my girlfriend’s gonna get me an actual ring because her natty win increases her draft stock, which means she goes to a professional team and makes the big bucks. Are you following?”

Paige shakes her head. “Not at all,” she murmurs, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to Tess’s lips. Tess can’t help but smile, reciprocating, their kiss deep and unhurried until Tess remembers where they are.

She draws back, her brows furrowed. “Wait, are you for real?” she asks indignantly. “I just mapped out the next five years of our lives and you weren’t even listening?”

Paige huffs in amusement. “Little hard to focus ‘cause you basically said you wanna marry me.”

Tess clamps her mouth shut, flushing. She did say that, didn’t she? “Well,” Tess says slowly. “That’s not my main point. Unless you want it to be. But even if you do, it’s not–”

“Tess,” Paige laughs, getting serious. “You wanna?” Her voice is softer now, her eyes firmly on Tess’s.

Her blush deepens and she tilts her head back, sighing. “It’s early, I know,” she concedes. “So I know that probably freaked you out. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Not what I asked,” Paige reminds her, grinning mischievously at her. “Do you wanna?”

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” is what Tess says instead, and Paige’s smile grows a little more adoring. “I know it’s technically only been two months officially, which makes me sound like a loser when I say it out loud. It feels like so much longer than that, though. I’ve been into you since June but honestly, I was probably into you from the start. So, I guess, yeah. I would. But like super far from now. You need to worry about kicking my ass in the championship. Then you gotta get drafted. Then you can see if I even like you in like five years from now.”

“Five years is good enough for me,” Paige says softly, leaning up to kiss Tess again. It’s gentle, tooth-achingly sweet, and feels more like a promise than anything else. When she draws back, she’s smiling at Tess. “So, you and me next year? Don’t throw the game or I’ll be mad at you forever.”

Tess scoffs. “I would never do that shit. That’s an insult to you and me. But we’re gonna be there and you’re just gonna kick our ass. And I won’t even be mad because I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah?” Paige murmurs. “What’s that?”

“I’ve got my rings,” she says. “I mean, I’ll have my rings plural on Sunday because now I gotta get revenge on Iowa for last year and revenge on behalf of you. We’re a package deal now.”

Paige snorts affectionately. “Are we?”

Tess hums in confirmation, trying not to think too much about the lovestruck expression on Paige’s face. “So, I have my rings. I’ll cement my name in the Gamecock record books. I’ll get drafted – probably at number two, but that just means my team will suck just a little less than yours.” Paige laughs again as Tess throws up her finger in an ‘L’ shape. “But, I have you, too, now. You weren’t part of the plan. I was just supposed to ball, break some records, get drafted, do my thing.” Tess glances down, fully looking at Paige now, whose eyes are full of amusement, wonder, and warmth. “I’m glad you happened, though. I get to ball and be your girl, which I guess is a much better plan.”

“You guess?” Paige croons. Tess shakes her head, horrendously in love as Paige plants a chaste kiss on her lips, grinning against her. “‘M glad I get to ball and be yours, too. None of that I guess bullshit because I’m not ashamed of bein’ in love like you are.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, asshole. You know I love you.”

Paige’s expression turns tender, unashamedly in love as she’d said. Tess can’t help the sudden cartwheels that her heart does at the sight. “I do,” she murmurs, kissing Tess again, slow, soft, lingering. “I love you, too. So much. Thank you for bein’ here.”

“Of course,” Tess whispers, smiling at her. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

And she wouldn’t. Her teammates are out celebrating their Final Four win before their next game on Sunday. She could be with them, watching film, doing more scouting, knowing that she has something to prove. But she knows she’s capable. Her teammates and coaches know she’s capable. Paige knows she’s capable, so for now, she doesn’t care about what game they’re playing on Sunday, who they’re playing, why they’re playing. She’s with Paige right now. As far as she’s concerned, nothing else matters but her. It can all wait for tomorrow.

APRIL 7, 2024

Tess is certain she’s never been more focused in her entire life. She was first on court for warmups, airpods in as she worked on her handles, footwork, and shooting. Paige even showed up shortly after she did with many of her teammates in tow – Aaliyah, Nika, KK, Ice, Ashlynn, to name a few, but Tess locked back in on her warm ups after sharing a private smile with Paige. They had plenty of time to stare at each other once Tess finished wiping the floor with Iowa.

With her warmup playlist blasting in her ears, Tess zones back in on the ball, working her way through her drills. She only pauses to stretch when her teammates start flowing in along with the coaching staff and trainers. As much as she’d prefer to be shooting right now, she takes the stretching seriously, knowing she needs to be loose for the upcoming match. There’s only an hour left before tipoff, but each and every second is spent crossing up the poor practice boys who honestly weren’t expecting Tess to be so ruthless, shooting from increasingly further distances behind the line, and working on her drives. She remembers what Paige had told her so long ago – the fake drives, the tendency to shoot purely from behind the line. She was confident Iowa would have one of their better defenders on her to shut down her three-point shooting, which is why she was going to make a conscious effort to take more drives into the paint.

Before player introductions and the starting line-ups are announced, Coach Staley grabs her by her bicep after she pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her jersey. “I know this game means a lot to you,” Coach Staley says, unwavering in her firm eye contact. “Don’t let it consume you. Play smart, or your ass is gonna spend the game on the bench.”

Tess nods, refocusing. “Got it,” she promises. Her coach searches her eyes before nodding, releasing her. Then, starting lineups are finally introduced with Tess gaining a round of applause that nearly rivals Caitlin’s. The two teams line up for tip-off, and soon, the game is underway. Kamilla wins the opening tip, sending it back to Chloe who passes to Raven who directs traffic to her liking. The ball is sent back to Chloe, who can’t finish at the rim, and Kate Martin scoops up the rebound. At their end of the court, Iowa passes the ball with quickness until it lands back in Kate’s hands and she knocks down the three.

Raven brings the ball up court and it bounces between Chloe, Tess, Kamilla, and then Tess once more as she steps back behind Kamilla, shooting the ball cleanly over her head for a three, tying the game. Iowa brings the ball down with Hannah trying a lay-up, although she misses, and the ball goes the other direction as quickly as it had left. Raven brings it up, but Te-Hina is a little too strong on her jumper. At the other end of the court, Kate’s two-point shot is good, totaling 5 points for Iowa to South Carolina’s 3. Kamilla’s layup is off, but Iowa’s isn’t, pushing the lead to 7-3.

It was cute at first, although Tess isn’t impressed. She didn’t rehab her knee just to trail Iowa 7-3 in the first two minutes of the national championship match. She’ll apologize to Coach Staley later, but if her teammates want to play the “run up and down the court” game, then she’ll play the “shoot the ball and score” game. She’s never this irritated at the beginning – you have to let it develop, but there’s too much riding on it to lose so early. She told Caitlin she was coming for her back in May. She basically promised Paige she’d win today, and Kamilla told her to get them back. She promised herself she’d get them back. The only way this game is ending is with Tess wearing that stupid hat for the second time.

Raven brings the ball up again, passing to Kamilla, but she’s instantly swarmed and she kicks the ball back out to Tess, waiting patiently at the wing. Caitlin’s guarding her. She watches film as much as Tess does, which is why Tess presses for the drive, faking a hesitancy that Caitlin immediately picks up on, but she commits to it at the last moment when Caitlin missteps. Tess takes it to the basket, laying it in easily, but she doesn’t spare it a second glance as she gets back on defense. Judging by the explosion of the crowd, she knows it’s gone in. At 7-5, Tess is on Caitlin like glue, getting a hand in her face and causing her two-point attempt to sail out of bounds. She hardly reacts as they inbound it. Caitlin tries to shake her off before she gets her hands back on the ball, but Tess is planted firmly. Eventually, the ball is passed to Caitlin, but Tess anticipates the step-back and swats the ball away, landing in the hands of one of her teammates. They bring it up, passing to Tess who passes immediately to Kamilla and she banks in the layup, tying the game.

While Caitlin’s bringing it up, Tess honestly expects her to pass, so she’s slow on trying to block Caitlin’s three-point attempt, which results in Tess fouling her and Caitlin being awarded three free throw attempts. A mistake on Tess’s part – Coach would get her for that later, but she extends her hands out to Caitlin to help her up. “That was for the knee,” she jokes. Caitlin huffs in amusement, though Tess taps her chest as she returns to the huddle. Caitlin makes all three shots, taking back the lead with 10-7.

The first quarter continues in a steady back and forth. Te-Hina lands a three, Caitlin responds with a layup, Kamilla misses a two-pointer. On Iowa’s next possession, Tess gets a hand in there and steals the ball from her, sprinting down to their end of the court and laying the ball in on the fastbreak. Tied 12-12, Caitlin’s bringing the ball back up and Tess is on her until Chloe calls for her to switch. With Tess now on Kate and Chloe guarding Caitlin, Chloe knocks the ball out of her hands, though one of Caitlin’s teammates secures it, lobbing it back to Caitlin, who shoots for the three and is fouled by Chloe. Tess hopes there’s not a camera honed in on her expression because there would be think pieces published about how Tess has beef with Chloe Kitts, and honestly, she might start because what the fuck was that? Tess can’t complain too much since she fouled Caitlin the same way. Everyone just needs to get in the weight room and grow a pair – all of this falling down is getting pretty embarrassing. Caitlin makes two of her three shots, and Tess is subbed out after both Chloe and Kate miss their layups.

Tess doesn’t enter the game until there’s a minute and a half left of the first quarter and the scores have evened out. Tess’s two point jumper is good when she subs back in, tallying the total 22-20 in favor of Iowa. Caitlin makes a layup, Tess responds with a three-pointer, and one last three-point shot from Iowa seals the first quarter after Tessa Johnson misses her own three.

Tess returns to the bench to prepare for the second quarter. That honestly felt like the longest ten minutes of basketball that she’s ever played before. So far, Tess has tallied 12 points, one assist, one block, and one steal. Iowa has a slim four point lead at 27-23, though Coach Staley is already drawing up some second quarter adjustments. She moves Raven to defend Caitlin and the really specific instruction of, “Pass Tess the ball” is incredibly helpful and motivating.

From then out, it’s an entirely new game. Raven’s defense is suffocating and she holds Caitlin to only three points in the second quarter. Their offense shifts with most of the point production coming from Kate, Hannah, and one single three-pointer from Sydney. South Carolina outscores them 26-19 in the second quarter, and going into halftime, South Carolina holds a slim 3-point lead at 49-46.

The third quarter passes similarly. Raven holds Caitlin to four points, South Carolina outscores Iowa 19-13, and they’ve increased the deficit to 9, leading the game with 68-59. Tess has slowed down after the first quarter. Her job is to remain consistent, and so far, she has. Her first foul on Caitlin was a mistake – Coach Staley warned her about letting it consume her, but she was too worried about trying to destroy the point gap after Iowa outscored them in the first. With 12 points in the first, 7 in the second, and a calm 6 in the third, Tess heads into the last quarter of the game with 25 points.

In the fourth, Tess gets her 30, scoring only five points in the three minutes she plays but doing a lot more defensively. Coach Staley subs her in for Bree once more and she returns to the bench, receiving a convincing round of applause. She can’t help but smile as she sits, feeling accomplished – if you’d asked her in May, she never would have thought she’d be back here after tearing her ACL. She would have wondered if you were the one high off anesthesia if you told her she had to fake date Paige Bueckers, and she honestly wouldn’t have believed you either if you told her that she’d fall in love with Paige Bueckers, either – but life has a incredibly strange way of working. She trusts her teammates to secure the win and her confidence grows as they keep increasing the gap.

They know they’ve won once all of the starters return to the bench with applause. The final buzzer is only formality and Tess quickly gets lost in the celebration, cheering with her teammates, accepting the corny ass hats, and taking picture after picture with the glimmering trophy. But she grows tired of it quickly – at this point, winning had simply felt like a job she needed to do, as terrible as it sounds. She cared more about proving herself after her injury. As much as she wants to joke about it being a revenge game, it never was – not for herself, not for Paige. Neither of them are keen on revenge, more focused on getting better and taking the win for themselves, for the teammates, for all of the hard work they poured into training to get here. Part of her really wants to celebrate for Paige. Tess wouldn’t be here without here, but Paige would tell her that’s not true. She knows this moment is for her and her team, for the players leaving, for the younger players with the hope of a repeat next year. So she soaks it all in, trying to relish in the win.

Once it all dies down, she ducks back into the tunnel, looking forward to a hot shower so she can get through the subsequent presser. The quicker she’s in bed, the better, but her plan derails again when she finds Paige, alone, leaning against the wall across from the locker room. The blonde’s smile grows when she spots Tess. She lengthens her strides, falling into Paige’s open arms with a startling swiftness. Tess knows she’s gross and sweaty, but Paige doesn’t seem to care, the scent of her cologne making her head spin. “Congrats, Tess,” she whispers, her voice reverent and soft. She leans back to look at her with a mischievous expression. “30 points? Who you showin’ out for?”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Please shut up,” she says, not letting Paige say anything else as she pulls her down a few inches, capturing her lips in her own. Tess knows that this win should mean more to her….but it doesn’t. It’s a national championship win, her second of her collegiate career, and she just dropped 30 points on a tough opponent. She worked her ass off to get here. She spent several months in rehab, several weeks trying to get over the alcohol dependence, and an uncomfortably long time trying to figure out how to love herself and others when she was at her lowest. And she knows it’s corny, that she sounds horrendously down bad, but she feels more like a winner in Paige’s arms than she did holding up that fucking trophy.

Paige draws her in by her waist, eliminating the space between them completely, tilting her head for better access and Tess can’t help but give in to her. This is what she worked so incredibly hard for. She worked hard to be able to play basketball again – and she did. She worked hard to be the kind of person that Paige Bueckers deserves – and, well, the jury’s still out on that one, but Paige loves her, so maybe she’s doing something right. Paige smiles against her, one hand reaching up to cup Tess’s cheek, deliberately slowing them down. Their kiss turns more tender, unhurried, and Tess can feel the remnants of it down to her toes when Paige pulls back, squeezing her gently. “You and me, same time next year?” Paige murmurs.

At that, Tess can’t help but laugh. She presses one last kiss to Paige’s lips, feeling her smile grow as she promises, “Same time next year.”

[manheeiim]

Nothing Lasts Forever - Gone Too Early

Warning: Season 4 Finale Spoiler Ahead

ᥫ᭡ link to nothing lasts forever masterlist

I ran through the crumbling building, my goggles pushed up my face, headscarf covering my hair as I ran around looking for JJ. He had left for a few moments to help the others and we were now separated and I was alone, scared for my life.

I had never thought that my life would come to the point that I was in another country for the nth time, running from people. I was now always running from people ever since I met JJ and the other pogues.

I look around as I call out for my boyfriend when suddenly, someone comes up from behind, grabbing me harshly, one hand grips my shoulder while the other holds a knife up to my neck.

I scream and immediately I'm being shushed so I oblige, scared for my life. I didn't even know who was behind me but I had a few guesses.

I could hear footsteps and JJ came running in he froze for a moment as he saw the position that me and whoever was holding me were in. He then comes over, holding onto the bag that held the crown.

"Let her go!" He firmly told whoever was holding me.

"Stop right there." The man behind me tells JJ and so he does. "You know what I want." He tells JJ and even I knew what he was talking about. The crown, he wanted the crown.

"Just let her go." JJ says and I really hope that he just gives the crown to this man to get me out of this situation but really, I had no real doubt that he would.

"You could've stuck with me JJ. Think what you could've had." The man says and immediately I know that it's his dad. His real dad.

I'm whimpering in fear as this all happens as I look into my boyfriend's eyes, waiting for him to just give the guy the damn crown. He looks me back in my eyes before looking over at his dad.

"You want the crown. Sure, take it. Take it. I don't want it. Just let Lucia go." He firmly says.

His dad reaches out for it and JJ hands it to him, his other hand immediately grabbing onto me as he exchanges the crown for me. He holds me close as he pulls me away, leaning down and hugging me tightly.

I relax into his hold and start to cry a bit in fear as we hold one another close.

"It's okay. It's okay." He softly says and I pull away a little before kissing him. We pull away after a few moments and he looks down at me.

"JJ." I hear his dad say. JJ reluctantly turns around to face his dad. "It's a shame. You and me." His dad says and I sigh.

There's then a movement from his dad, a squelching noise, and JJ is bending down a little, a groan falling from his lips. I freeze, not able to process what had just happened. I back away a little and then I see, the knife in JJ's stomach. I gasp, my whole body now shaking in fear, not knowing what to do.

I watch in fear as his dad shoves the knife deeper into him, "You should have.. given me.. the rope." His dad says before pulling the knife out of him. JJ falls back a bit and I hold onto him as his dad stands there for a moment before running off.

"JJ..." I say, voice shaking. "JJ." I say a bit louder, the panic setting in. He falls to the ground and I kneel down with him. "No, no. No. Please, no. No." I'm stammering, tears sliding down my cheeks.

He's coughing, choking, stammering and I'm freaking out, my hand trying to stop the bleeding even though obviously that wouldn't work.

"I- I don't know what to do." I sob, feeling like I was making this even worse by not knowing what to do.

His hand comes up to my face before moving to my head, caressing my head over the scarf weakly. "Lucia.." He mutters out.

My heart drops even more than it already did, "No, no, don't." I say, knowing what he was going to say.

"Lucia, I love you. I love you so much." JJ says, despite my rejection. I find myself sobbing as I lean my head into his chest. "We're- we're not going to be able to have what we wanted. The- the big kook house with dogs and kids- kids of our own. I'm s-sorry, baby." He stammered out, using a lot of energy even to just say that.

Those words hit my heart so deeply, hurting it in a way I've never felt before. I'd never felt this type of pain before. Never in my life.

"Don't say that." I sob against his chest. "Don't!"

"I love you, Lucia. I love you." I say and after a few moments, I feel his body still and his hand slowly drops from my head. I freeze, quickly pulling away and I could see his body completely still and his eyes shut.

"JJ." I say. "JJ. JJ? JJ. Please, JJ. Please answer me!" I sob, shaking his body but he's limp. "No!" I cry out. "No! No! No!" I sob loudly as hug his body. "No!" I scream in internal pain as I cry against his skin.

I don't even realize it when the others come running over and crowd JJ and me. I don't. I'm completely in my own world as I sob in utter pain and sorrow. He was gone. He was dead. JJ was dead.

The man who, yeah, I planned to live in a nice Kook house with, with dogs and our own kids, was dead. Sure, I knew that would never happen but I was okay living the life we already lived, as long as it meant that I was with him.

What was I going to do without him? What was I going to do? He was all I wanted and now, I could have him no longer. JJ was the only one who really fully understood me. The only person I ever fully opened up to. I couldn't imagine being like that with anyone else and he was gone. Gone.

Sure, he made some stupid choices and sure, he didn't have the best life but that never mattered to me. I knew that all too well. I could never judge him for it. I'd always love him despite that.

Maybe I should've known that this day would come. I probably should've. Maybe in the back of my mind, I did know. If it hadn't been today it likely would've been another day. Especially with the way things were going leading up to this day.

I should've known that nothing lasts forever.

THE END

[the-real-couchrat]

Post ending / rescue AU / recovering Curly is everything to me, so I’m making a list of other people’s posts that feature him. (The links will connect to a reblog of them in case anything ever happens to the original post)

If anyone ever see’s posts like these ones, PLEASE tag me in a reblog!! All posts are welcome, not just art!

Please note that I don’t decide what to add to this list based on shipping, opinions on the metaphors in the game, the accuracy of burn scars, the morality of Curly, or anything else that causes discourse in the fandom. I just add any posts that I come across that include Curly recovering from his injuries in any way. Prosthetics, wheelchair, wig, crutches, It just needs to have him in better shape than when he first got injured.

No NSFW

(Also this post is edited to add new ones when I find them)

Rehabilitated Curly

Party with no Jimmy

Stand around in medbay party (Idk if this counts, but he has prosthetics so I'm saying it does)

Happy abortion!

Post-ending speculation (text)

20 years later (I AM NOT WORTHY TO LOOK UPON THIS WITH MY MERE MORTAL EYES)

ANYA’S GRADUATION DAY

Post ending

Rescue/Recovery AU

My own post! (text)

Aftermath Curly

Good ending

Best way to approach captain’s disability?

A little sketch

They care

“I wouldn’t want to frighten her”

Anya doesn’t quite overdose

They’re safe

Guys rate my fanart

WWI face prosthetics

Less fucked up Curly AU

Fix-it type AU

Silly recovering time

Curly got some gifts for his b-day

Imagine Curly survived (twitter)

Curly with a service dog

I’m not a dog and you’re not a mare

Drawing the dentalcare crew (does this count?)

The quality will not be questioned

Fix-it AU

Want to make Curly some cool new mechanical hands so he can strangle Jimmy

One can dream

He’s got a wig now

Happy ending where they all survive (devianart)

It hurt my heart (twitter)

God forbid I get sick (translated?)

This might be controversial but… (text)

Let’s get you out of the house!

Cyberpunk AU

Cartoons with breakfast

Old-school surgeries (text)

Post-ending fic prompt (text)

Post-rescue AU curlyana

Post-rescue curlyana part two

Why is this goddamn white boy so hard to draw?

Captain stop infodumping the baby

Maybe never forgive

Draw Captain Curly having a prosthetic limb

Curly from Mouthwashing (good ending)

This is how I imagine Curly post OP

whats the worse fate, whatd be better for the tulpar crew

Wip

🐈

Mouthwashing AU (Reddit)

Curly if he survives (Reddit)

My own art

I’ll give him smoochies, prosthetics, and skin grafts

Art dump time✨

Hoppin on da trendin train

The crew built curly a mechanical hand

How to give Captain Curly a voice (idk if this technically counts, but it’s a disability aid so I will)

Doodle of the Tulpar crew post-rescue!

New hyperfixation just dropped

Hi Tumblr. Funny seeing you here

Another rehabilitated Curly

Who up washing they mouth rn

Don’t use the dog buttons (text)

Haunted part one and two

Prosthetics

AU were someone saves them

Mouthwashing doodles

A New Ladder-Reader x Curly (I’ll add the original art videos when I can) (also I didnt read it. if someone did read it, please let me know if it’s SFW)

I know he always have his headphones on

More rehabilitated Curly✨

You guys like this right

Anya, what’s it like working as a medic on a spaceship?

This is how we can still get the good ending

“I’m sorry Anya”

More cringe mouthwashing art be upon thee

Curly’s happy (and recovering) ending

Writing an AU of mouthwashing where the crew survives

Most people seem to be giving him prosthetics…

Doing a bit of study

2

Ladonb Kokosa (TikTok account, LOTS of great videos )

Giving the mouthwashing characters what they deserve (TikTok)

Zest for life

How I think the Tulpar crew would make YT videos

Some recovered Curly art

Edit: I am no longer seeking out these posts, and new ones will only be added if I’m tagged or such

[lyn31]

Making another ask to make a request hehe i hope it's okay with you 🥰 can you pretty please write about mc's early pregnancy stage? (If you're not planing to write it already) Like how would they feel with mc's job as a hunter? I feel like during this time they might have a little argument since zayne probably would want her to take a break from her job the moment they found out y'know since her job is very pyhsical and the risks of harming the baby but mc might be a little bit stubborn about it? imagine her fainting during her mission because of fatigue and how would zayne's reaction to it be? (maybeee just a little tiny bit of angst? but definitely with a happy ending cause i can't handle sad ending, you can add a bit of smut too if you want hohoho) I'm sorry if this is too hard for you to write 😭 anyway thank you for all the amazing stories, i'm looking forward to read more of your writings! 🥰

It ended up being a hurt/comfort 🫶🏻🥹 I never thought I'd write one of these, but then again, that’s what I said the first time I wrote smut 😂

Speaking of smut—I didn’t end up fitting any in. I was thinking maybe it could happen when they get back home. Obviously no sex smut since MC’s still in early pregnancy, but some comfort smut would be nice.

BUT I thought this ending already tied things up with such a great little bow :D

Hopefully you like it! Let me know what you think (good or bad—lay it on me) 💕

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

Stubborn

Summary

In the aftermath of a close call, you navigate the haze of recovery surrounded by unwavering love—from your partner’s steady care to your sister’s fierce loyalty—until the weight of fear gives way to healing, one quiet moment at a time.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Hurt/comfort, family feels, early pregnancy.

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

Zayne closes his tablet with a soft click, his gaze already on you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks.

You shut the door a little harder than necessary when you step back into Zayne’s office, the familiar scent of disinfectant and tea grounding you just enough not to explode. He’s still seated at his desk, calm as ever, reading one of his medical cases.

You just finished a call with the HQ.

“They’re not letting me work in the field anymore,” you huff, dropping into the seat across from him. “But if I really want to work, I can be support from base. You know—report duty, logistics, the fun stuff.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies mildly, folding his hands like he’s a neutral party in a murder trial. “But if I had, I might’ve said this was predictable.”

“I know it’s not possible,” you groan, tipping your head back. “And I don’t want to be in the field anyway. I’m not trying to hurt our baby.”

He reaches for your hand, which you take immediately.

“But they didn’t have to say it like that,” you go on, toying with his fingers. “Like I’m fragile. Like I need to be wrapped in bubble wrap and locked in a temperature-controlled room.”

“They didn’t say that,” Zayne points out, far too calmly.

“That’s what they meant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did they also say it in a tone you invented for them?”

You shoot him a look. “You’re very smug for someone who’s supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” he says smoothly, standing up and walking over to you. “Which is why I’m supporting your decision to, what was it? Rot behind a desk with a highlighter and a clipboard?”

You groan again, burying your face in his stomach. “Don’t remind me.”

He chuckles, then leans down slightly, his cool fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “They’re not saying you’re useless. You’re not.”

Your hands wrap around him. “I’m not.”

He tilts his head. “Then stop talking like you are.”

You purse your lips, stubborn, but you can’t hold the tension when he leans down, voice dipping just enough to soften the blow:

“You’re still you. Even if you’re not kicking down doors right now.”

That gets a small breath of laughter out of you, even as you lean your head back against the chair again.

“...I’m still going to complain,” you mutter.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zayne murmurs, brushing a kiss to your temple. “But next time you get assigned report duty, I’ll make tea.”

You glance at him. “...With the good honey?”

He smiles faintly. “Only if you stop acting like being careful is a personal insult.”

You snort.

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

The hum of the squad’s base is a quiet background drone—keyboards tapping, screens flickering, comms static fading in and out. You’re perched at the long center table, elbow-deep in reports you’d rather not be writing, a stylus clutched in your aching fingers.

Tara walks by with a cup of something steaming and suspiciously sweet-smelling. She pauses when she sees you still working.

“You’re aware no one’s asking you to finish all those today, right?” she says, eyeing your growing stack. “Unless you’re aiming for a stress-induced birth.”

“I’m behind,” you mutter, not looking up. “Someone’s gotta get them done.”

“You mean besides the two rookies we literally hired for this?”

“They’re slow.”

“They’re new.”

“They’re too new.”

Tara sips her drink and squints. “You know this is your villain origin story, right? ‘Hunter turns paperwork tyrant after desk job.’”

You give her a withering look. She grins and walks away.

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

Later, Lara leans in behind you without a sound, placing a small snack packet next to your elbow.

You blink. “What’s this?”

“Protein and fiber,” she says with that calm smile of hers. “You skipped lunch just because your husband isn’t here to give it to you.”

“I did not—”

“You took two bites of toast and drank a coffee.”

You frown down at the packet. “I’m not hungry.”

Lara just squeezes your shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.”

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

The next day, you’re rearranging case logs and editing mission summaries—because, of course, no one else formats headers right—and your back is killing you. You stand to stretch when Rose walks in and catches you mid-pose, one hand bracing the small of your spine.

She crosses her arms, already judging you.

“You realize you’re not obligated to be the Association’s unpaid intern, right?”

“I’m just keeping busy.”

“You’re nesting in spreadsheets.”

You glare. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m continuing.”

She tosses a folder onto the desk, tone sharpening just enough to dig in.

“You don’t like this work. You’re not even supposed to be doing it. But you’re acting like if you stop for five minutes, the world’s gonna forget you exist.”

“I’m not—!”

“You are,” she cuts in. “And the worst part is, if I were doing this? You’d be the first to tell me to sit my ass down and breathe.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is silence—and a wave of heat rising in your cheeks.

She sighs, more gently now.

“You’re not going to disappear just because you’re slowing down. You’re pregnant, not invisible.”

You drop back into your chair, tense and unwilling to admit she’s right.

Rose lingers a second longer. “You wanna prove something? Prove you can listen for once.”

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

You're curled on the couch in the corner of Zayne’s office, tablet propped on your thighs, stylus dancing across the screen as you breeze through another stack of reports.

He’s been pretending to review scans, but he’s mostly been watching you.

“How many reports is that today?” he asks finally, eyes not leaving his tablet.

You don’t look up. “Just a couple.”

“That’s your third ‘couple’ since this morning.”

You sigh, the stylus slowing. “They pile up when no one does them.”

“There are other that can help you as well.”

“They’re busier than me.”

He hums, noncommittal. You recognize that sound—it means he’s noting everything and choosing silence for now.

He stands after a moment, crossing the room without a sound. You expect him to hover, maybe offer tea again. Instead, he crouches in front of you, cool hands gently taking your ankle before you can object.

“Zayne—”

“You’ve been sitting too long,” he says simply, thumb pressing into the soft, swollen flesh near your arch.

You let out a sharp breath—not from pain, but the sudden relief that spreads like warmth through your foot. It’s startling, how much it hurts and soothes at the same time. Like peeling off a pressure bandage you didn’t realize you were wearing.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he replies, entirely unconvinced. He keeps working, fingers precise, careful. “Do you want me to stop?”

The ache in your calves pulses in response—a dull throb reminding you of every hour spent hunched over case files and mission logs. You hadn’t meant to ignore your body. You just... forgot.

He moves to your other foot, and when he finds the sore spot along your heel, you twitch slightly.

The moment his fingers start to knead with practiced care, your shoulders sag. The tension there slips loose without permission—like your body had been waiting for someone else to give it the okay to stop.

“You didn’t even stretch today, did you?” he asks.

“I meant to.”

He glances up, expression unreadable—but the way he shifts, drawing your legs into his lap so he can rub deeper along your calf, says everything. You don't protest. You just let your head fall back against the couch cushion, exhaustion seeping out of you in slow waves.

“You’re not helping your case by spoiling me like this,” you murmur, eyes closed.

“You’re not helping mine by pretending you don’t need it.”

He doesn’t say slow down. Doesn’t tell you you’re overdoing it—you’ve heard that enough from everyone else. Instead, he presses his thumb gently behind your knee, finding the tight muscle you didn’t realize was sore, and stays silent.

It makes you feel safe enough to rest your hand on your stomach.

He notices that too.

After a while, he murmurs, “You’re not a machine.” His voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath. “Even machines get maintained.”

You sigh. “Don’t start lecturing. I already got one from Rose.”

“I’m not lecturing,” he replies, moving his hands to your leg. “I’m observing.”

You scoff. “That’s worse.”

He keeps his massage pace steady. “Your body’s telling you to rest. You’re just not listening.”

“Because if I stop, I’ll—” You cut yourself off.

Zayne’s hands still for a second, before he continues again. But he still waits. Doesn’t press.

“I just... don’t want to feel useless.”

“You’re not,” he says simply. “You’re growing a whole human. You’re working harder than all of us.”

You drop your gaze. Your hand drifts to your stomach, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt settles in your chest—before you brush it off.

He touches your knee gently. “And before you say that doesn’t count—it does.”

You exhale, stubborn to the bitter end. “I just want to do my part.”

“You are,” he murmurs. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re quiet. You’re allowed to take care of yourself and still be part of everything.”

He stands, smooth and graceful as ever, and disappears into the office kitchenette. A moment later, he returns with a steaming mug and a little packet of dried fruit Lara had slipped you days ago.

You blink. “You kept that?”

He shrugs. “I’m observant, remember?”

He hands you the tea, careful not to say more.

But when you settle against the back of the couch again, sipping quietly, his fingers brush yours—just long enough to remind you he’s still there. Still watching. Still ready to catch you if—or when—you finally fall.

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

The mission had gone smoothly—standard sweep, zero surprises. And just when everyone was ready to head back and clock out, the patrol assignment came in.

You straighten without a second thought. “I’ll come.”

Tara, still adjusting her gloves, pauses. “Come where?”

“On patrol.”

A beat of silence.

Rose levels you with a look. “No.”

You raise a brow. “It’s just a regular route. You said yourself it’s the quietest zone.”

“That’s not the point—”

“I’ve been sitting for days, my legs are cramping, and if I stare at another report I’m going to set fire to the desk.”

Tara mutters, “That’s valid.”

Lara looks at the sky. “Please don’t actually set fire to the desk.”

“I’ll stay in the middle,” you add, like it sweetens the deal. “I’m a support unit. Ranged. I’m not going to be diving into anything.”

Rose folds her arms. “You’re still—”

“Pregnant, yes, I know,” you cut in, already tugging on your jacket. “Not made of glass. I’m not even showing yet. And HQ already approved base-side support, didn’t they?”

“They didn’t mean outside the base,” Rose mutters.

“They didn’t not mean it.”

Everyone looks at you.

You lift your chin, undeterred.

Lara speaks next, dry as ever. “Fine. But you’re in the middle.”

“I was planning to—”

Rose cuts in sharply, “You’re. Staying. In. The. Middle.”

You squint at her. “You’re not the squad leader.”

Lara, hand on her forehead. “You’re staying in the middle.”

You roll your eyes. “Noted.”

Tara snorts, clearly enjoying herself. “I’ll take rear side. Can’t have mom-to-be dodging wanderer guts and ruining her pretty boots.”

“I hate those boots,” you mumble.

“Exactly. That’s how we know you’re tired.”

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

You fall into formation—Rose at the front, Tara flanking rear-left, Lara bringing up the back, and you moving steady in the middle. It’s familiar. Easy. Your steps sync with theirs, your gun balanced at your side, Evol humming at your fingertips.

No one says it out loud, but they’re all subtly adjusting around you. Slower pace. Widened spacing. You catch it—but you let it go.

Because for the first time in weeks, your legs don’t ache from stillness. The air smells like rain instead of hospital antiseptic or your base’s office.

The zone is clean—stray wanderers here and there, nothing your squad can’t handle in their sleep.

You’re tired, sure—but this, you can handle it.

Until the air tears.

It doesn’t start as sound—it’s pressure. Your lungs forget how to breathe a moment before the world bends and tears open.

A Deepspace tunnel splits open in the middle of the street.

“Contact—two o’clock!” Rose snaps, a violet slash coming from her hands already singing through the first thing that crawls out.

You shift, instinct kicking in. Your Evol flashes, syncing instantly to Rose’s—sharpening her edges, accelerating her strikes.

Tara surges forward, intercepting another, and you link to her next, boosting her reflexes mid-movement. Lara flanks right behind with a glowing barrier.

It’s a tight formation. Efficient. You keep your distance, keep your focus. Your hands tremble a little, but you bite it back. One more boost—one more sync—

It starts getting hard to see clearly.

Your head pounds. Your knees buckle, unsteady.

You shift focus again, try to keep up with the flow, but your Evol stutters with jagged pulses, like it’s struggling to hold a signal. The edges of your vision blur.

Something disconnects. You think you hear someone yell your name—

And then nothing.

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

It’s the faint beep of a monitor you hear first. A soft rhythm, too steady to be anything from the field.

Then fingers. Wrapped around your hand, cool yet steady. Anchoring you.

Your eyes flutter open.

White ceiling. Hospital lights. The faint scent of antiseptic.

And Zayne.

His face is the first thing you see—tired, eyes ringed with shadow, but locked on you with absolute focus the moment you stir.

“You’re awake,” he says—relief and fear tangled in his voice.

His voice has that low, careful tone he uses with patients—except it’s thinner now. Strained around the edges.

Before you can say anything, he’s checking you, doctor-mode overriding everything. Fingers at your pulse, brushing against your wrist. A touch to your forehead. Gentle pressure along your wrist.

“No fever,” he murmurs to himself. “Vitals are stable... you fainted from exhaustion.”

You try to speak, but he’s already leaning in, brushing your hair from your face like he needs to see you fully to believe it.

Then, his hand lifts yours, holding it close. His lips press to your knuckles. Then your temple. Then your cheek.

No anger. No lecture. Just that quiet sorrow in his eyes.

“I was scared,” he admits, barely a whisper. “You weren’t waking up.”

Your chest tightens. You try to blink it away, but his hand squeezes yours, grounding you again.

He exhales through his nose, like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“I should be angry,” he says finally, voice low. “But I’m mostly just... terrified.”

You blink at him, throat tight.

“You could’ve gotten hurt. Worse. You and the baby.”

His eyes stay locked on yours, steady now—but not cold. Just bare.

“I know you want to help. I know sitting still drives you mad. But pushing yourself until you pass out—how is that helping anyone?”

Your lips part, but he shakes his head gently, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it because I love you.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry and raw. “I didn’t think it would get that bad,” you murmur, voice barely there. “I just… I thought I could still be useful.”

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his thumb stills against your skin. “You are. You always are. But not like this.”

He lowers your joined hands onto the blanket, his other hand trailing along your arm like he’s reminding himself you’re still here. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to me.”

You look away, eyes burning. “It didn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His touch is cool, his presence a balm—but beneath it, you feel the way he trembles. Just faintly.

“I need you to take care of yourself,” he whispers. “Not just for the baby. For me, too.”

You nod—slow and aching, the fight bleeding out like water through a cracked glass.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says, and his voice shakes just enough to break your heart. He lifts your hand again, presses it to his cheek like he needs the anchor just as much.

“I know you were trying your best. But I need you to stop carrying all of it like it’s only yours to hold.”

His eyes meet yours—clear, but so raw. “You’re not alone in this. You never were. So please… stop acting like you have to be.”

You swallow hard. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, jaw tight, like the words cut deeper than you meant them to.

“You’re not,” he says. No hesitation. “You never have been. Not now. Not before.”

Your throat stings. “Then why does it feel like I am? Like if I stop, if I let go even a little, I’ll just fade into the background while everyone else moves on without me?”

Zayne shifts, leans forward, and rests his forehead against your temple.

“Because you're so used to holding everything up, you don’t know how to not fight for space. Even when no one’s trying to take it from you.”

You breathe in slowly. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his presence—everything about him quiets the noise in your head just a little.

“I thought I was helping,” you whisper. “I wanted to help.”

“I know,” he says again. “But pushing yourself until you collapse doesn’t help anyone—not me, not the baby, not your squad. And especially not you.”

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye where a tear slips free.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he says gently. “I need you to be here.”

Something in you breaks—not with violence, but with mercy. Like something brittle giving way to light.

You nod, a little shaky. “I still want to do better.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your temple. “Then rest. Let yourself breathe. That’s where it starts.”

And this time, when your eyes close again, it’s not from exhaustion—but relief.

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

You wake again to the sound of a quiet page turning.

Zayne sits beside you, long legs folded, a medical file in one hand—yours, probably—but his attention snaps to you the second your breathing shifts.

He sets it down. “You’re awake.”

His voice is softer this time. Less strained. The lines around his eyes are still there, but something in them eases.

You blink at him. “You’re still here?”

“I wasn’t planning to leave.” He brushes his fingers over your wrist, like he’s making sure your pulse is still real beneath his touch. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Your voice comes out dry and rough.

He nods once. “That’s good.” Then he picks up the glass of water from the side table and offers it to you. His fingers graze yours as you take it—but he don’t pull away immediately.

You pause, then shift your other hand to gently hold his, anchoring it there. Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, light but deliberate. He squeezes your hand in return.

“It means you’re listening to your body, not fighting it.” His lips twitch, just a little.

You exhale before taking a slow sip of the water, letting the coolness ease the rasp in your throat. His hand stays in yours.

When you lower the glass, you don’t let go.

And for the first time in hours, you feel more at ease.

Zayne’s thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles—once, twice. Then, gently, he says, “Rose and Caleb are here. With the twins. They’ve been waiting outside—Rose didn’t want to crowd you unless you were ready.”

You go still. “The twins?”

“They were very insistent about seeing their favorite aunt.”

You arch a brow. That’s your line—he usually waits for you to say it, then replies with, “their only aunt.”

But this time, he says it for you.

And something about that—gentle, unexpected—makes a strange, delicate flutter rises in your chest.

Tender. Fragile. But steady.

Hormones, yup, that’s why.

“Can I see them?”

Zayne leans in, kisses your forehead, brushes your hair back with careful fingers. Then he steps into the hallway. A few quiet murmurs follow. The door opens.

Rose is the first to step in.

She looks... fine. Hair tied up, usual jacket slung over her arm, lips pressed into a flat line. But her eyes linger too long on the monitor beside you. Her fingers twitch at her side like she wants to check the IV, double-check your vitals—anything to do something. Instead, she stops at the foot of your bed.

“You look like shit,” she says, dry as ever.

“Thanks,” you rasp, voice hoarse.

Rose exhales. Shoulders sink. “I mean. You scared the hell out of us.”

You open your mouth, but she holds up a hand. “Let me get through this without crying yet.”

Caleb enters with the twins—both wide-eyed and quiet for once, clinging to his hands. They’re three now, just tall enough to peek over the bed railing. Caleb gives you a small smile, nods once—like we’ll talk later—and steps aside.

“I shouldn’t have let you come on patrol,” Rose says, voice quieter now. “Even if it was routine. Even if nothing was supposed to happen. You’re my twin. My squadmate. I knew you weren’t at full strength. I just...” Her breath stutters. “I just thought if I said no, you’d push harder. And I didn’t want to be the bad guy.”

You swallow. “I wanted to be there.”

“I know.” She folds her arms, eyes wet. “But I should’ve been the one to stop you anyway.”

“You tried,” you say. “You did more than anyone. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to be left behind.”

Rose’s expression finally breaks. She moves toward you, voice shaking. “You’re not behind. You’re with us. And you always will be. Just—don’t do that again, okay? Don’t scare me like that.”

You reach for her at the same time she leans in. Arms wrap around each other tight—shaky, unsteady, clinging like you're both trying to fix something that cracked open between you. Her forehead presses to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

“Me too.”

That’s when the twins—silent up to this point—decide they’ve had enough of being observers.

They scramble up the bed, climbing over your legs like determined little puppies, wedging themselves between you and Rose, their small arms trying to hug both of you at once.

And then they’re crying. Loud and messy and confused.

“Mommy’s crying,” your niece says, and your nephew wails, “Why is Auntie sick—stop being sick!”

Rose laughs through a sob, pulling them in tighter. “She’s okay, baby. She’s okay now.”

It’s a mess of limbs and tears and sniffles on the bed, and for a moment, the whole room is soft with the sound of people trying to breathe again.

At the side of the room, Zayne stands with Caleb, arms loosely crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“Should we hug it out too?” Caleb murmurs, glancing sideways.

Zayne gives him a bland look. “No.”

Caleb grins and then sighs, dramatic. “I thought we had something, Zayne. Where’s my love?”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. “Buried somewhere beneath your need for theatrics.”

“Ouch,” Caleb mutters, clutching his chest like he’s been personally wounded. “Ruthless. No wonder your patients love you—you leave just enough emotional damage for a lasting impression.”

Zayne exhales through his nose, gaze drifting back to the bed where the tangle of you, Rose, and the twins is still unfolding—small hands clinging, Rose’s face pressed against your shoulder, the kids hiccuping their tears into your sides. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely, almost a smile.

Caleb watches him for a moment longer, then, softer. “...Glad she’s okay.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything to that. Just nods once.

And that’s when Caleb pulls out his phone. He doesn’t even hide it.

“I’m taking a picture.”

Zayne lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop him.

“For the photo wall,” Caleb says, angling it just right. “Or the ‘look at your chaotic emotional legacy’ folder for when they’re teenagers. Whichever comes first.”

He takes the picture with the absolute stealth of a dad used to capturing chaotic moments.

Zayne watches, quiet. But this time, when the screen captures your face mid-laugh, he doesn’t look away.

Your hand in Rose’s hair. Little fingers tangled in yours. Tears drying slow on your cheeks. A smile caught between sobs, still glimmering. The moment is already saved.

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

Notes

This week is just serious week I guess... Are we all just in our period? Is that why? Cuz I am.... 🫠😂 Joking aside, hope y'all enjoy it! 🫶🏻🥹

[strangelysamantha]

Could you do a Y/n x Rafe Cameron fluff where they go from friends to dating but they start dating bc of topper was texting y/n to talk rafe that she likes him and all that stuff but topper didn’t know that rafe was on her phone when he sent those messages, and make it super fluffy and stuff!! Please and Thank you!! Btw I love your work!

exposed ❀

rafe cameron x reader.

warnings: none.

words: 740.

summary: rafe sees a text from topper, exposing your little crush on him. at first you try to play it off, but you gain enough confidence to tell rafe about your feelings.

request: yes!!

a/n: this is such a cute idea tysm! thank you for requesting i really appreciate it. love and reblog if you enjoy, possibly a follow if you're feeling generous. im so happy to have an audience to share my stories with. :)

masterlist link

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

rafe cameron was the sexiest guy you had ever met. unfortunately, you were stuck in the friend zone. you never attempted to make a move, too nervous to ruin what you already had. the friendship was nice, and rafe was too difficult to read.

he was currently at your house for a hangout sesh. you two started with watching a movie, eating popcorn, laughing at the cheesy lines. you guys' shared looks, cringing at the poor acting. "would you be down to order some food?" he questions. "i'm down! what would you like?" you open doordash on your phone, quickly handing it to him. "let me see what they have." he scrolled the app, overwhelmed by all the choices. he chose a restaurant, now searching for what meal he wanted to order. he laughs suddenly. and you get nervous. "what?" you question, he points your phone towards you, a text from topper. are you with rafe right now? you need to tell him how you feel.

a red tint lifts to your cheeks, you bite your lip nervously. you are unsure of what to say, so instead you stay silent. topper texts again, come on you know he likes you back it is so obvious. you dramatically grab the phone from rafe, "maybe let's wait to order food, or we can use your phone." you set it behind you, ultimately pissed at topper for exposing your secret so carelessly.

"do you like me?" he's calm and curious, his face completely unreadable and now your stomach is flipping at the thought of telling rafe the truth. "i don't know what topper is talking about, were just friends." you laugh gently, quickly glancing away. when you look back, you see a moment where his guard is down. sadness flashed over him, but he quickly covered it up. "right, why would we ruin what we have?" silence settles between you two, time slowly passes as you stay on the couch, unable to move. "why would topper even think that?" he questions, smiling. he elbows you gently, "i don't know. i think he just feels bad because i haven't had a date in a month." rafe nods, looking away. you think for a moment, and after that moment passed you came to the realization that topper was right. the longer you wait to tell rafe, the more time you give your feelings to fester. it's better to rip the band aid off, cut the plug before anything got too far.

"topper knows that i like you rafe." you straighten yourself out, finding courage to admit everything. "all summer he's been urging me to express how i feel, but i've been too scared." rafe is shocked at your words, his heart starts to race. he stays quiet, letting you continue. "i never thought i'd tell you, because we are great friends. and i'd rather be just a friend, then risk losing you entirely. but i can't hide it anymore. my feelings are real..." you lower your voice, "my attraction to you is real too." you look at rafe, desperate for him to say something, "i really like you too, but i didn't think you could love someone like me." you shake your head, shushing him gently. "don't say that. you deserve so much love rafe." he forms a small smile, you lean in, "would you consider going on a date with me?" he shakes his head and for a moment your heart stops. "i'd rather be your boyfriend." you sigh with relief, "of course rafe." you lean in for a kiss, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist. "i've been dying for this moment." he whispers, close to you. the close proximity to rafe fills you with nerves, his scent strong, and his eyes soft. "me too, so bad." you kiss him again, hungrier this time. desperate for his taste and touch. you pull away, "i should have said something sooner, huh?" he grins. "definitely. but at least you did today." you frown.

"why didn't you make a move first?" your question was endearing to him, he shrugs, "well i didn't know if you actually liked me or not, and i figured if you did like me, you would have said something already." you pull him into a hug, and he snakes his arms around you. "let me take you on a date tomorrow." you grin, "yes please." he looks at you, "it's a date."

[nelkey]

alright. kinda random but i do have to ask. what kind of media exactly is orv and where can i read it? (bc imma be honest, ur reblogs n stuff sound intriguing as hell)

That's not random at all, and I'm so happy you asked!!!

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint (orv for short) is originally a novel, though currently there's a manwha coming out on webtoon.

The basic premise is that an apocalypse starts, and it just so happens to be exactly like the webnovel that the main character has been reading since he was a teenager. The novel has everything: comedy, drama, found family... As you might have noticed, I like it a lot, and have been going insane over it since I read it, so I reaaaaally recommend that you read it.

You can start with the manwha, as it might be a bit easier (especially if you're like me and have trouble picturing characters visually without memorizing images of them xD). Though I reaaaally can't recommend enough continuing to read the novel afterwards, instead of waiting for the webtoon to update.

If you still aren't convinced, go read these posts by @ot3 please!

These posts are a big part of what convinced me to read orv when my dash was flooded with fanart and I had no idea what it was xD

All that said, here are the links!!!

This is the link to the webtoon.

And here's a few links to the novel's epub, (so in case one of them stops working you can try the others):

Also, you might wanna check out @lee-hakhyun 's edited epub!

Let me know if there's anything else you need and if you read it and wanna talk to someone about it, my dms are always open!!! (I also recommend you filter the orv tag)

Oh, and last! In case you don't have an epub reader downloaded, I'll link you to the one I use, Lithium. It works with the epub's formatting and I've been using it for a long time with no problems!

[pinksmonkey]

Posting my Ultimate Byler Evidence/Analysis List here directly because it probably makes it more convenient and I should have done this a while ago. XD

There is so much proof for Byler being endgame in S5 of Stranger Things. They are so cute together, and so much in the show has been building up to their relationship. I just wanted to share some of my favourite Byler analyses, because they are so cool, detailed, and in-depth. I love reading about all the hints, symbolism, and subtext for Byler, it's amazing how much thought must have been put into all these things. Why go through all the effort of adding these details if they aren't actually going anywhere with them? Mike is so queercoded, and they are truly in love with each other.

🫥 Just gonna leave some good Byler analyses here 🤐

Most of the links go to written Tumblr posts, and a couple of them are Reddit posts. So it's a lot of reading. If you prefer watching videos over reading, I highlighted my Byler YouTube playlist in green so it's easy to find.

And apologies for any of the links that aren't working, I know some of the posts have been deleted now sadly, but there's no way I'm re-numbering all these so I'm just leaving them in. My fellow Bylers, please stop deleting your amazing posts. ;-;

So anyway, here is the list of some of my favourite Byler evidence/analyses of all time (not in any particular order):

1. Mike's Season 4 Monologue To El

2. Camera Roll Byler Proof Part 3

3. Mike's Monologue and Milkvan

4. Mostly Byler Post Index

5. Dawson's Creek Parallel

6. "My Experience With Stranger Things"

7. What Ollie Learned From Film School

8. Byler Music Analysis

9. Why Don't The Duffers Discuss This?

10. ST Theories Masterpost

11. If Byler Isn't Endgame Then Someone Screwed Up

12. Byler Crumbs From The Cast and Crew

13. Favourite Combination of Endgame Byler Proof

14. I Doubt Byler Then I Remember This

15. The Fact That We Have This Interview

16. You Know Your Ship is Endgame When

17. Mostly Byler Post Index 2

18. Losing Hope Of Byler Endgame?

19. Why I Think Byler is Endgame

20. So Many Thoughts on This

21. Mike's Wall Art

22. Painting Miscommunication Leading to Mike's Monologue Coded

23. Yes, That Scene Did Foreshadow Mike's Monologue as Disingenuous

24. Mike's Monologue Didn't Sit Right With Me

25. Blue And Yellow Pen

26. That Tweet Is So Sweet

27. Heart Eyes, Literally

28. "My Process of Realizing Byler is Real"

29. Looking at Will, Not El

30. High School Musical Parallel

31. Said It Before and I'll Say It Again

32. Delusional Milkdud?

33. ST Writers Twitter Analysis 1

34. ST Writers Twitter Analysis 2

35. For When You Are Doubting Byler

36. Is Mike Bi or Gay?

37. Fully Convinced

38. The Ultimate Byler Playlist (my Byler YouTube playlist)

39. 100% Confident

40. Mike in S4 and S2

41. Mike Is Angry With Himself

42. It's Been A Year, Mike

43. Rink-O-Mania Remodel

44. The Development Of Will And Mike's Relationship

45. Mike's Lies

46. El Was Holding So Much In

47. Flickergate + Lettergate

48. Did Mike Ever Like El Romantically?

49. Mike Is Stupid

50. Byler Won't Write Itself

51. What's The Alternative Explanation?

52. Comparing Mileven and Byler

53. It Was Always About Them

54. Mike Is Not Ok

55. He Has A Love Interest

56. Will's Happy Ending

57. Trying To Be Normal

58. It's Not That Milevens Are Homophobic

59. Byler Is Reality

60. A Proper Look At El's Shrine To Mike

61. Mileven Through The Seasons

62. Suspicious

63. I Can't Doubt Byler

64. D&D Soulmates

65. Let's Talk Phones

66. Not Delusional

67. What Do They Want?

68. The Main Character

69. Mike's Mental Health

70. So Close

71. This Look Confirms Byler Isn't One Sided

72. Mileven Is Bones

73. They Don't Care About Mileven?

74. The Airport Hug Will Always Be Famous

75. The Monologue Mystery, Why Did They Lose?

76. The Cabin Scene

77. Why Couldn't Mike Say It For 2 Seasons?

78. He Was Trying To Find Will

79. Mike The Surfer Boy

80. Mike Definitely Shows Attraction To Girls

81. The Cast Knows

82. Mileven Loses On All Fronts

83. The Bouquet

84. 53 Minutes And 5 Seconds

85. Pink Panther

86. El And Choice

87. Will's Spotify Playlist

88. He'll Come Crawling Back To You, Begging For Forgiveness

89. Mike's Character Arc Prediction

90. It's The Same Look

91. Will's Truly Happy Ending

92. That's The Same Look, Right?

93. You're The Heart

94. Mike And El's Relationship In S4 Was Really Weird

95. Fireworks Parallel

96. Mileven Has Been Built Up For 4 Seasons

97. Not Stupid: The Fate of Mileven and Byler

98. This Suddenly Makes So Much Sense

99. Metaphors In Filmmaking

And unfortunately Tumblr will only let me add 100 links per post, so when I've posted part 2 of this list, I'll link it here: Part 2

[moonstruckme]

Worried/gentle Pre relationship Sirius x reader who’s having a panic attack (his first time seeing her have one)

Thanks for requesting!

cw: panic attack

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Sirius is no amateur concert-goer. He knows how to hunt for the best tickets, how to smuggle in drinks, and how to get there early enough that he gets right up by the stage. Since it’s your first real concert (you argued that you’ve seen musicians play at restaurants and parks and the like, which Sirius informed you doesn’t count), he’s pulling out all the stops. 

“Alright, doll, we’ve got one bottle of water and one of vodka. Newbie’s choice.” 

“You can stop hammering in the newbie thing so hard, you know,” you say, reaching for the vodka. Your eyes flicker between the people starting to gather around you as they filter into the venue. “I don’t want to be ostracized by everyone here.” 

Sirius grins. “I’ll vouch for you, don’t worry.” 

You mirror his smile wryly, taking a covert swig from the bottle. “Won’t someone take this away from us?” 

“No,” he says, “right now everyone who works here is too focused on getting people inside, and soon it’ll be too packed to see us anyway.” 

You press your lips together as you nod, taking another hearty sip of the vodka. 

As if he hasn’t already been doing it all week, Sirius launches into a biography of the band you’re seeing. How they’d gotten started, when they’d been discovered, how he’d first discovered them (the true beginning of their fame, really), etc, etc. At first, you’re smiling and chiming in as he talks, but gradually he notices you becoming less responsive. You seem distracted. Must be the atmosphere, he reasons. There’s an exhilarating buzz going through the crowd, which Sirius is pleased to note comprises a rather impressive turnout for a band that’s just getting their start. With the colored lights the venue’s management turned on after everyone had been let inside, it’s difficult to make out distinct faces in the sea of bobbing heads. Sirius would hardly know it was you next to him if you hadn’t linked your arm through his the first time someone had cut between you two, as though worried he’d get swept away if you didn’t hold on tight. He hardly minds; if things were different between you, he doubts you’d ever be able to extricate his hand from your back pocket. 

“You with me, dollface?” he asks when you don’t seem to notice he’s asked you a question. He’d asked if you wanted to try to find an after-party, though he knows you well enough to suspect you’ll be ready to collapse into bed by the time the concert itself is finished. 

“Hm?” You look at him, the sparkly eyeshadow you’d asked him to put on you glinting as you blink. Your pupils look huge. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” 

Sirius starts to nod, but then someone behind you shoulders you accidentally and you jolt like you’ve been shot. 

He eyes you warily. “You sure? You look a bit warm.” 

It’s an understatement. Your features gleam with sweat under the colored lights. The crowd does make it a bit balmy inside, but your face is as flushed as if you’ve run a mile. 

“I’m okay,” you say, though you won’t look at him. You take a breath as if to steady yourself, untangling your arm from his to press a hand to your chest. 

Sirius touches your shoulder tentatively. It’s hot and slick under his hand. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” he says, panic creeping up his throat. This is all a bit too familiar. “Do you need some air?” 

You suck in a breath, the action sounding more effortful than it should. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you pant. “Yeah, I think—yeah.” 

Sirius glances around, taking a millisecond to mourn your prime spot before plotting a course through the crowd. He makes you hold his hand as he shoulders his way through, keeping you close behind him. It’s frightening how he can hear the sound of your gasping breaths even over the eager ruckus of the crowd. 

He gets you through as quickly as he can, beelining for the exit. “You’re alright,” he tells you as you both break out into the crisp night air. It takes all the self-control he has to keep his own anxiety from his voice, but he does his best to sound gentle and calm. “We’re going to find you a place to sit down.” 

He guides you over to the side of the building, mostly out of sight of traffic going in and out the doors, and sits you down on some grass. You fold your knees into your chest instantly, the position obviously familiar, and press your forehead to your knees. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sirius murmurs, crouching beside you and rubbing your back. Smooth, slow passes up and down your spine. “I’m not going to leave you. Just breathe, doll.” 

You seem like you’re really trying, forcing slow if stilted breaths through your mouth. He gathers the hair off your nape, using a ponytail from his wrist to tie it loosely over your head. The cool air seems to be helping somewhat. Your ears and neck are less flushed, but you’re still shaking something terrible. He redoubles his efforts on your back, pushing his palm into your spine in a way he hopes is soothing. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp into the space between your knees and your abdomen. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, please,” Sirius begs you. “Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?” 

You shake your head. 

“Anything I can do?” 

You blow out a breath. Shaky, but more substantial than the rest. “Can I have the water?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Sirius’ own hands tremble slightly as he untwists the cap, passing it to you. You bring your head up to drink it, taking brief, measured sips. Your makeup is all smeared underneath your eyes. 

“Thank you,” you manage once you’re done. Sirius gets the impression you mean for more than the water. 

“Don’t mention it.” He takes the bottle from you, hand resuming its path on your spine. You tuck your head back into your legs. “Take your time, love, we’re not in any rush.” 

Slowly, over the course of the next few minutes, your breathing evens out. Some of the tension leaves your body, your posture slumped and miserable as goosebumps appear along your arms. Sirius drapes his jacket over you, continuing to rub your back through the thick material. 

Finally, you lift your head. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is tight, a tear slipping down your face. Sirius’ heart revolts, batting against his ribs like a frantic bird in a cage. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, doing his best to keep the desperation out of his voice as scoots closer to your side. He brushes the wetness away with his thumb. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, sweetness.” 

“No, I know crowds do this to me, and I didn’t even warn you, I just—” Your face scrunches, as if you’re endeavoring to keep some great pain at bay. “I wanted to do this for you.” 

Suddenly he’s the one with no air. Guilt chokes him, hot and thick in his throat. “You didn’t have to do anything for me, dollface. I mean, I appreciate it,” he gives you one of his best smiles, rewarded when your eyes crinkle slightly in response, “but I never want you to put yourself through anything like this for me. I’m happy when you’re happy, understand?” 

You nod, eyebrows stitched together remorsefully. Sirius wants to kiss between them, then all up and down your face until not a hint of melancholy remains, but in lieu of that he tucks a piece of hair that had escaped his earlier capture behind your ear, thumbing affectionately at your cheek. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say meekly. 

“That’s okay,” he promises you. “My brother Reggie used to get panic attacks too, when he was younger. I have a bit of practice with them.” 

Sirius doesn’t think it matters how much practice he gets; he’ll always be shit at comforting people, but at least he knows enough to guess what you’ll need now. 

You look at him interestedly. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Are you tired? We can go back to my place and watch a film. Or if you just want to go to bed I can take you home.” 

“Your place is good,” you say, letting him take your hand to help you up. Your legs wobble a bit underneath you, and Sirius wraps a hand around your waist, holding you to his side as you start back towards the sidewalk. 

“This okay?” he asks, watching you carefully. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. Your hand worms underneath his arm, sliding around his back in turn. “Yeah, this is good.”

[inc0mple]

The Peris Ravenell Post: why you should read Keys Are People Too for this soggy excuse of a man

This is a lengthy post, which is why I added the… thingy, whatever it’s called… but I promise promise it’s entertaining and it also took me like two days to put together when I’m supposed to be writing Chapter 120. That chapter’s sad, okay, I need to get out the feels by bullying Ravenell some, aight.

I recommend at least scrolling through. Especially if you know nothing about Keys Are People, Too. And also if you do.

Okay, first things first:

THIS IS WHAT PERIS RAVENELL FROM KEYS ARE PEOPLE TOO LOOKS LIKE, OKAY

I have tried to draw him on a multitude of occasions and it's given people misconceptions. He does NOT look like Abraham Lincoln, he does NOT look like a twink, he is NOT a himbo. He's just a stupid perpetually bewildered man. AND THIS IS THE ALWAYS AND FOREVER REFERENCE FOR HIS APPEARANCE

Ok thanks. NOW:

If y'all are on the fence about reading Keys Are People Too PLEASE, READ IT FOR THIS MAN

I HAVE A LIST OF REASONS FOR WHY HE IS THE BEST WORST

Reason 1: He Has Iconic Moments

This man is the most stupid, inconvenient man to ever exist. He is perpetually confused and perpetually confusing. The worst part is he wasn’t even supposed to be, he was supposed to be a background character without hardly any substance. Well he’s still gossamer, in ways, but he has also muscled his way into the plot for no reason other than to DRIVE CHASE CRAZY and provide a character foil to… *checks notes* is this supposed to say “the monkey”???

Someone (me) is unable to track these down at the moment so check the comments for iconic moments (comment your favorite Ravenell moments do my dirty work pleeeease)

Reason 2: We Love To Roast Him

So if you’re in the fan server or the AO3 comments you might not understand this completely, so let me indoctrinate you into the objective best view of Peris Ravenell: in that he is a pathetic, wimpy, soggy man and we love him for it. He doesn’t know how to dance. He doesn’t know how to cook. If his wife actually liked them they would be the epitome of girlboss/boyfailure. He’s like if margarine was a man. “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Better.” Except one look at him and it’s very easy to believe.

These are so easy to rattle off. I could go for hours.

And screw you, maybe I will.

So... yeah. It's the funniest thing ever. That is in fact, fact.

Reason 3: We Ship Him With Tree Guy From "Love Between the Christmas Trees"

If you have not read “Love Between the Christmas Trees” by proseburia on AO3, you are missing out. Not only is it a very well written and funny story, it includes Ravenell’s one, always and forever love, Tree Guy.

His name is Nick. We don’t call him Nick.

Prose’s story revolves around Chase and Deacon going into a Hallmark movie style book, in which they meet Chase’s character’s love interest, Tree Guy—a lumberjack who loves all things to do with Christmas and his hometown. Like Ravenell, Tree Guy is so straight he can hardly turn corners.

Naturally this means we head-canon them as secretly in love forever and ever, the bromance of the century, a duo so dynamic NASA wants to study it.

I even started making fanart of them, but… I stopped. Because I got lazy.

*REMEMBER, RAVENELL DOES NOT LOOK LIKE THIS! HE LOOKS LIKE THE FIRST IMAGE IN THIS POST! DO NOT TRUST ANY OF MY OTHER ART LMFAO

The name for this incredible, very valid ship is Sap Duo. They are called this because tree sap, and also Ravenell as a person is sappy. It’s perfect. They’re perfect. I know.

Also, here’s a link to Prose’s story, if you wanna go read it :3

Reason 4️⃣: He Has Fanart (that Mari made)

Lul. Look at this guy.

Reason 5: The Monkey

Ravenell’s number one nemesis in Keys Are People, Too is a monkey by the name of Jaabu that belongs to Buddy’s character, Lady Spicula. Jaabu hates the duke for no discernible reason and will go to any length to wound the duke’s pride (and sometimes just wound him in general), out of apparent personal enjoyment. She also often seems to embody the audience in their frequent desire to throttle Ravenell, so I’ve been told. (I think it’s loving?)

I illustrated a very good, very effortful depiction of the two’s usual relationship. Please view below. I’m not responding to hate mail for emotional damage over the sheer beauty of this artistic rendition. Please forward it to Jai, they wrote In Sepia after all.

Reason 6: He Is On The UQuiz For Princes (that Mari also made)

A quiz for canon Cinderella Boy Princes… and also one non-canon duke-failure!

Pretty on the nose.

She has also made fanfiction for that man, which is what the illustration is from. I… don’t know if she’s okay.

Reason 7: Flavenell

That’s it that’s the section. @lilliferwashere this one’s for u

Reason 8: He Has Good (?) Reviews

⭐️⭐️⭐️ "3/5 man. Good at fighting, probably, but bad with women most of the time. Very troubled man, so I can't give him too low of a score. That feels too mean. Monkeys are really drawn to him for some reason though and that just seems like a health hazard. To him, mostly" - @leejeann (author of So Shaped By the Chances, Viva La Short King, Notable Anti-Fluddy-er)

⭐️⭐️⭐️"Arrived soggy. Extra star for freeing the slaves — oh wait no that’s Lincoln. Well a four score or better is outta reach for Dukey. Mediocre at best." - @theautumndream (author of A Glitch Apart, Wanted For Several Photoshop Crimes, Lowkey Likenapple)

⭐️⭐️⭐️ "3/5 stars: I broke my leg and he started crying. He was so focused on how much it hurt him emotionally I forgot I was hurt and carried him back to the castle" - @mysteriousmonty (Also Finny (Allegedly), Bookbinding Enthusiast, Art Challenge Perpetuator

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ "5/5 stars: I love him dearly. He's an absolute mess. I hope to get him a job where his actions affect absolutely nothing and no one where he also feels fulfilled." - @jaistashu (author of [Redacted for emotional damage] and some other ones, Certified To Know Your Stuff Better Than You Do, An Honest-to-God Baja Blast To Be Around)

⭐️⭐️⭐️ "In my opinion, he’s just A Guy™. His personality is very wet feeling, but it’s not bad. He tries his best, but he’s also a little… dumb, sometimes. He’s not the most intelligent, as in he has little common sense, but he is trying his best, which I appreciate. Peris Ravenell is a fantastically written character, and I appreciate him and his endless trying his best. He was quick to change his wording to include woman. I very much appreciate that. His upbringing wasn’t the greatest, and I understand that. He’s trying to navigate life without a proper parental relationship. He’s thrown into the world of royalty and dukedom very quickly, and he’s trying his best to navigate it. He’s a mess, albeit a wet mess, but he’s trying, and I appreciate that. Minus two stars for being an uncle’s boy." - @spookieee28 (author of Bed Bath and Hbeyond, Four Theorist, Donut)*

⭐️ "Overscoring him will only make you disappointed. You need to know that his appeal is not in how great he is. He's just a guy in the wrong genre. He's not a hero, he's just a mess. If someone got isekai'd into a murder mystery they had no brains or courage to solve. He just wants to be at the end of the book. He wants everything to be lovely without any effort. And he deserves it. He was born to be everyone's favorite useless uncle. The butt of family jokes but he loves the affection. Like watering the ugliest plant you've ever seen. 1 of 5 Stars. Would you recommend him? Yes." - @xiaomao-ai-wo (author of Unallied Queens, Sticky Note Enthusiast, Either Stalter Or Waldrorf We Aren't Sure)**

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ "Duke Peris “Dukey” Ravenell review:

Duke score: 2/5

He kinda sucks at it. Mostly stands around waiting for Galeus to tell him what to do I think?

Guy score: 5/5

Put this man in a JAR so that I may study him. Simultaneously a carefree goofball and the soppiest, saddest man to have ever existed. Just trying to have a nice time due to being born in Nice Time Land but The Horrors won’t let him. A little misogynistic with it but he pays for his crimes with monkey torture.

Overall score: 4/5" - @proseburia (author of Love Between the Christmas Trees, Lab Rat in Training, Sap Duo Shipper)

⭐️ “Peris Ravenell is as suspicious as a [REDACTED] and just as [REDACTED]. Overly clingy and also overly needy of compliments and acknowledgement. A follower, not a leader. No ability to read a room. At all. Whatsoever. Makes little attempt to think for himself and no attempt to [REDACTED]. Leaves that for [REDACTED] and then wonders why [REDACTED]. Likes [REDACTED], has a temper at times, has a weird thing about [REDACTED]. Enjoys [REDACTED] just to [REDACTED] (they'd already [REDACTED]). Extremely loathed by middle aged etiquette teachers and monkeys. Little man who wants to be a big man when he grows up. 1 star out of 5.” - Shadows_Mirror (author of like half the CB fanfiction on AO3, Registered Dukey Hater, Was Not Told She Could Not Include Spoilers)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ “I want to put this sopping wet beanie baby of a man under a microscope and study him. I hate him and I love him and I hate that I can’t decide which one it is. 5/5” - @lilliferwashere (author of Sunshine and Saccharin, Fluddy’s True Love, Pigeon Handmaid)

*"Canonically married to Deacon" she says. Uh huh.

**It should be noted that both Mari's name and profile picture on Discord are about Duke Ravenell.

In Conclusion

plsplsplsplsplsplsplssss

XOXO, Inco

[tinytalkingtina]

This Gun's for Hire

1k words | Rating: T | Ao3 link Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild's daily prompt "I wish I never met you" and @sunflowerharrington! Happy birthday Bee :) What if Steve got cursed instead of Max, and offered himself up as bait? CW/Tags: Steve gets vecna'd, hallucinations, hurt/comfort, injury (canon-typical but not described in detail), Steve loves Springsteen, Steve & the party at large, Steve/Eddie, past Steve/Nancy Thank you to strangergraphics-archive for the divider! See under the cut for some author's notes

The bathroom was claustrophobic. Steve's head hurt from the flickering florescent overhead light. He hadn't been drinking that much, right? Nancy had been though. His girlfriend, who had complete hatred written all over her face, who had given up wiping at her shirt to say-

"It's bullshit."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut against her awful twisted expression, but it didn't stop her from continuing.

"I wish I never met you," Nancy spat out. "Why should you be the one who gets to live? It's your fault Barb is dead. She had dreams and brains. You’re nothing compared to her."

She was right. It was his fault for being so greedy and selfish. For distracting her while her best friend died terrified and alone, for daring to want to be someone else's number one priority. His parents never had time for him, always chasing after the next big case or-

"She's right son, you're a disappointment." Steve turned around. His father loomed large in a leather armchair. Behind him, his mother swirled a glass of wine. It kept catching the light, sending shooting pain through his eyes.

“Couldn’t get into any college, working at the bottom rung for minimum wage. Handing out mindless entertainment for the rest of your life. But then, you never were ambitious."

"And then you went and ruined your looks," his mother added. "No one wants an ugly husband Stephen. What nice girl will let you take her home when you look like that?"

The words hit him like a stone. Steve collapsed, his legs no longer able to bear weight. Distantly, vibrations plucked against his skull, at odds with the increasing pressure inside his head.

"You are such an idiot Steve."

Please, no. Steve let out a whimper. He opened his eyes to see Robin staring down at him in disgust behind the Scoop’s counter. Her uniform was covered in vomit and blood. His blood, he’d dragged her into this, ruined her life.

"I can't wait to graduate and leave you behind. You really think I was going to take you with me? I'll make new friends, better ones than you could ever be. We'll have so much in common, not like you and me.”

Dustin slid into view. He was so young, too young to be wrapped up in any of this, why did no one else care about him--

"You think we're friends? Come on Steve, don’t be such a loser. You're a meat shield dumb enough to take directions. Do you know how tired I am of explaining everything to you? Eddie is so much smarter, he's the best older brother I could ever want."

As if on cue, Eddie’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Wanna try and save me, Big Boy? Town’s gonna hate you just as much as me once they find out who plays a starring role in your nighttime fantasies. Might as well give up now freak, it’s pointless.”

They were right. They were all right, he was worthless. Steve hugged his arms closer, squeezing hard. Too hard, beyond the point of comfort, but he couldn't stop it. Everyone circled in, their taunts overlapping over and over.

The vibrations were growing louder now, enough that he finally started picking up raspy words over the taunts:

Can't start a fire

"Bullshit." At the edge of the horizon, a glimmer caught Steve's eye.

Worryin' about your little world fallin' apart

"Disappointment." No. He didn't want this.

This gun's for hire

"Idiot." Steve forced himself to stand up and grit his teeth at the pain.

Even if we're just dancin' in the dark.

"Loser."

He pushed at the fragments and began to run. The glimmer of light was a doorway, he could see it now. 

Even if we're just dancin' in the dark “Freak.” Around him, the world started shaking and crumbling. But he was so close. He could make it.

Even if we're just dancin' in the-

"Keep playing I think it's working!"

He took a deep breath and coughed up blood.

"STEVE!" Several people grabbed for him, the warmth jolting him back to his body as much as the pain from landing back on the ground did.

“Did we win,” Steve managed to slur out.

“That’s your first question?” Robin sobbed. She clutched at his shirt in a death grip. Dustin was crying too, holding onto his right arm. Both of them were covered in upside down grime and gore and who knows what else. Nancy hovered behind hugging her shotgun close, her face ghost-white pale as she stared at him, Max a mirrored image with her own gun. Lucas gripped his borrowed nailbat in one hand and Erica’s tightly in the other. Looked like he’d used the bat well, there were bits of...something all over it. “Yes dingus, he’s dead, it’s over. But you were, you almost-”

“Buckley,” someone interrupted. With great effort, Steve moved his neck. Eddie was sitting nearby, his hands still plucking out Springsteen on his guitar. “I think his leg is broken, maybe don’t climb all over it?”

With a meep, Robin moved off him, and yup. There was the pain again. Legs shouldn’t stick out at that angle, should they.

“”m never being the bait again, this sucks,” he groaned.

Only good to be a meat shield, phantom Dustin whispered in his head. He ignored Vecna's last gasps of hate.

In the real world, Dustin told him to never do that again while Nancy grabbed a car. 

Robin was a blubbering mess who refused to leave his side, even when they took him to the hospital. 

His parents, once they found out he’d been hospitalized, rushed to get back to Hawkins. His mom hugged him for what felt like hours. 

After he was released on crutches (with a new prescription for glasses in hand), Nancy helped him fill out an application to community college.

And Eddie?

Turned out, getting to kiss him for real was much better than any fantasy.

For this scenario to work let's assume that:

Eddie, Dustin, and Erica stayed behind with Steve while the others headed into the Upside Down and used some other means to distract the bats. Lucas borrowed Steve's nail bat

Jason and the basketball team had been handled already prior to the gang venturing to their various locations

Team Rightside stayed in Eddie's trailer instead of going to the Creel House